Chapter 12
In Which Dinner Is Served; Mock Turtle Soup, Collywobbles, and Fish Forks and Knives Are Discussed; And the Merits of Dancing and Singing Are Weighed …
The towering walnut longcase clock in Kinsale House’s grand entry hall was striking the hour of eight o’clock in doleful, ponderous tones when two footmen, at Smedley’s signal, threw open the double doors to the opulent dining room and Mina was ushered inside.
Lord Kinsale was already waiting for her.
He stood by the fireplace, staring into the bright leaping flames, one long, patent-leather-clad foot resting upon the edge of the tiled hearth, one strong arm braced against the green-veined marble mantelpiece.
As soon as she was announced by Smedley, the marquess looked up and smiled so widely, with such genuine pleasure, Mina was tempted to glance behind her to see if his delighted expression was for someone else.
But it wasn’t. It seemed Lord Kinsale was inordinately pleased to see his new ward’s governess because as she sank into a curtsy, he greeted her with a warm, “Good evenin’, Miss Dav-Davenport. You look w-w-well.”
Smedley gave a small snort and Mina sent him a narrow-eyed look.
A warning look. A “that’s enough from you” glance that she’d perfected during her Parasol Academy training.
In fact, it was facial expression Number 32 in Chapter 10 of the Parasol Academy Handbook entitled “Effective Aspects, Airs, and Stares to Employ in the Line of Duty.”
It essentially applied to the management of unruly children and adolescents, but Mina rather thought it also worked well when it came to managing disagreeable adults. Particularly officious butlers.
She wasn’t wrong as Smedley looked away first.
Mina returned her attention to her employer.
“Thank you, my lord,” she said brightly.
Of course, the marquess was simply being polite when he’d remarked she looked “well” because she was attired in her regulation Parasol Academy uniform of navy blue with its plain black trim.
Her hair was perfectly parted and coiled into her customary bun at the back of her head.
Indeed, she looked like she usually did.
Neat. Professional. Very governess-y and not at all rosy cheeked and giddily girlish and heart fluttery (which is how she felt inside).
“I hope … I hope I haven’t kept you waiting,” she added, not at all breathlessly (well, maybe just a little).
Lord Kinsale straightened. “Not-not at all, Miss Dav-Davenport.” His gaze shifted to the butler.
“You may leave us, Smed-Smedley.” He gestured at the two pairs of attendant footmen, stationed at various intervals around the vast mahogany dining table—a table that was long enough to seat at least sixteen people but was set for only two at the end nearest the fireplace.
“You m-m-may all leave us as w-w-well, gentlemen.”
Smedley arched a thin black brow. “What of dinner, my lord? I presume you still wish to dine. Who will serve you and Miss Davenport if you’ve dismissed the footmen?”
The marquess crossed his impressively muscled arms over his equally impressive wide chest and leveled a hard look at the butler.
“I think it’s ra-rather obvious. When each course …
when each course is ready,” he said gruffly, “the f-f-footmen may bring the dishes in and ser-serve us. Just kn-knock. It’s n-n-not that hard. ”
“And the wine?” persisted the butler, his tone bordering on insolent. At least Mina thought so. “Who will serve that when your glasses need refilling during the dinner?”
Lord Kinsale emitted a low growl, a sound of frustration. “I think I’ll manage to p-p-pour it. Even if me m-m-mouth doesn’t always work, I have fu-fu-functionin’ hands and arms and legs, you know.”
Smedley bowed but he didn’t look the least bit chastened. “Of course, my lord,” he said, his dark eyes gleaming. “You can always ring if you need any assistance.”
“I’ll expect the f-f-first course in ten minutes.”
“Yes, my lord.”
As soon as the dining room doors shut firmly behind the odious butler and the four footmen, Lord Kinsale turned to Mina. “I’m-I’m sorry you had to wit-witness that. Smedley is very s-s-set in his w-w-ways. I understand me pre-predecessor liked things just so.”
While Mina’s heart cramped in sympathy, she couldn’t quite extinguish the hot flare of righteous indignation in her blood. “Smedley needs to learn his place. Mrs. Aldershot too. Their blatant disrespect for you, their master … is-is not to be borne.”
The corner of Lord Kinsale’s wide mouth quirked into a wry smile.
“I’m afraid it’s not all that un-unusual around here.
I’d dismiss both of them, but I’m n-n-not sure I would find anyone b-b-better.
It’s this feck—” He broke off and a flush rushed into his cheeks.
“My-my apol-apologies for bein’ so crude, Miss Dav-Davenport.
It’s me blasted stam-stammer and Irish brogue that m-m-marks me as different.
A m-m-man who doesn’t deserve the ti-title that a quirk of fate has be-bestowed on him.
M-m-most folk no doubt consider me to be a sim-sim-simpleton. A m-m-misfit.”
“Oh, my lord. Surely n—”
But the marquess held up a hand, halting Mina’s denial.
“While I appreciate that you’re more than willin’ to rush to me defense, Miss Dav-Davenport, we b-b-both know it’s the truth.
I’ve lived with this stam-stammer for as long as I c-c-can remember.
To be sure, there c-c-can be worse afflictions in life.
B-b-but there are some days when I just wish me m-m-mouth would work without ty-ty-tyin’ itself in knots. ”
Mina inclined her head. “I understand, my lord.” It wasn’t fair of her to deny the truth of Lord Kinsale’s situation.
That people, by and large, were judgmental and viewed him in a negative light because of the way he spoke.
Because he wasn’t au fait with the ways of the upper class.
He’d hired her to help him with all these things.
And she would. To the best of her ability.
“How … how would you like to begin?” she asked, gesturing at the table. “Both Tom and Christopher have gone to bed without any fuss, so I’m at your complete disposal for as long as you need.” And then she blushed.
Oh dear. Had she really just said that? It made it sound as though she would do virtually anything at all … even things that were of a licentious nature.
Perhaps Lord Kinsale thought so too because he smiled the sort of roguish smile that made Mina’s blush deepen into the scorching-hot range.
“I’m glad the lads are settled in,” he said, drawing closer to the dining table.
“Brutus, in case you were wonderin’, has been ban-banished to the terrace for a few hours.
To reflect on his wicked be-behavior. Though to answer your f-f-first question—how would I like to begin—I’ll be placin’ meself in your very ca-capable hands, Miss Dav-Davenport.
I’m ha—I’m happy to go along with anythin’ you suggest.”
“Ah … should we focus on dinner table etiquette first, my lord?” asked Mina.
Hoping the gaslights were low enough that her red countenance wouldn’t be noticed, she approached the closest place setting; there would be a soup course, an entrée, a main course, then dessert.
“Then afterwards, we could address your concerns about your speech and ways that I might be able to assist you in that area.” Yes, focus on the practical.
The work you need to do. Not how handsome Lord Kinsale looks in his evening finery.
“A cap-capital idea.” The marquess moved to Mina’s side of the table and pulled out her chair. “I know one of me footmen w-w-would normally do the hon-honors, but allow me.”
“Thank you.” Mina sedately sank onto the plushly upholstered seat. As she slid her palms over her skirts to smooth them, Lord Kinsale crossed to the mahogany sideboard and retrieved two cut-crystal decanters—one filled with red wine, the other with white.
“Would-would you like a glass of somethin’, Miss Dav-Davenport?” he asked with a grin.
“Oh … I …” Mina didn’t know what to say.
She was not one to imbibe alcohol. Apart from having a sherry at her father’s wake, and indulging in a glass of champagne at dear Emmeline’s wedding to her duke, she’d never tried anything else.
Of course, she knew of wine—what one served with certain courses at a dinner party had been covered during her Parasol Academy training.
But she was technically working this evening and needed a clear head, so abstaining altogether would be wiser.
“I think it might be best if I just had water, my lord,” she said at last. “But considering the fact the first course—mock turtle soup—will be served shortly, I dare say a glass of Madeira would be a suitable accompaniment.” Mina had checked with the marquess’s cook what was on the menu when she’d organized an evening meal for the boys.
“Ah,” said Lord Kinsale. “I c-c-can’t say I’ve ever had mock turtle soup be-before, but if Ma-Madeira is the thing to have with it, wh-who am I to say no?”
Once the marquess had poured their respective drinks—Madeira for himself and water for Mina—he claimed the dining chair opposite hers.
“I su-suppose I could have asked a f-f-footman or two to stay,” he said as he regarded her over the sea of white linen furnished with gleaming silverware, sparkling crystal glassware, and gilt-edged china, “but to be honest, so many ser-servants hoverin’ about, watchin’ and listenin’, gives me the colly-collywobbles and I … I cannot eat.”
Mina nodded in sympathy. “I could not blame you, my lord. Being observed, feeling that one is being judged, would be most off-putting. But”—she offered Lord Kinsale a smile—“I will do my very best to help you master the skills you wish to acquire so you might feel comfortable in any situation.”