He stared at the grand manor in the distance. “If it weren’t for Wilson occasionally joining me, I would dine alone most nights. I always breakfast alone. Wake up alone. Spend most of my days alone. The house must have thirty rooms and I use perhaps two on a regular basis. I keep a staff to dust rooms I haven’t been in for months. There are fifteen bedchambers in my home and only mine is in use. The nursery is abandoned.”
He shook his head and emitted a ragged sigh. “With Molly gone, there are no children to put in the nursery or to yell at when they run up and down the stairs in their muddy boots. No nannies to chase after them. I still hear Molly’s giggles sometimes…well, the memory of her happily running down the hall into my outstretched arms.”
Viola’s heart ached for him. “That is a treasure to hold for a lifetime.”
“I would rather be holding my daughter.” He walked on, obviously falling into a dark humor. Working on this party he did not really want to hold was stirring up the past. She understood how badly he wished to turn back time and have his daughter with him again. He hadn’t mentioned his wife, but Viola knew he had to be missing Lady Jillian, as well.
Fortunately, he was in better spirits by the time they reached his manor and sat down to their midday meal.
The room they were in was referred to as the summer dining room, but Viola thought it would have been more appropriately named the winter dining room, for the table was small for a house of this size, seating only six while his main dining room table easily accommodated twenty or thirty.
Summer was a season when everyone traveled and houses were filled with guests attending weekend parties such as the one they were planning. Winter was the season of seclusion, when one holed up in one’s nest and waited for the weather to turn warm.
“Today’s main coarse is game hen,” he said, wincing as Horace, the young footman, brought it out for them. “Dear heaven, what is it swimming in?”
Viola laughed. “Another of Mrs. Stringer’s questionable experiments, I would say.”
She dipped her fork in the liquid and then closed her mouth over the tines, drawing the fork out slowly while she figured out what ingredients his cook had used. She also closed her eyes, the better to savor them. When she opened them, she was surprised to find the viscount staring at her with the oddest expression on his face. “Lemon, butter, garlic. Onion. Pepper. Sage.”
He cleared his throat. “Obviously too much butter. No doubt too much pepper since my nostrils are flaring and I am going to sneeze.”
That explained his odd look.
She had mistaken it for desire, but it was merely his desire to sneeze.
That made far more sense.
The man was kind to her, but would never be interested in her.
Why should he be when he was going to find himself a diamond for a wife?
She dipped her fork again, closed her eyes, and put the fork to her mouth, this time lightly licking it with her tongue.
She heard him moan. “Stop, Viola. I don’t need to know every ingredient.”
“All right. But I think she should have cut back on the butter and perhaps the garlic. I did not find it overly peppered.” She opened her eyes and smiled at him.
His expression was still odd.
She couldn’t be sure, but he seemed to be staring at her lips.
Not for long, though. He dug into his food and refused to look up until he’d left nothing but chicken bones on his plate. The seasoning was not dreadful, but Mrs. Stringer had put far too much butter and the meat felt boiled rather than roasted and crisp. “You seemed to enjoy this recipe. You hardly looked up while you were eating.”
He cast her a wry grin. “No, it was rather awful. Do not think to use any of Mrs. Stringer’s recipes. In truth, I do not recall a single meal she has prepared over the past two years that stood out for me. They were not dreadful, just unmemorable. Although, a few might have been dreadfuul and I simply did not notice.”
“Her cooking is perfectly fine, just not delicate. She has a tendency to overly sauce her meats but otherwise she does a splendid job. Shall we start on the invitation list? You have fifteen bedchambers, you say? Does that include yours?”
He nodded. “I still owe you a tour of the house. Let’s make up this list, then I’ll show you around. Tomorrow I’ll have you work with my housekeeper to decide on who should be put into which guestroom. I suppose there is no rush for that since it will depend on who accepts the invitation.”
“They all will. I may not beton, but I do know a little about how they think. Not one of them is going to miss your party. The handsome, wealthy viscount come out of hiding to search for a wife? It will be a coup for those who receive your invitation. The three diamonds selected will be all the rage, putting all the other eager debutantes to shame.”
“Wouldn’t it be nice if my invitation enticed other gentlemen to offer for them?”
She laughed in exasperation. “That would entirely defeat the point of your party. You want one of them to marryyou, not some other nodcock.”
He groaned.
“Let’s get to work.” She reached for the supplies he had brought in and set on the other end of the dining table.
