Chapter 10
T he local families that came to dinner were quite sizeable, each with an array of children of varying ages.
It was a merry gathering, with lively conversation flowing across the long table where the adults were seated.
The youngest children were eating upstairs in the nursery, while the older children occupied their own table in a room adjoining the main dining room.
The atmosphere was embellished with the soft music of a harp and a flute, played by local musicians.
The Challons’ cook and kitchen staff had outdone themselves with a variety of dishes featuring spring vegetables and local fish and game.
Although the cook back home at Eversby Priory was excellent, the food at Heron’s Point was a cut above.
There were colorful vegetables cut into tiny julienne strips, tender artichoke hearts roasted with butter, steaming crayfish in a sauce of white burgundy and truffles, and delicate filets of sole coated with crisp breadcrumbs.
Pheasant covered with strips of bacon and roasted to juicy, smoky perfection was served with a side of boiled potatoes that had been whipped with cream and butter into savory melting fluff.
Beef roasts with peppery crackled hides were brought out on massive platters, along with golden-crusted miniature game pies, and macaroni baked with Gruyère cheese in clever little tart dishes .
Pandora was quiet, not only out of fear of saying something awkward or gauche, but also because she was determined to eat as much of the delicious food as possible.
Unfortunately, a corset was a misery for anyone fond of eating.
Swallowing one mouthful beyond the point of comfortable fullness would cause sharp pains behind the ribs, and make it difficult to breathe.
She wore her best dinner dress, made of silk dyed in a fashionable shade called bois de rose , a deep earthy pink that flattered her fair complexion.
It was a severely simple style, with a low square-cut bodice and skirts pulled back tightly to reveal the shape of her waist and hips.
To her disgruntlement, Gabriel wasn’t seated by her as he had been the past few nights. Instead, he was at the duke’s end of the table, with a matron and her daughter on either side. The women laughed and chatted easily, delighted to have the attention of two such dazzling men.
Gabriel was slim and handsome in formal black evening clothes, a white silk waistcoat, and a crisp white necktie.
He was flawless, ice-cool, utterly self-possessed.
The candlelight played gently over him, striking golden sparks from his hair, flickering over the high cheekbones and the firm, full curves of his mouth.
Fact #63 I couldn’t marry Lord St. Vincent if for no other reason than the way he looks. People would think I was shallow.
R emembering the erotic pressure of his lips against hers only two hours earlier, Pandora squirmed a little in her chair and tore her gaze from him.
She had been seated close to the duchess’s end of the table, between a young man who seemed not much older than herself, and an older gentleman who was obviously smitten with the duchess and was doing his best to monopolize her attention.
There was little hope of any conversation from Phoebe, who sat across from Pandora looking distant and detached, consuming her food in tiny bites.
Risking a glance at the dignified young man beside her—what was his name?—Mr. Arthurson, Arterton?—Pandora decided to try her hand at some small talk.
“It was very fine weather today, wasn’t it?” she said.
He set down his flatware and dabbed at both corners of his mouth with his napkin before replying. “Yes, quite fine.”
Encouraged, Pandora asked, “What kind of clouds do you like better—cumulus or stratocumulus?”
He regarded her with a slight frown. After a long pause, he asked, “What is the difference?”
“Well, cumulus are the fluffier, rounder clouds, like this heap of potatoes on my plate.” Using her fork, Pandora spread, swirled, and dabbed the potatoes. “Stratocumulus are flatter and can form lines or waves—like this—and can either form a large mass or break into smaller pieces.”
He was expressionless as he watched her. “I prefer flat clouds that look like a blanket.”
“Altostratus?” Pandora asked in surprise, setting down her fork. “But those are the boring clouds. Why do you like them?”
“They usually mean it’s going to rain. I like rain.”
This showed promise of actually turning into a conversation. “I like to walk in the rain too,” Pandora exclaimed.
“No, I don’t like to walk in it. I like to stay in the house.” After casting a disapproving glance at her plate, the man returned his attention to eating.
Chastened, Pandora let out a noiseless sigh. Picking up her fork, she tried to inconspicuously push her potatoes into a proper heap again.
Fact #64 Never sculpt your food to illustrate a point during small talk. Men don’t like it.
A s Pandora looked up, she discovered Phoebe’s gaze on her. She braced inwardly for a sarcastic remark.
But Phoebe’s voice was gentle as she spoke. “Henry and I once saw a cloud over the English Channel that was shaped in a perfect cylinder. It went on as far as the eye could see. Like someone had rolled up a great white carpet and set it in the sky.”
It was the first time Pandora had ever heard Phoebe mention her late husband’s name. Tentatively she asked, “Did you and he ever try to find shapes in the clouds?”
“Oh, all the time. Henry was very clever—he could find dolphins, ships, elephants, and roosters. I could never see a shape until he pointed it out. But then it would appear as if by magic.” Phoebe’s gray eyes turned crystalline with infinite variations of tenderness and wistfulness.
Although Pandora had experienced grief before, having lost both parents and a brother, she understood that this was a different kind of loss, a heavier weight of pain. Filled with compassion and sympathy, she dared to say, “He... he sounds like a lovely man.”
Phoebe smiled faintly, their gazes meeting in a moment of warm connection. “He was,” she said. “Someday I’ll tell you about him. ”
And finally Pandora understood where a little small talk about the weather might lead.
A fter dinner, instead of the customary separation of the sexes, the assemblage retired together to the second floor family room, a spacious area arranged with clusters of seating and tables.
Like the downstairs summer parlor, it faced the ocean with a row of screened windows to catch the breeze.
A tea tray, plates of sweets, port, and brandy were brought up, and a box of cigars was set out on the shaded balcony for gentlemen who wished to indulge.
Now that the formal dinner was concluded, the atmosphere was wonderfully relaxed.
From time to time, someone would go to the upright piano and plunk out a tune.
Pandora went to sit in a group with Cassandra and the other young women, but she was obliged to stop as a set of warm masculine fingers closed around her wrist.
Gabriel’s voice fell gently against her ear. “What were you discussing with the prim Mr. Arterson while stirring your potatoes so industriously?”
Pandora turned and looked up at him, wishing she didn’t feel such a leap of gladness at the fact that he’d sought her out. “How did you notice what I was doing all the way from the other end of the table?”
“I nearly did myself injury, straining to see and hear you all through dinner.”
As she stared up into his smiling eyes, she felt as if her heart were opening all its windows. “I was demonstrating cloud formations with my potatoes,” she said. “I don’t think Mr. Arterson appreciated my stratocumulus. ”
“I’m afraid we’re all a bit too frivolous for him.”
“No, one can’t blame him. I knew better than to play with my food, and I’ve resolved never to do it again.”
Mischief flickered in his eyes. “What a pity. I was about to show you the one thing carrots are good for.”
“What is it?” she asked, her interest piqued.
“Come with me.”
Pandora followed him to the other side of the room. Their progress was briefly interrupted as a half-dozen children crossed in front of them to pilfer sweets from the sideboard.
“Don’t take the carrot,” Gabriel told them, as a multitude of small hands snatched almond and currant cakes, sticky squares of quince paste, crisp snow-white meringues, and tiny chocolate biscuits.
Ivo turned and replied with a chocolate biscuit making a bulge in his cheek. “No one is even thinking of taking the carrot,” he told his older brother. “It’s the safest carrot in the world.”
“Not for long,” Gabriel said, reaching over the herd of feasting children to retrieve a single raw carrot from the side of a dessert tray.
“Oh, you’re going to do that ,” Ivo said. “May we stay and watch?”
“Be my guest.”
“What is he going to do?” Pandora asked Ivo, wildly curious, but Ivo was prevented from answering as a matron approached to shoo the marauders away from the plates of sweets.
“Off with you, now!” the vexed mother exclaimed. “Begone! Those sweets are too rich for you, which is why you were all given plain sponge cake at the end of your dinner. ”
“But sponge cake is just air ,” one of the children grumbled, while pocketing an almond cake.
Suppressing a smile, Gabriel addressed his younger brother in a quiet undertone. “Ivo, weren’t you put in charge of managing this lot? It’s time to demonstrate some leadership.”
“This is leadership,” Ivo informed him. “I’m the one who led them in here.”
Pandora exchanged a laughing glance with Gabriel. “No one likes dry sponge cake,” she said in Ivo’s defense. “One may as well eat a sponge.”
“I’ll take them out in a minute,” Ivo promised. “But first I want to fetch Lord Trenear—he’ll want to see the carrot trick.” He dashed off before anyone could reply. The boy had taken a liking to Devon, whose straightforward masculine character and ready sense of humor appealed to him.