Chapter Seven #2
“Uh oh,” Andrew teased. “Is that good or bad?”
Trajan chuckled. “I guess we’ll find out soon enough.”
They marched out of the study and joined the ladies, who were now in the formal parlor. Hermia was at the small writing desk with quill pen in hand, having just finished a letter. He wondered whether she was reporting to Florence’s parents or merely writing to a friend.
Florence was seated on the settee reading a book, but she set it aside and rose with a smile to greet him as he strode in.
“I’m sorry we took so long,” he said. “There’s still a lot for me to learn in managing the Weymouth properties, in addition to bringing my cousins into their roles. How did you spend your day?”
“Aunt Hermia and I managed to keep busy,” she assured him.
She was still smiling, which meant she was not at all put out by having to manage on her own on this rather foul day.
“While my aunt worked on her embroidery, I asked Mrs. Albright to take me on a tour of the house, ending with the kitchen. I offered some suggestions for tonight’s meal. I hope you don’t mind.”
He grinned and gave her cheek a light caress, for he was pleased she had taken an interest in the running of Gull Hall. “As long as it is edible, we’ll have no complaints.”
She blushed. “I think you will like it.”
“Are you set for tomorrow’s tea?” he asked.
Perhaps it was a good thing Florence would be hosting Lady Frampton tomorrow.
This was a sensible way of gathering information, assuming Frampton’s wife had any to give.
But it also kept Florence occupied within the house while he was working with his cousins.
The last thing he needed was for her to be running off while he was meeting with them and distracted.
He intended to greet Lady Frampton upon her arrival, of course.
It would be rude not to introduce her to his family, as well.
But then he meant to keep out of Florence’s way and let her wheedle whatever information she could from the lady.
He would figure out what to do about protecting Florence once she told him what she had learned.
Trajan walked into the dining room with the others and immediately noticed a subtle change.
First of all, Florence had chosen to remove the extension leaves from the dining table that had been set up to easily seat forty.
With the leaves out, it would hold no more than twelve comfortably.
This was still more than they needed, but far cozier than before.
Also, the Aubrey men were broad shouldered and could use the extra space.
He noticed the room was brighter, and it was not merely due to the presence of the ladies. He was not so besotted to attribute shining lights to Florence’s mere presence.
But she had done something. More candles, perhaps?
Wherever had she found the silver epergne now placed in the center of the table?
That was it, the source of the additional illumination.
The epergne was not merely decorative but also practical, since it had candlesticks at each end, where Florence had inserted tapered candles to brighten the table.
She had also cut scented herbs, along with some greenery and a few flowers from the conservatory garden, to give the table settings that extra touch of refinement and delicacy.
Who knew his fake bird watcher, this little sprite who had almost felled him when tumbling out of the tree, was so talented domestically?
“I like what you’ve done, Florence,” he said, and smiled to show his appreciation.
She let out a breath. “Thank you. I hope you do not find it too much.”
“Not at all. It’s lovely, and far better than anything I could have done or ever would have thought to do. It is a touch of warmth. Perfect, in fact. I like it very much.”
He seated Florence beside him while Andrew escorted Hermia to her chair.
“I have also made a small change to the menu that I hope you won’t mind,” Florence said, still smiling over his prior compliment.
“I’m sure none of us will mind at all.” Trajan laughed. “I assure you, we Aubreys will eat anything that does not eat us first. What have you changed?”
“Well, I noticed that you particularly liked the mutton Cherish served at her house party last year, and—”
His eyes rounded in surprise. “You noticed that?”
She nodded. “You and I even spoke of it later that evening. In fact, you were raving about it. I liked it too. Cherish gave me the recipe, which I then gave to my family’s cook, but…”
His heart sank when he saw the lovely glow on her face suddenly fade. “Your family did not like it.”
He stated it as fact rather than as a question, because he was growing to understand how shamefully her family had treated her. If she were excited about something, they would go out of their way to squash the life out of it.
“We are all going to love it,” Hermia said, giving her niece an encouraging nod.
Trajan silently vowed to lick his plate clean even if he despised the meal, which he knew would not happen. Florence had planned their menu with love, and this was what he was determined to give back to her by the bucketful.
The mutton was served after the soup course, along with roasted potatoes and leeks.
His cousins did not fail him, either. All three of them devoured their servings like starving wolves, as did he. No one spoke other than to toss compliments at Florence between mouthfuls.
“This is even better than I remembered it,” Trajan declared, and motioned Edgar over to serve him more. “This is really, really good, Florence.”
“I refined the recipe a little.”
“Well done,” he said, pausing a moment between bites.
“I hope you don’t mind, but I had your staff test the recipe.”
Trajan laughed. “You had it served for their supper? Good gracious, you will have my entire household staff in your thrall. No wonder Edgar is struggling to hold back a smile. How did you like it, Edgar?”
His capable footman let out a breath and broke into a satisfied grin. “Best meal I have ever tasted, Your Grace.”
“And you, Alvin?” Trajan asked the other footman standing in attendance.
“Delicious, Your Grace. The staff is in raptures.”
Andrew raised his glass of wine. “Three cheers for Florence!”
Everyone raised a glass and repeated the toast.
Florence’s eyes turned watery, but she quickly dabbed them with her table linen and smiled at all of them. “I’m glad you liked it.”
“Liked it?” Sebastian said. “I am going to dream of sheep tonight instead of the buxom maid at Crawley’s Tavern.”
“I know the one you mean,” Nathan replied, casting his brother a wicked grin.
“Gentlemen, there are ladies present,” Trajan reminded them, although he did not think Florence or her aunt were in the least offended.
It truly hurt his heart to watch Florence absorb their dinner conversation like a little sponge. A joyful sponge. He had always thought her pretty, but she seemed radiant now. Approval and compliments were all new to her.
His cousins had eaten so many servings, they needed to be rolled away from the table.
Night had fallen by the time they all moved to the parlor for after-dinner drinks.
Trajan took a moment to speak to Edgar and Alvin, who had slept most of the day and come on duty for their usual attendance at supper.
But now they would take night watch again, and Trajan wanted to make certain they had everything they needed.
“Aye, Your Grace. We’re set. Alvin and I will be guarding the house while Herbert patrols the grounds with Dodger,” Edgar said, referring to his best bloodhound. “He and Dodger are already on the task. Figured he’d start as soon as the shadows began to creep across the garden.”
“Wake me if you notice anything at all, even the smallest sense that anything is amiss.”
“Aye, Your Grace,” Edgar said, and left with Alvin to take up their guard posts.
Trajan joined the others in the parlor, still tense as he drank his port. But he knew his staff was up to the task of protecting Florence should Frampton decide to menace her again.
In all likelihood, Frampton only meant to have his ruffians show their faces from time to time as a reminder not to mess with him. After all, the man at Trajan’s study window last night could have gotten off a shot and lost no more than one or two seconds in fleeing.
But he had just fled. No shot fired. So, either the pistol had jammed and he could not fire, or Frampton had given orders to scare them and nothing more.
Those orders might change after tomorrow, especially if Florence learned something of interest from Lady Frampton during her afternoon tea.
Since his mind had been on Frampton’s next move and not the casual conversation going on between the ladies and his cousins, Trajan was surprised when everyone suddenly rose. “Where are you going?”
“Haven’t you been paying attention? We’re going to the music room,” Andrew said. “Your lovely bride-to-be is about to give us a piano recital.”
“And sing for us,” Nathan cheerfully added.
Trajan groaned inwardly. This evening had gone smoothly, and he did not want it ruined by Florence’s bad singing or playing. Not that he would ever insult her, nor would his cousins. But they were already marveling over her mealtime triumph, so why not leave it at that?
His cousins already approved of her joining the Aubrey family in marriage. There was nothing more she needed to do to win them over.
Florence poked him lightly in the ribs. “You are frowning, Trajan. Do you have no faith in my musical talent?”
He grimaced. “I am sure I am going to love your recital.”
“Liar,” she said with a soft laugh. “You have convinced yourself that someone as independent and obstinate as myself would never bother to learn the feminine arts.”
Frankly, he did not care if she sang like a crow instead of a nightingale. He would be well satisfied so long as they were good together in bed, which they would be, because Florence had passion.
The only feminine art that concerned a man was the art of the bedroom. If a woman could please a man there, she would have him in the palm of her hand forever.
Florence, to his great relief, did not start her recital with one of those overly complicated and endlessly boring compositions that alternated between soft passages that had everyone straining their ears to hear, and loud, banging chords that had them stuffing handkerchiefs into their ears with all due haste.
Instead, she led off with a lively country air that he and his cousins knew well because the song was popular in the taverns they frequented.
Not that he frequented such places all that often. But he and his cousins liked an entertaining night out whenever they got together. His cousins sang along with vigor.
Florence arched an eyebrow at him, an indication that he ought to join in.
Yes, he needed to get into the spirit of the evening. His voice wasn’t so bad, either.
He saw the surprise on Florence’s face when she heard him sing.
When the country lilt ended, he strode to the piano. “Play another one.”
She chose a Scottish ballad, one of those plaintive tunes where everyone dies because the Scots never backed down from a fight no matter the hopeless odds, and they were always fighting because their irreverent nature always got them into trouble.
A hush fell over the room, and Trajan did not think anyone breathed while those dulcet notes sprang from Florence’s lips.
She had not been jesting when she said she could sing. No high-pitched, operatic singing, either—her voice had a simple purity and clarity. The voice of an angel.
The cousins cheered her with shouts of “brava” as they shot to their feet and clapped.
Trajan was already on his feet, but it took him a moment to join in because he was that impressed by her talent.
Florence took everyone’s compliments with humility.
“You were incredible,” he whispered, and then kissed her on the cheek.
But he was still unsettled. Florence had behaved herself all day, shown herself to be thoughtful in presenting them with a meal they would remember, and then regaled them with an excellent concert that proved she was remarkably talented.
And yet her parents ignored her. They had never shown her any love or approval.
The brief conversations he’d had with Hermia revealed there was nothing in Florence’s past that would have explained this.
If that were so, then the only explanation was the existence of an explosive family secret.
A girl with a heart so full of love should not have been shunned as Florence had been throughout her life.
What dark secret were her parents hiding from Florence?