Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 127368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 637(@200wpm)___ 509(@250wpm)___ 425(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 637(@200wpm)___ 509(@250wpm)___ 425(@300wpm)
The table could seat three times our party, but even so, the fullness of it was set for us.
Head to foot.
Two place settings swimming in the long trail of the port side, three on the starboard.
We had not all been arranged at one end so we could easily see and talk to each other.
We were all going to have to yell at each other.
The thing was, there were only six of us.
Richard led Jane to the foot, Daniel leading Portia to the two-seating side.
Daniel explained things as Lou and I lingered in confusion at the door.
“Allow the seat between you, Ian will be here…eventually.”
Hang on.
The prodigal son was returning?
And no one thought to mention that?
Of course, during our allotted forty-five minutes of cocktail time, the feel of the evening deteriorated as the minutes ticked by, but I thought it was because Richard and Jane were more and more beleaguered at having to spend time with us.
Now it would seem, considering the hard mask (or harder mask) that slammed down over Lady Jane’s face at the mention of her eldest, it was because they were growing more and more annoyed that he’d broken the rules and not turned up at the appointed cocktail forty-five minutes.
And now we were to start dinner without him.
Which was what happened after Richard did triple duty of seating Jane, then moving to Lou to push her chair under the table, then to me, simply to stand there in a wasted display of chivalry, his hand on the back of my chair, for I was already seated and had tucked myself under the table.
His expression said I should have waited for him.
He was a man. Even if he’d seen my shoes, he couldn’t know that no way was I standing on them for longer than I had to. Nor generally waiting for someone to help me do something I was perfectly capable of doing myself.
I ignored his expression, took hold of my napkin and flung it out to the side before draping it on my lap.
And thus, Richard had a hard(er) mask on his face when he finally seated himself.
He immediately turned to the butler who was hovering. “Soup, Stevenson,” he murmured.
The man bowed then took off at a good clip to disappear behind a hidden door in the cherrywood paneling.
“This table is beautiful,” Lou tried gamely, offering this to Jane.
The woman slowly tipped her head to the side in a regal, yet birdlike manner that had me glaring at Portia.
If recent memory served, Lady Jane hadn’t uttered a single word since we’d met her.
Portia shot me a pleading look.
I took a fortifying breath.
And then another one.
“I hope our cook can impress the likes of a student of Le Cordon Bleu,” Richard remarked.
I turned to him and saw his tone might have been dull, but he was attempting to be game too.
“You have excellent taste in champagne,” I noted.
“I’m glad you approve,” he replied.
“So I have every hope.”
He jutted his chin toward me.
“Daniel’s taking us to some ruins tomorrow,” Portia announced as Stevenson returned with the young man who took my car. He was now wearing a black vest, matching trousers, a black tie (again adorned with the family shield), a crisp, painstakingly ironed, white shirt, and a long white apron tied meticulously around his waist.
He was also carrying a turquoise and white soup tureen on a gold platter.
“We’re having a day of it. Starting with a tramp around the village. I hope you girls brought warm clothes,” Daniel declared.
The soup was served to Jane first. I watched carefully as she helped herself. Although I’d been formally served before, the traditions of the house could vary.
I should have known in this house they would not.
The man went to Lou next, and fortunately she’d been watching too.
“Portia gave us deep insights on what to pack,” I assured Daniel.
“Excellent,” he squawked.
“I’m sorry, I don’t know the story. How did you two meet?” Lou asked.
Portia blushed. Daniel fidgeted with his tie. I halted in the endeavor of serving my own soup, because Portia had told me they’d been set up by mutual friends, which should not earn a blush or a tie fidget.
“Weren’t you set up?” I asked.
“Yes,” Portia answered quickly.
Meaning: Lie.
I finished ladling my soup.
Nothing more was said on the subject of their meeting, though I made a mental note to bring it up when I had some time alone with my sister.
We all fell into uncomfortable silence as we sipped our soup.
It was a heavy, but delicious cream of brie.
I was on spoonful number three when a deep, droll, silky voice noted, “It seems the family text string has failed us yet again.”
I had my spoon over my bowl and my eyes on the double doors that led into the Turquoise Room as Ian Alcott sauntered in.
Well, hell.
He wasn’t just dark to Daniel’s light.