Chapter 7 Savi #2
“Leek and potato soup.” A smile crept over his face.
“Or if you’re in the mood for something more substantial…
” He walked over to the next serving dish, uncovering an artfully displayed joint of beef, the slices fanning out across the dish.
Golden potatoes surrounded it on all sides, their dark edges so crisp that sections were beginning to flake off.
“Here we have chateaubriand with roast potatoes.”
Her stomach plummeted to the green-and-gold Axminster rug beneath her feet. “It smells very nice,” she acceded, her lips pressed together at the sight of the beef. “Did, um, did Raj not mention anything about meat?” Cows, in particular.
Alex’s confused glance confirmed that he hadn’t. “No. What about it?”
At that very moment, Savi wanted to strangle her father even more than usual. “I don’t eat meat,” she admitted.
He shut the lid on the chateaubriand. “I see. Does meat not agree with you?”
For a moment, she deliberated taking the coward’s way out, but she wasn’t going to be ashamed of a part of herself.
“It’s not that. I simply don’t believe in eating the flesh of animals.
Although I’m far from a devout Hindu, there are certain aspects of the religion I follow—and this is one of them. ”
Some Hindus—like her father—chose to eat meat, but Hinduism wasn’t a religion of absolutes. It allowed a person the freedom to choose rather than being commanded.
For Savi, non-violence to animals was one of the central tenets of who she was. And to nearly all people as well, depending on whether her theory about the sanatorium was correct.
“In that case, if you write down a list of what kind of dishes you’d usually eat, I’ll send them down to the kitchen to ensure they’re added into the rotation. Will the leek and potato soup be sufficient for today, or would you like me to organise something else for you?”
Relief flooded through her system, cooling the apprehension within. “The soup will be perfect,” she told him. “Some bread wouldn’t go amiss either.”
“Noted.” Alex inclined his head at the large circular table behind them, hidden beneath a white tablecloth embroidered in floral patterns. “You go and sit down. I’ll bring your food.”
Savi had never been around a man who was so gentlemanly before. He was, of course, a genuine member of the nobility; no doubt it had been drilled into him from a young age.
But it wasn’t just his behaviour that took her by surprise—it was her reaction to it.
It made her ache with the beginnings of affection, winding through her with every gentlemanly act.
And yet the more relentlessly honourable he became, the more she wanted to see him unleashed. Were there ever occasions when this gentleman allowed himself to descend into depravity?
With her head firmly mired in thoughts of filth, Savi took a seat at one of the three places that had been set out. “Will Lily be joining us?”
“No,” Alex responded, placing a bowl almost overflowing with soup in front of her, quickly followed by an equally large serving of bread. “She stayed in the Dower House last night. There’s butter under here.” He tapped an engraved butter dish with the edge of his short nail, producing a small ping.
“Thank you,” she went to say, but the words fizzled out as she finally looked at the opposite wall.
The Monarch of the Glen stared back.
It was a painting she’d only ever seen photographs of, but even those had captured her adoration. To see it in colour—in person—was a privilege she never imagined she’d receive.
Against the misty backdrop of the Scottish Highlands stood a proud stag, his head held high as he surveyed his kingdom.
Clouds gathered behind him, half-concealing the mountains over which he reigned.
There was a quality to the painting that was almost dreamlike, and yet the stag was so perfectly portrayed that Savi felt like there was every chance he was about to step out of the painting—a bridge between this world and the next.
A large, gentle hand touched her shoulder. “Savi?”
It was then that Savi realised her eyes were wet. She swiped a serviette off the table to dry them. “You—you own this painting?”
“Of course. We own all of the paintings on display.”
There was a wry curl to her lip as she patted away a rogue tear. “Do you know what it’s called?”
Alex squinted for a long moment before accepting defeat with a shake of his head.
“It’s Monarch of the Glen by Edwin Landseer,” she told him gently, getting to her feet.
“The painting I love most in all the world.” She couldn’t be angry with him; she’d worked with hundreds of Egyptian, Anglo-Saxon, and Greek artefacts at the Ashmolean, artefacts that some people would kill for the chance to see.
To her, though, that was all they were—artefacts.
They were interesting, but no more than that.
“There was a Landseer exhibition in Oxford whilst I was a student. I saw a photograph of the Monarch of the Glen there, and something about it spoke to my very soul.” She surreptitiously wiped away another tear spilling over her cheek. “I never thought I’d get the chance to see it in person.”
There was some indefinable, almost ethereal quality to some of Landseer’s work, but the Monarch was in a league of his own.
“Was it everything you hoped it would be?” Alex shadowed her as she walked around the table for an uninterrupted view.
“Yes,” she said simply, savouring every moment as though it would be her last. “He’s beautiful.”
“My father was particularly fond of this one—hence why it’s in the dining room. If he purchased one of Landseer’s paintings, it’s likely he purchased others. After luncheon, I’d be happy to give you a tour of the castle. We may find more of Landseer’s work.”
For the first time in her life, Savi felt the urge to swoon. Or perhaps she was just light-headed from hunger. “A tour would be wonderful.”
“Including the North Wing?”
Where all the guests were? Savi bit her bottom lip. “Perhaps we avoid that one until they’re all gone.”
Her husband’s smirk was deliciously rakish. “I couldn’t agree more.”