Chapter 19 - Stephen
The dinner guests arrived in a rush all together at five o’clock sharp in the gravel driveway of Devon Manor.
Perhaps their haste was due to the knowledge that they only had a few hours to spend together—Stephen had seen the gleam of crazy in the marquess’s eye.
He didn’t doubt that the man would quite literally put his polished boot to a guest’s backside if they dared stay too long and disturb his wife.
“Vera, darling,” Candace, the Duchess of Canterbury said, rushing forward and kissing both of her cheeks. “You look radiant as always. That dress is simply lovely on you.”
“How could it not be, when you were the one who picked it out?”
“Shh,” she said, glancing around to make sure no one else had heard.
She seemed satisfied that only Stephen was close enough, and he pretended to be engrossed in the other greetings taking place.
“You must learn how to take a compliment for yourself, instead of perpetually trying to dodge them or fling them back on the giver.”
Vera chuckled and Stephen smiled reflexively. Good heavens, he was no better than a marionette—there was an invisible string connecting Vera’s laugh to the corners of his own mouth.
He hastily greeted their host to distract himself. “Good evening, Lord Salisbury.”
“Please, everyone here must call me Percy. Certainly we are close enough for that if my lovely wife insists you come to our house in her condition.”
“Her condition seems to be happiness and beauty,” Candace chided, embracing her sister-by-law.
“Pretty sure it was her beauty that helped get her into the condition,” Percy murmured.
Thankfully, only the gentlemen were close enough to hear him.
Canterbury raised an eyebrow in dry humor. “I hardly think jokes of that nature are appropriate, considering our relation to one another.”
“Why on earth not?” Percy frowned.
“Don’t host a party if you don’t want others to attend, is all.” He nodded at his wife, Percy’s sister.
Percy’s face screwed up into blatant disgust. “Really, Canterbury. You say the most shocking things.”
“I do?”
“Besides,” Percy continued. “This entire party is one where I would have preferred if all of the guests had sent their regrets. I believe I specifically suggested you all do so, in fact.”
“Apologies,” Stephen said, even as his eye traced Vera’s progress across the room. “Mother wouldn’t hear of it.”
“And I must blame my wife.” Canterbury nodded.
“Bunch of cowards,” Percy groused. “Not even willing to stand up to the females in your family.”
“Percy?” Adelaide called from the other room.
“Coming, darling!” He rushed in the direction of her voice, leaving his male guests to chuckle in the hallway.
“Good evening, Hamish.” Stephen offered his hand.
Hamish grinned and took it. “Lord Winthrop. You’re looking much different since the last time I saw you.”
Stephen rubbed his chin. “Perhaps I’m a coward as our host suggests—Mother hounded me for weeks.”
“She said you’d shave it when you were ready, and I guess you finally were.”
Stephen didn’t quite appreciate the tone Hamish used—it reminded him too much of Mr. Douglas—nor did he appreciate the fact that Hamish looked at Vera as he said the words. Canterbury half choked, half coughed, and Stephen frowned.
Percy appeared in the archway, his hands upon his hips. “Well? Are you gentlemen coming?”
The guest of honor, Miss Warrington, was one of the marchioness’s sisters. Introductions were made all around. She was pleasant enough; Stephen paid attention long enough to note that she was blonde, of average height, wore a purple dress, and was decidedly not Vera.
That was how Stephen was starting to look at all ladies these days. His interest was like one of those decision trees he’d made as study aids in his medical education.
Was the woman Vera? Yes? Interested. No? Only interested enough to fulfill societal duties.
Still, as he was seated next to Miss Warrington, he was obliged to speak with her a little. At least Vera was directly on his other side, so he could split his attention to her. Lately, he’d become singularly charmed with her laugh—or more precisely, interested in what made her laugh.
Stephen had noticed that she rarely laughed at the expense of others.
Even the teasing little jokes that the marquess and marchioness lobbed back and forth with love in their eyes—Vera only smiled or grinned.
She preferred a clever, dry wit, which he was glad of, as he thought he possessed just such a sense of humor.
“Miss Warrington,” Stephen began, once the first course was served—it was a single round bite. He blinked at it and prayed the serving size wasn’t indicative of the courses yet to come. “How are you finding the countryside?”
“It’s lovely, although I confess I’ve yet to see much of it. Devon Manor is situated so charmingly, and the company within so pleasant that I haven’t stirred once since I arrived days ago.”
“I’m sure that your sister and your brother-by-law are delighted to have you visit.”
On his other side, Vera was saying something to the Duchess of Canterbury—something about a luncheon Candace was planning.
Stephen mustered the energy to say to Miss Warrington, “My mother tells me that your brother-by-law has performed quite the renovation on Devon Manor the past year or so, and that the Duchess of Canterbury worked on the gardens while she was here.”
There. That should be enough to keep Miss Warrington talking long enough for him to eat…
well, whatever this was on his plate. He’d given the lady two topics to address.
He stabbed the bite with his fork, popped it into his mouth.
Delicious. He blinked and stared at his plate.
He’d like an entire platter of…that. Whatever it was.
He suddenly wished he’d paid more attention to what he’d just eaten.
“…she even went so far as to invite the townspeople for a picnic to allow them to see it. Have you had the chance to see it yet?”
Stephen hadn’t the faintest idea what Miss Warrington was on about. He’d been trying to decide if the flavor still lingering upon his taste buds had been lamb or a very fine roast beef. Or was it possibly venison?
Still, he saw Vera’s head inclined toward them and decided she might be able to help him limp through the conversation.
“Er…I haven’t,” Stephen said, then turned to Vera. “Have you had the opportunity to see it?”
“Pardon.” Vera blinked. “I’m not certain of what we’re speaking.”
She looked at him expectantly, but Stephen shook his head. “Miss Warrington will describe it far better than I ever could.”
“The garden folly.” Miss Warrington leaned past Stephen to smile at Vera. “Though you were staying here with Candace at the time, so I’m sure you saw much more of it than I have.”
Vera nodded, her eyes bright. “It’s lovely, isn’t it? So strange that a sculptor of that skill would have consented to carving statues situated all the way out there.”
Had the topping been pickled onions? Stephen surreptitiously sucked his teeth. And there was definitely horseradish in the mix.
“…you should ride out and view it.” Miss Warrington’s eyes were upon him once more, and Stephen tried to pay better attention.
With those waving doo-dads atop her head, Miss Warrington reminded him strongly of the monal, a small, pheasant-like bird native to India. It had a sprout of feathers growing out of its head that bobbed when it walked, just like that. Stephen found it very distracting.
“Thank you. I might just do that.” He turned to Vera. “Would you like to come with me?”
“Ah, but she’s already seen it so many times,” Miss Warrington interjected smoothly. “I’m happy to accompany you, if you’d appreciate someone to show you the way. I’ll be sure to wait to see it again until you can join me—to better replicate your own experience of seeing it for the first time.”
There had been pickled onions atop the dish, but that wasn’t all. There had also been an earthy sweetness in the dish.
Beets! It was absolutely beets!
“A very kind offer.” Stephen nodded and smiled, thrilled with his discovery.
Who knew that beets could lend such a depth of flavor to a meat dish?
It was a revelation, of sorts. Stephen listed the ingredients to the dish as if it were a tonic that could cure all disease.
Lamb, roasted beef, or venison. Horseradish cream sauce.
Pickled onions, roasted beets, atop a small toasted square of bread.
But it would be much better if Mrs. Portence could just make him a sandwich with those ingredients. Consuming the thing one bite at a time was unnecessarily fussy.
Stephen turned to Vera, intent on asking her if she liked roasted beets, and noticed a little frown upon her lovely lips. Thankfully, Miss Warrington’s attention had been claimed by the Duke of Canterbury, who sat on her other side.
“Did you not like that, then?” he leaned toward Vera and murmured.
She jerked, her eyes wide. “Pardon?”
“I’m very intrigued, myself.”
“Are you?” She seemed disturbed by the idea.
“Indeed. I’m going to sample that delicacy again, as soon as possible.”
“That’s quite an ungentlemanly sentiment,” she spluttered.
“On the contrary.” He frowned. “It’s how things are done among gentlemen.
Once you try something you like—even in someone else’s dining room—there’s no need to wait to have it again.
I was thinking of doing so as soon as tomorrow, but if you don’t like it, I can wait for a day where you’re otherwise occupied. ”
“It hardly concerns me,” she stammered, leaning away from him.
Had the pickled onions turned his breath sour?
Stephen mimicked her, leaning back to not blow foul air into her beautiful face. “Very well. Perhaps Benjamin will join me.”
“You’re going to introduce Benjamin so soon?”
Stephen frowned. “You act as if there’s some sort of waiting period with these things, but unless societal rules have markedly changed in my absence, I don’t see any point in waiting. Once I’ve decided I like something, I aim to figure out if I want to add it to my regular rotation.”
“Your rotation?” Vera’s mouth dropped open; color rose in her cheeks.
Stephen’s forehead creased. “Every lord of a manor has his preferences. It shouldn’t be a shocking assertion in the least.”
“What about commitment? What about love?”
Stephen frowned and eyed her wineglass, wondering how many glasses she’d had. He knew she felt things keenly, but this was a bit much. “Those are strong words to use for—”
“I think they’re appropriate words,” she snapped.
“Why on earth does this bother you? I assure you—Mrs. Portence doesn’t mind—”
“Mrs. Portence?” Vera hissed, her eyebrows flying upward. “Mrs. Portence?”
“Vera, calm down. Just because I like something, doesn’t mean I expect you to partake. Everyone likes different things. Everyone likes variety—”
He was cut off when he was forced to lean back to let a footman place a bowl of soup before him. Stephen was momentarily distracted by the relief he felt when he saw it was a normal-sized portion.
Vera whispered, “Temperance and steadfastness are important characteristics in a man.”
“You certainly don’t have to join me,” he replied, flummoxed. “Though I think if you just tried it—”
“Certainly not!”
Stephen doubted Vera could have looked any more shocked if he’d suggested she wore a bedpan as a hat. He was stunned dumb by the anger flashing in her eyes.
She leaned forward and bared her teeth, hissing, “This conversation is over. I don’t want to hear anything further on the subject. Frankly, you’ve disgusted me.”
Dear heavens, the lady must be drunk.
Stephen had known some gentlemen of this sort in his youth—the kind who had a drink too many and became enraged at the world for no reason—but he hadn’t thought Vera the type.
He quickly ran through the recipe for a tonic to ease the effects of overindulgence—one that had been very popular during his college years at Eton.
“I think you’ll feel much better about things in the morning,” he finally said.
Stephen was embarrassed for her, but part of adulthood was knowing how much one could imbibe before turning into a blathering imbecile. He’d had to learn that lesson himself, more than once.
“I doubt my opinion on the matter will ever materially change.”
“We’ll just wait and see.”