12 Dinner For Two #2
Except that she was not free, not yet. The butterfly was still trapped in its cocoon, and she had no idea how to escape.
Perhaps the bonds of her upbringing wound about her too tightly for her to release herself, yet she wanted to.
Lord, how she wanted to! She ached to be free of all constraints, to do what she wanted without the suffocating fog of conscience, just as a man would. As the duke and his brother had done.
There was one step she could take, however, without fearing the deluge of disapprobation. On Thursday morning, therefore, when all her children were gathered in the breakfast parlour, she set down her teacup and spoke calmly.
“I shall be dining out this evening, Charlotte.”
“Not the Templetons, surely? Not so soon… oh! Not Lady Waterhouse! She has been trying to ensnare one of us forever. What time will you need the carriage?”
“Not either of those, and no carriage. I shall be dining with Mr Garford at the charcoal burner’s hut.”
To say that this announcement caused consternation would be to understate the case. Charlotte shrieked in outrage, her sisters cried, “Oh, Mama!” almost in unison, and Richard snapped his newspaper shut.
“Alone?” he said coldly.
“I hardly think his facilities would stretch to dinner for twelve,” she said equably, rather amused by the hubbub. “Yes, of course alone. I am somewhat beyond the age of needing a chaperon, dear.”
“I suppose if I forbid this, you will go anyway,” he said ungraciously.
“Naturally,” she said, pouring herself another cup of tea. “At the advanced age of two and fifty, I believe I have the right to choose my friends for myself, and you have no power to forbid me from any activity, Richard.”
He glowered at her, then said more temperately, “At what hour do you dine?”
“At five.”
“Very well. I shall escort you there at twenty minutes before five.”
Cora burst out laughing. “Escort me? For the ten minute walk through Staineybank grounds? What on earth do imagine might befall me on such a journey? Attacked by Romanies, perhaps? Caught by the press-gang? Taken by slavers?”
“Twenty minutes before five,” he said.
Still laughing, she shook her head at him. “Very well, if you insist.”
She was ready well before the appointed hour, but she waited quietly in the Marble Hall for Richard to appear. It was so tempting to set off on her own, but there was nothing to be gained by antagonising him.
He was late, descending the stairs in a great rush, aware that he would now be late for his own dinner.
They made their way in silence through the house, across the new bridge to the orangery and thence to the woods.
Cora would have liked to linger over the walk, to notice the changes the warmer weather had brought, to listen to the birds twittering and perhaps see the traces of badger or fox, but Richard strode ahead of her and she had to scurry to keep up.
The hut looked cosy and welcoming in the evening light, her cheerful curtains at the windows and a thread of smoke rising from the chimney. The door stood open, and Richard marched inside, Cora, eager now, at his heels.
Cal was bent over the fire, stirring a pot. He looked up, his glance flicking from one to the other. “Ah… are you joining us, Mr Merrington?”
“I have brought your guest,” Richard said, his eye travelling around the room, taking in all the changes. “At what hour shall I collect her?”
“There is really no need—” Cora began, but Richard went on unheeding.
“Ten o’clock? Would that suit?”
Cora sighed. “As you please, Richard.”
Cal nodded solemnly. “That would give us plenty of time for the meal and a game of cribbage afterwards. We’re outside tonight.”
He ushered them out and round to the western side of the hut, where the bench had been joined by a table, already laid with plates, cutlery, glasses and a bottle of wine. Lanterns on hooks lit the scene.
“How lovely!” Cora said. “We shall be able to watch the sun set while we eat.”
“That’s the idea. I forgot a tablecloth, though. I’ll have to get one before the next time.”
“The next time?” Richard said suspiciously.
“The next time I entertain a guest,” Cal said blandly.
Richard huffed a little, but he could not delay his own departure for long. Cora settled on the bench with a sigh of satisfaction.
“Where did this table come from? It is new, I think.”
“I made it,” he said as he poured her a glass of wine. “It needs proper legs, these ones are just makeshift, but I haven’t got my lathe yet. He’s protective, your son.”
“He does not trust me,” she said, laughing.
“It’s me he doesn’t trust,” Cal said, his eyes twinkling. He lowered his voice dramatically. “He thinks I’m going to ravish you.”
“Are you?” she said conversationally.
“Not tonight,” he said in the same easy tone.
“Ben Lovell brought me some ducklings and plovers’ eggs, and I should hate them to spoil.
Oh, and a very promising piece of lamb. I’m looking forward to that.
But there’s no soup. I didn’t have time to make any, so I hope you won’t mind.
Enjoy the view. I’ll be out in a minute with the food, whatever’s ready. ”
It was strange that Cora had sat through any number of elaborate dinners, the table groaning with food, a testament to the artistry of the cook.
Delicate sauces, fanciful raised pies, exotic creations in spun sugar or carved ice, a thousand different flavours exploding on the tongue.
Such excess was expected when entertaining guests, even in her modest corner of the world, and she had relished such occasions.
None of it compared to the simple meal Cal had created for her.
Or perhaps it was just his company that made it so unforgettable. His work-worn hands carving the meat and serving her from every dish, his eyes glowing in the reflected lamplight and his smile… oh, his smile that still made her stomach turn over alarmingly every single time.
She loved him so much she could scarcely breathe.
From time to time she wondered if Richard was at a window somewhere, a telescope to his eye, watching her, for if she could see the house so clearly, even in the fading light, then certainly he would be able to see the hut.
But she had no wish to think about Richard. She wanted to know more about Cal, but she found him unwilling to talk about himself. Once she asked about his childhood, but he was evasive.
“It was such a long time ago,” he said. “A lot of water has flowed under the bridge since then. Do you remember your childhood?”
“Some of it, but it is far away… faded, somehow. There are a few memories that are vivid in my mind, like the time the farmer’s youngest was run down by a carriage not far from Leahollow’s gates.
His broken body was brought to the house, and I saw it before someone bundled me away.
So much blood, poor boy! I remember being dressed up with my sisters in matching dresses when a duchess was coming to call.
I remember the first time I played ‘Voi che sapete’ perfectly.
I have never been an especially competent performer on the instrument, but I do enjoy playing.
” She sighed. “I do not practise as much as I should.”
“There is no ‘should’,” he murmured. “If you enjoy playing, then play. If not, then don’t.”
“But if I stop practising, I shall lose what trifling proficiency I have achieved. Tomorrow… tomorrow I shall practise for an hour.”
Richard’s voice startled her. “Still sitting outside? You will catch a chill if you are not careful, Mother.”
“I have my cloak, dear, and Mr Garford has provided blankets in case the least hint of cold air should assault my person. Goodness, is it ten already? We were so engrossed in our conversation that we never thought of cribbage at all.”
“Will you take a glass of wine before you steal my guest away, Mr Merrington?” Cal said.
“Thank you, but no. I have drunk enough of the duke’s wine already tonight. Yours is from the Staineybank cellar, I take it?”
“From the vintner in Brinchester,” Cal said, “although not of comparable quality to the duke’s wine, I am sure.”
As they walked back to the house, Richard holding the lantern high to guide their steps, he said, “What did you talk about that was so engrossing?”
“I can hardly tell you,” she said. “This and that… childhood… music… all manner of things.”
“You are of a similar age, so I suppose you have much in common, despite the difference in rank,” Richard said, in what he probably thought was a mollifying tone.
“Oh yes! And the rank… I hardly notice any great disparity, apart from the accent. He reads Latin and Greek, you know.”
Richard shrugged. “No doubt the local parson took an interest in him. He is not unintelligent, after all.”
Cora had no reply to that. She had never doubted Cal’s intelligence for a moment, and if Richard could ever look past his own prejudices, he would see it too.
In the gallery on the bridge, Cora paused at the wide window to look back down the lake. The hut was clearly visible in the darkness, its two lanterns still beaming out into the night.
“Mother?”
She turned to face him. “Thank you for your escort tonight, Richard, but let me make something very plain to you. I am a grown woman and not your responsibility. If I want your help, I will ask for it, but otherwise you will leave me alone to live my life as pleases me and enjoy such friendships as seem good to me. You will never, ever follow me around like this again, do you understand? Because if you try to hedge me about and restrict my freedom, then I shall be forced to leave Staineybank, and I should not wish to do that. Is that clear?”
“Perfectly,” he said in clipped tones. “Shall we go? Rowena will be wondering what has become of me.”