Chapter 11 — The Dinner Disaster
Amara had no intention of attending dinner.
This became a problem because Eleanor had every intention of making her attend.
“You need someone else,” Amara said.
“I want you.”
“Why?”
“Because I enjoy your company.”
“That is a suspicious reason.”
Eleanor smiled. “And because one of our guests speaks French. You speak French.”
“So does Alexander.”
“Alexander speaks French as though he is interrogating France.”
Amara laughed.
She liked Eleanor. That made refusing her considerably more difficult than refusing her son.
“What exactly am I supposed to do?”
“Sit beside me, eat dinner, and have a civilized conversation.”
“That sounds dangerous.”
“You have survived worse.”
Amara considered this.
“Will Alexander be there?”
“Of course.”
“Then civilized conversation cannot be guaranteed.”
Eleanor laughed. “Try.”
“I can promise effort. Not results.”
“That will have to do.”
The Whitmore dining room looked different when prepared for formal guests.
Candles reflected from silver and crystal. Flowers decorated the long table. Servants moved quietly between chairs while the family waited for several wealthy neighbors, a visiting merchant and his wife, and Colonel Henry Caldwell, an old military acquaintance of Alexander's.
Amara stopped at the entrance.
She had been given one of Catherine's dresses, altered quickly to fit her.
Dark blue silk fell elegantly over her figure. Her hair had been arranged simply, and the only jewelry she wore was a small necklace Eleanor had insisted she borrow.
For the first time since crossing the ocean, Amara looked somewhat like the woman she remembered.
Not entirely.
But enough to hurt.
She thought of royal dinners at home.
Her mother's jewels.
Her father's terrible habit of discussing politics while everyone else was trying to eat.
Her brothers teasing one another beneath the table.
For a moment she wanted to turn around.
Then Alexander entered the hall.
He stopped when he saw her.
Amara noticed.
“Is something wrong?”
“No.”
“You stopped walking.”
“I was thinking.”
“Standing completely still?”
“It happens.”
She studied him suspiciously.
Alexander was wearing formal military dress. The uniform emphasized broad shoulders and the disciplined posture that seemed impossible for him to abandon.
Amara smiled.
“What?”
“You look very official.”
“I am an officer.”
“I had forgotten. You mention it so rarely.”
He narrowed his eyes.
Then he looked at her again.
“You look beautiful.”
The words came without sarcasm.
Amara was briefly caught without a defense.
“Thank you.”
Alexander nodded.
Neither seemed to know what to say next.
Fortunately, Catherine appeared.
“Oh, good. You're not arguing.”
“We just arrived,” Amara said.
“Give us time,” Alexander added.
The dinner began well.
That should have worried everyone.
Amara sat beside Eleanor, with Alexander almost directly across from her.
For the first course she behaved perfectly.
For the second, almost perfectly.
Then Mr. Edwin Harcourt began talking.
Harcourt was a prosperous landowner in his fifties who possessed the unfortunate habit of treating every opinion he held as though it had been approved by God.
Amara disliked him within ten minutes.
She tried not to.
For Eleanor's sake.
Then Harcourt began discussing women.
“A household functions properly,” he announced, “when everyone understands his place.”
His wife continued eating without expression.
Catherine looked toward Amara.
Alexander noticed and immediately became concerned.
Harcourt continued. “Modern women are being encouraged toward entirely too much independence.”
Amara concentrated on her plate.
Do not speak.
She could hear her mother's voice.
For once in your life, Amara, allow someone else to be foolish without correcting him.
She tried.
Truly.
Then Harcourt said, “A woman is happiest when guided by a sensible man.”
Amara put down her fork.
Alexander closed his eyes.
Colonel Caldwell noticed.
“Something wrong, Whitmore?”
“No.”
Amara looked across the table.
“Mr. Harcourt?”
He smiled pleasantly. “Yes?”
“How do you determine whether the man is sensible?”
Silence.
Alexander opened his eyes.
Harcourt laughed. “I suppose his position demonstrates that.”
“His position?”
“His success. Property. Reputation.”
Amara nodded thoughtfully. “So a wealthy fool becomes intelligent automatically?”
Catherine coughed into her napkin.
Eleanor reached for her wine.
Alexander stared very seriously at his plate.
Harcourt's smile weakened.
“That is not what I said.”
“Good. Because that would be ridiculous.”
Alexander's shoulders moved.
Amara saw it.
He was trying not to laugh.
Harcourt continued, “My point is that men are naturally suited to leadership.”
“Every man?”
“Generally.”
“Interesting.”
Alexander knew that tone.
“Amara,” he said quietly.
She looked at him.
He gave her a warning expression.
Amara smiled sweetly.
Then she turned back to Harcourt.
“If men are naturally suited to leadership, why do armies spend so much time training officers?”
Colonel Caldwell laughed before he could stop himself.
Alexander looked at him.
“Sorry,” Caldwell said.
Harcourt's face reddened.
“This is a very unusual conversation for the dinner table.”
“You started it.”
Alexander reached for his wine.
That was safer than speaking.
The next course arrived.
For several minutes peace returned.
Then Harcourt made another mistake.
He asked Amara where she had learned French.
“At home.”
“Your family educated you?”
“Yes.”
“Unusual.”
“Not where I come from.”
“And where exactly is that?”
Amara paused.
Alexander watched carefully.
She still had not revealed her true identity, even to him.
“A long way from here.”
Harcourt laughed. “Clearly.”
His tone changed slightly.
Not enough for everyone to notice.
Amara noticed.
“So you were educated before coming here?”
“Yes.”
“And now you work for the Whitmores?”
Amara's hand tightened around her fork.
Eleanor answered before she could.
“Amara assists me.”
“How fortunate for her.”
Alexander looked up.
The table became quieter.
Harcourt seemed unaware.
“I imagine life here must be quite an improvement.”
Amara slowly placed her fork down.
Alexander knew immediately that disaster was approaching.
“An improvement over what?” she asked.
“Well... your previous circumstances.”
“What do you know about my previous circumstances?”
“Nothing personally. I only meant—”
“Then perhaps you shouldn't compare them.”
Harcourt looked offended.
Alexander intervened.
“Let's change the subject.”
Amara glanced at him.
For once, she agreed.
“Excellent idea.”
Caldwell began discussing horses.
That should have been safe.
It was not.
Harcourt owned horses.
Alexander owned horses.
Amara had opinions about horses.
Within minutes the conversation turned toward a stallion Harcourt intended to purchase.
“I've seen that animal,” Alexander said. “Strong horse.”
“Magnificent,” Harcourt replied.
Amara continued eating.
Alexander noticed.
He knew that silence.
“What?” he asked.
Amara looked innocent. “Nothing.”
“You disagree.”
“I said nothing.”
“You have a disagreement on your face.”
Harcourt frowned. “You know the horse?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
Amara looked at Eleanor.
Eleanor smiled.
That was permission.
“The horse is beautiful.”
Harcourt relaxed.
“And badly trained.”
Alexander looked down.
Harcourt stared at her.
“My trainer says otherwise.”
“Your trainer wants you to buy him.”
“He is an expert.”
“He is also wrong.”
“Amara,” Alexander warned.
She looked across the table.
“You asked.”
“I did not.”
“You asked with your face.”
Catherine lost control first.
She laughed.
Colonel Caldwell followed.
Then Eleanor.
Alexander held out longer than everyone else.
Approximately three seconds.
He began laughing too.
Amara pointed at him.
“You see?”
“I see nothing.”
“You agree with me.”
“I absolutely do not.”
“You're laughing.”
“At you.”
“With me.”
“Definitely at you.”
“Coward.”
That made him laugh harder.
Even Harcourt's wife was smiling now.
Harcourt was not.
The final disaster came with dessert.
A servant placed a delicate cream pastry in front of Amara.
She looked at it suspiciously.
Alexander noticed.
“What now?”
“What is this?”
“Dessert.”
“I can see that.”
“Then why did you ask?”
Amara recognized her own words and narrowed her eyes.
Alexander smiled.
She tasted the pastry.
Her expression changed.
“That's excellent.”
“Finally, something at this table meets your standards.”
“Barely.”
She took another bite.
At that moment Harcourt decided to restore his authority.
“Young lady, may I offer some advice?”
Alexander quietly said, “I wouldn't.”
Harcourt ignored him.
“You are obviously intelligent, but intelligence in a woman is most attractive when accompanied by modesty and obedience.”
Amara stopped chewing.
Catherine looked at Alexander.
Eleanor looked at the ceiling.
Caldwell whispered, “Oh, dear.”
Alexander leaned back.
There was nothing left to save.
Amara swallowed carefully.
“Mr. Harcourt, may I offer you some advice?”
His expression became cautious.
“You may.”
“Never tell a woman she would be more attractive if she spoke less.”
“Why?”
“Because eventually you may meet one who tells you exactly how much more attractive you would be if you did.”
Caldwell burst out laughing.
Catherine followed.
Harcourt's wife covered her mouth.
Even Eleanor surrendered.
Alexander tried.
He truly tried.
He looked at his plate.
He thought about military funerals.
He thought about tax reports.
He thought about rain.
Nothing worked.
He laughed.
Amara turned toward him triumphantly.
“You were supposed to help me behave.”
“I tried.”
“No, you didn't.”
“I gave you a warning look.”
“You enjoyed every second.”
Alexander could no longer deny it.
“Yes.”
The table erupted again.
Even Harcourt's wife finally laughed openly.
Her husband stared at everyone in disbelief.
After the guests departed, Alexander found Amara on the terrace.
The night was warm and quiet.
She leaned against the stone railing.
“You survived,” he said.
“Did I?”
“Barely.”
“Your Mr. Harcourt may not invite me to dinner again.”
“That is one possible benefit.”
Amara smiled.
Alexander stood beside her.
“You were supposed to behave.”
“I behaved beautifully.”
“You insulted a guest three times.”
“Only three?”
“At least.”
“He insulted me first.”
“I know.”
She turned toward him.
“And you laughed.”
“I tried not to.”
“You failed.”
“Yes.”
Amara smiled.
Alexander looked at her for a moment longer than necessary.
In the candlelight spilling from the house, she looked very different from the angry woman who had arrived in his courtyard.
Or perhaps she did not.
Perhaps he was simply seeing more of her now.
“You really do refuse to be intimidated by anyone.”
Amara's smile faded slightly.
“That's not true.”
Alexander waited.
“I get frightened.”
“I know.”
“I simply don't like frightened people making my decisions for me.”
He understood what she meant.
After everything that had happened to her, refusing to surrender even the smallest choice had become part of survival.
“I think I finally understand your obsession with saying no.”
“Obsession?”
“Commitment.”
“Better.”
They stood quietly.
Then Amara asked, “Was I really terrible?”
Alexander considered.
“Yes.”
She hit his arm.
He laughed.
“You asked.”
“I expected loyalty.”
“You insulted one of my family's oldest acquaintances.”
“He'll recover.”
“His pride may not.”
“That could be healthy.”
Alexander shook his head.
“Impossible.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because you keep proving it.”
Amara looked toward the garden.
“Your mother is going to be angry.”
“No.”
“How do you know?”
“She laughed harder than I did.”
Amara smiled.
Then Alexander added, “Harcourt's wife thanked my mother before leaving.”
“For dinner?”
“For inviting you.”
Amara turned.
“Why?”
“Apparently nobody has contradicted her husband at dinner in twenty-seven years.”
Amara stared at him.
Then she began laughing.
Alexander joined her.
Their laughter drifted across the dark garden.
Inside the house, Catherine heard them from the hallway and smiled.
The dinner had been a disaster.
The guests would talk about it for weeks.
The servants would probably talk about it for years.
And Alexander, who had spent most of his adult life believing that order was the foundation of civilization, was beginning to discover something deeply inconvenient.
Chaos could be remarkably beautiful when Amara was responsible for it.