“Yes. It means you are poorly mannered.Coarse.” She raised her brows to make her point.
“I know what it means, Miss Stitch. I don’t need a lesson from you as if you are my governess. Or headmistress of a school.” His voice dipped an octave, and Emmagene had the distinct impression of her clothing disappearing under that shocking blue gaze. “You certainly dress like one.”
Emmagene’s toes, having a mind of their own, curled inside her slippers. “Spoken by a man who sported a large wine stain on his waistcoat just a few hours ago.”
Huntly shrugged. “Merely an observation, Miss Stitch. Very alluring, dressing like a two-year widow. I’m shocked you haven’t blessed some deserving gentleman with your hand in marriage.”
Emmagene snapped her face down toward her plate so quickly she risked hurting her neck. Huntly was…hateful.Horrid. Completely reprehensible. What business was it of his how she dressed? She was unwed by choice. The last thing she wished to do was attract any gentleman’s attention and have to endure the endless and false declarations of affection.
“If we must tolerate each other’s company for dinner, my lord,” Emmagene barked, “can we agree to not speak? I believe pheasant is on the menu this evening. A favorite of mine. I would like to enjoy my meal without conversing.”
“Overly sensitive, aren’t you? It was only an observation, Miss Stitch. Perhapsthat’swhy you’re sitting here with me and not at the main table. One word uttered improperly might send you to your room.”
“Do you cause distress to everyone you meet, my lord? Does it amuse you?” She glanced at the main table. While Emmagene didn’t care for Montieth, as Honora’s sole family member in attendance, he should have escorted her into dinner and seated her next to her cousin. A large amount of annoyance dusted with anger filled her. Possibly Emmagene wasn’t the most likable lady in attendance, but she was Honora’s cousin and she certainly didn’t deserve to spend dinner with Huntly.
Lady Trent floated effortlessly among the other tables, seeing to the comfort of the guests she actually gave a fig about. Eventually, she made her way toward Emmagene and Huntly, the skirts of her gown brushing against the floor of the terrace with a soft rustle.
“Lord Huntly, Miss Stitch.” The apologetic tone greeted Emmagene’s ears. “I felt I must come and apologize once again for the seating arrangements tonight. The weather was so fine I thought we should dine al fresco—”
“A splendid idea, my lady,” Huntly interrupted.
Lady Trent’s lips pursed just slightly, the only sign of her irritation.
Emmagene resisted the urge to elbow Huntly. “I was hoping, my lady, I would be seated next to my cousin. I’m sure you understand.”
Another regretful smile graced Lady Trent’s lips. “I do, and it is entirely my fault. I can only apologize for my oversight. My sole excuse is that I was working on the seating chart quite late, and I fear I should have worn my spectacles. I mistakenly put Miss Cradditch”—she motioned at the blonde blinking up at Montieth—“instead of you, Miss Stitch. The names are very alike, you see. Now that everyone is seated, I don’t wish to cause undue distress by rearranging people while dinner is about to be served.”
Emmagene understood perfectly. Miss Cradditch couldn’t possibly risk being exposed to Huntly over the course of the meal. An older lady, a spinster, was a far more acceptable dinner companion for him. “Of course, my lady.” If she hadn’t been subjected to the coach ride with Huntly, Emmagene might have accepted Lady Trent’s ridiculous excuse as the truth.
Huntly coughed. She suspected he was laughing at her or the situation. Probably both.
“I am terribly sorry. But at least you and Lord Huntly are previously acquainted from your journey here.” Another smile from Lady Trent. “Oh, there’s the first course. Excuse me, won’t you? I must give instructions to South’s butler, Dunst. The staff is woefully inadequate to meet the demands of a house party.” Lady Trent nodded and fluttered away in a cloud of silk and roses.
“If the English had Lady Trent at their front lines years ago, we would have defeated Napoleon that much sooner. You don’t raise a gentleman of Montieth’s ilk without a small bit of ruthlessness. Don’t you agree, Miss Stitch?”
Emmagene did, in fact, share Huntly’s opinion of Lady Trent, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of telling him so. “I should have made my excuses and taken a tray in my room.”
“It isn’t too late,” Huntly shot back. “I don’t mind eating alone.”
“You’re such a charming dinner companion I don’t imagine you ever indulge in a solitary meal. I’m here.” She straightened herself. “I might as well stay.”
Huntly held her eyes for a moment. “Brave, aren’t you, Miss Stitch? In addition to all your other attributes.”
“Courage is overrated.” There were times, this moment being one of them, when Emmagene thought she might be better served being an accommodating milksop like Miss Cradditch. Her own bold behavior in the past hadn’t exactly benefited her.
Servants arrived on the terrace, pushing carts of covered dishes, and began to circulate among the tables. Huntly watched their progress, narrowing his eyes as he no doubt noticed not one footman had yet to arrive at their table. The wine he’d requested earlier was still absent. Annoyance hovered about his massive shoulders. He shifted in his seat.
“Must you tap your foot so incessantly?” Emmagene tried to remain nonplussed by the lack of attention they were receiving. It would do no good to complain and thus reinforce Lady Trent’s opinion of her.
“Yes, Miss Stitch. I must. I’m rather impatient at times.” Huntly barely looked at her. “Especially when I’m hungry.”
A footman placed a covered plate before him before whipping off the cover with a small flourish.
“Finally,” Huntly grumbled.
Emmagene looked down at her own plate, roasted pheasant swimming in some sort of sauce. Taking a small bite, she was unsurprised to find the pheasant lukewarm at best. The potatoes were probably cold. She supposed that made sense, since they were the last served. Nudging one of the peas on her plate, Emmagene cast a glance at Huntly.
He was devouring his food. Methodically. She watched in fascination as first he ate all his pheasant before moving on to the roasted potatoes. Once those were finished, he paused but only to take a sip of his wine before moving to his peas.
