“You are welcome to read whatever you please here,” he told her, more forcefully than he had intended. “I shall not censor you. As long as it is nothing French.”
Dismay crossed her beautiful face, the light in her eyes dimming. “But I adore so many French stories.” She paused. “And youspoketo me in French. You recited Perrault to me.”
It appeared that she was aligned with Caroline and Rebecca when it came to his sense of humor, missing his jokes entirely.
“Oh!” she gasped, that glorious light returning brighter than before. “You were jesting with me! Oh, goodness—I was prepared to be devastated just then.”
“It was no jest,” he replied, trying to claw back some coldness. “What I meant was, nothingFrench. I trust you understand my meaning.”
It pained him to see that inner glow dim again, though it did not fade as much as before. Rather, it was replaced with rapid blinking, her gaze determined to look anywhere and everywhere but at him. Evidently, shedidunderstand his meaning.
“Of course not,” she choked. “I would never read such things. But what of you, Lionel? We have spoken quite enough about me. What leisurely pursuits do you enjoy?”
Lionel was saved from answering by the interruption of the servants, coming to take away the soup bowls and set down the next course: a delicious piece of cod in a parsley sauce, decorated with fresh parsley from the kitchen garden and delicate slices of lemon.
The servants disappeared again, and for a few quiet minutes, it seemed like the distraction had worked. He observed her as she cut into the flaky fish and popped it delicately into her mouth, a smile tugging at his lips as she closed her eyes, a look of utter contentment falling across her face. She seemed so at ease, enjoying the food, comfortable enough in his company to show it.
When her eyes opened again, he hid his mouth behind his napkin and hoped she had not caught sight of his smile. But when he went to put the napkin back on his lap, the tail of it must have snagged on the stem of the wine glass. It rocked precariously, and he grabbed it with his free hand, one drop leaping out and staining the white tablecloth.
Still, it could have been much worse.
“The fish is delicious,” Amelia said softly.
Flustered, he nodded. “Yes, quite delicious.”
“Now, what were you saying?”
“Hmm?”
“Tell me about yourself,” she urged. “What do you enjoy?”
He sniffed, gathering himself. “I do not have much time for leisurely pursuits.”
“Not at all?” She seemed horrified.
“If I have a spare moment, I walk. That is about the length and breadth of my enjoyments.” He did not care if he sounded boring. Indeed, it was better if he did.
She smiled brightly. “Walking is a fine pursuit, and you have such exquisite grounds and gardens in which to walk. I can entirely understand why that would be your sole enjoyment.” She hesitated. “Please, might you tell me of your sister and your grandmother. What are they like?”
Thatwas a topic of conversation that he did not mind speaking about. A safe subject, for it was highly likely that she would end up knowing the two of them far better than she would ever know him. And that was as it should be.
“My grandmother is the best woman I know,” he said without hesitation. “She is as fierce as she is kind; she is unusual and bold and hilarious—or, she thinks she is—and I am certain you will take to one another well. My sister is so very like mygrandmother, and there is nothing that I would not do for her. She is remarkable.”
A peculiar look crept into Amelia’s expression. “Then, if I may be so bold, why were they not at the wedding? I know you said your grandmother had a cold, and your sister was tending to her, but… I have my doubts. From what I have heard from the staff, your grandmother would attend your wedding even if she had just been knocked down by a carriage. Yet, she was not there.”
Lionel froze, his stomach sinking. He should have known that she would ask the staff questions about the family, but he had not thought that his small fib would be uncovered so swiftly. What worried him more, however, was what else the staff might have said to her, about the members of the Barnet family who were no longer living.
“My grandmotherdidhave a cold, that was not untrue,” he replied brusquely, “but I also informed them that there was no need for them to attend. It was a business arrangement. There was no reason for my family to be there and, if they had, they would have been sorely disappointed by the empty church. Their absence was better for everyone.”
He still was not telling the entire truth, but he did not know how to explain to Amelia that Rebecca had notwantedto come. Moreover, that she could probably expect a frostier reception from Rebecca when she and their grandmother finally arrived at Westyork.
By the time they get here, Grandmother might have talked some sense into her…He would not be the reason that his sister and his wife got off on the wrong foot, if Rebecca had already been talked around to the idea.
He watched the disappointment form a line between Amelia’s eyebrows, her smile dwindling away, her eyes downcast as she concentrated a little too intently on her cod.
“I am sure you are right,” she said, her tone more clipped than before. “I… look forward to meeting them.”
In that moment, Lionel knew that he had achieved what he had set out to do, making the dinner so… uncomfortable that she would not ask him to dine with her again. And though he knew it really was for the best—she could trust him on that, at least—he felt a small pinch of guilt that he had obviously upset her.
