Blanche’s face softened. “I do apologize. I’m sure it must have been a difficult experience for you.”
Mrs. Swinton sighed. “Apology accepted. Think nothing of it.”
“Perhaps we could speak of a less delicate topic,” Darrius said. “What was your opinion of Waverly, Mrs. Swinton?”
“I found it to be well-named,” she returned promptly. “The protagonist was always ‘wavering’ about something.”
“Quite so, quite so,” Lord Carletane chortled. “I’m surprised you made it all the way through it.”
“We finished it a day or two ago, then turned out attention to some local histories, did we not, Your Grace?” Mrs. Swinton deftly turned the attention back to their hostess.
“Why, yes, we did,” the Duchess agreed. “Which did you prefer, Mrs. Swinton, the description of Hillsworth or the walking tour on the moors?”
“I found both fascinating,” Mrs. Swinton replied. “But I think the moors were my favorite. Which did you prefer, Your Grace?”
“Oh, I have always loved the account of our day at Hillsworth. George was so handsome that day. It seems a hard thing that the place is falling to ruin now, under the care of that uncle to the heir. What was the lad’s name? I declare I cannot remember.”
“No idea,” Darrius replied. “Nor do I think the property is in as sad a state as all that. No doubt it shall come about once the inheritance is straightened out. It is difficult to steward a place with an absentee landlord who might or might not return one day.”
“Just what is the story about that?” Mrs. Swinton asked.
“A most curious thing,” Lord Carletane said. “The heir went fishing one day, and then disappeared. They found his fishing hat and his pole beside the riverbank, but no sign at all of him. Some folks believe that his uncle did him in, but I, for one, would never think such a thing of Leroy Rutley, as fine a sporting man as ever rode to the hounds.”
The Duchess clicked her tongue against her teeth, and nodded to the butler to have the soup course cleared away, and the main course brought in. She made a face at the small dish of boiled greens that appeared next to her plate but brightened when she saw the cruet of vinegar beside it. “My cook is such a dear boy. He never forgets to make the physician’s recommendations palatable.”
“We are all grateful to the physician, as well,” Darrius said to his parent fondly. “I declare you have never looked better, Mother.”
“I would take umbrage at that, my son, except that I truly do feel better. Of late, I have not felt so bilious at bedtime, and have even had energy enough to walk to the end of the garden. It is quite a change from languishing in my rooms. Of course, it does not hurt at all that the buds on the trees are swelling, and the snowdrops blooming.”
“Achoo,” Blanche sneezed daintily into a lace handkerchief. “I feel my nose closing down, just thinking about such a journey.”
And here we go again. Between Mother, the future in-laws, and Blanche, I feel completely beleaguered. Yet, I need this marriage and the endowment, to say nothing of joining our estates together. At this dinner, the one sane, sensible conversationalist has been Mrs. Swinton.
Chapter 5
Mayson smiled at the soft patter of slippered feet. Mrs. Swinton was coming downstairs to get the Duchess’ special treat. He had observed that the companion was not as fond of sweets as Her Grace, and had added an assortment of crackers and sliced cheese to the evening snack.
For the Duchess, he had a pear compote that was lightly sprinkled with sugar, then liberally dusted with cinnamon and just the tiniest pinch of nutmeg. Mrs. Swinton laughed when she smelled the nutmeg in the mix.
“What is it?” Mayson asked, feeling a little worried.
“I had a little nut tree,” she recited mischievously.
“Oh, the one with the silver nutmeg and the golden pear?” Mayson gave a little chuckle of his own.
“The very one,” Mrs. Swinton agreed. “I wonder if Her Grace will think of it?”
“How did you know there was nutmeg?” Mayson inquired.
“The smell. Cinnamon has a similar odor, but nutmeg gives it just that little bit more of an edge.”
“That it does,” Mayson nodded. “Like a tiny bit of pepper on a dish of dumplings. Not enough to upset the senses, but rather to tease them into enjoyment.”
“That is amazingly poetic,” Mrs. Swinton said in astonishment.
Mayson felt a glow of pleasure at her praise. “Thank you,” he said. “It warms my heart that you think so.”
“Oh, you!” Mrs. Swinton said, “You are teasing me.”
