Chapter 17 #2
Alexei stiffened. Beside him, Laurel had hunched her shoulders, her whole body seeming to shrink in on itself. Did the women in this family have no shred of decency? He couldn’t imagine what he would do if one of his sisters said such a thing about another sister, and in front of company, no less.
But neither Beatrice’s husband nor her father seemed inclined to put her in her place.
Alexei opened his mouth to say something on her behalf, but Sacha spoke first. “Perhaps she hasn’t met the right man yet.”
Beatrice set down her wineglass with a thud. “Or perhaps none of the right men want anything to do with a woman who spends more time in the kitchen like a servant than she does making herself presentable. Did you know that’s where I found her when I arrived earlier, Father?”
“You were in the kitchen?” Farnsworth’s voice was cold.
Laurel’s cheeks colored.
“This is so embarrassing,” Genevieve muttered.
“I told you to stay out of the kitchen.” Farnsworth pinned his gaze to Laurel. “Have I not made myself clear on that?”
“You did,” Laurel whispered, staring down at her plate.
“What did you make?”
“The pastry and the dessert.”
“The pastry?” Her father probed the last remaining bite on his plate with a fork as though it was suddenly now worthy of the waste bin.
“I wasn’t trying to be obstinate. I just wanted to help. I’ve been working on a new tart recipe and—”
“What do you suppose Mr. Amos thinks, seeing my daughter behaving like one of the housemaids?”
“I think she’s skilled and generous,” Alexei ground out. “And I thought the pastry was a delicious complement to the lobster sauce.”
Across the table, Genevieve huffed. “And I say it makes her little better than a scullery maid.”
“It’s highly inappropriate, to be sure.” Genevieve’s husband agreed.
Beatrice pressed a hand to her chest. “Just think, what if word of this spreads?”
“It won’t spread,” Farnsworth snapped. “Because no one here is going to speak of this.” He ran his eyes around the table, then sat back and tossed his napkin onto his plate, the last two bites of the lobster pastry untouched.
“Are you going to have the dessert served?” Genevieve slanted a glance at Laurel. “After she disobeyed you?”
“We have to bring something out.” Beatrice’s eyes grew round. “It would make us little better than paupers to end a meal without dessert.”
“I agree, but not what Laurel made.” Mrs. Farnsworth pressed a hand to her chest. “Surely there’s something else in the kitchen that will suffice.”
Farnsworth snapped his fingers, and one of the servants appeared by his side. “Have the chef send something other than Laurel’s tart out for dessert. See what he has on hand.”
“Yes, sir.” The servant gave a nod, then headed through the doorway.
Beside Alexei, Laurel’s head bent to the point that she could see nothing beside her lap, and she didn’t seem to have any intention of looking up any time soon.
The servant returned a moment later and moved straight to the host. They exchanged a few words, and then Farnsworth gave a subtle nod. Two more servants stepped forward and began clearing plates. No one spoke. Even Beatrice and Genevieve had reverted to taking polite sips of wine.
Beside him, Sacha sat with his arms crossed, his face like stone. Alexei couldn’t blame him. He probably looked as serious.
“Well,” Banning said, folding his napkin and glancing down the table, “I for one wouldn’t mind seeing your chef’s dessert menu make its way into the hotel kitchens. I hear the Fairmont is still hiring.”
“Hotels are a passing fad,” Everett replied, swirling the wine in his glass. “No one wants to live like a transient forever. You want stability? Own the buildings people rent.”
“Not this again,” Beatrice muttered with a sigh. “It’s the same argument every meal.”
Farnsworth gave a faint smile. “That’s what happens when one son-in-law owns buildings and the other owns bonds.”
Genevieve leaned in toward her husband. “I do hope you’re not still invested in that cannery down by the harbor. The newspapers say it smells dreadful.”
“It smells like money,” Everett said smoothly. “But I appreciate your delicate nose, darling.”
The door to the dining room opened, and two servers returned bearing dessert trays that held chocolate pudding.
A crystal dish was set before Alexei, and he picked up his spoon and took a bite. Rich cocoa flavor spread across his tongue. It tasted excellent as far as chocolate pudding went, but he’d bet every last cent in his bank account that Laurel’s dessert would have been better.
He glanced her way. She still hadn’t moved from her hunched position, but he caught the slight tremble in the lace cuff at her wrist.
He lowered his spoon to the saucer and leaned close. “What kind of tart did you make?”
Laurel shook her head, not even trying to meet his gaze. “Lemon cream and sugared orange peel, topped with candied ginger and raspberry syrup.”
His mouth turned moist just hearing it. “It sounds delicious.”
She peeked up at her father, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip. “I can have two of the tarts sent over to your hotel later, if you’re serious about trying it, that is.”
“Actually,” he said, his voice low and steady, “I was thinking you could come visit me in Alaska and make it there.”
Her eyes jerked over to his. “You . . . you want me to go to Alaska?”
He wanted her to go anywhere that wasn’t here. He had for as long as he’d known her. She didn’t fit into the gilded life her family lived.
“It would be my honor to host you. Sacha and his wife, Maggie, share a house with me, and they would make perfectly acceptable chaperones. It would give you an opportunity to see whether living in Alaska might suit you.”
Laurel’s breath caught, her fingers curling gently around the stem of her water glass. “I don’t know if I would suit Alaska. I’ve never been farther north than Seattle.”
“That’s all the more reason for you to come see Alaska for yourself and find out if it suits you.”
When she looked up at him again, a small, shy smile curved her lips. “It would be quite the adventure.”
“I imagine you’d handle it better than most.” He ran his eyes over her. “And I want you to know that you look lovely tonight. I don’t care how many times you’ve worn your gown, it suits you well.”
Color bloomed across her cheeks. “Thank you.”
Alexei studied her a moment longer, letting the silence settle comfortably between them while the rest of the table continued to chatter on about investments, property lines, and the latest gossip from Nob Hill.
If only he could snap his fingers and have this be the last dinner Laurel Farnsworth ever had to spend pretending to belong in a place she so clearly didn’t.
He didn’t have the power to whisk her away just yet. But maybe he would soon.