“It is a moment I will cherish for the rest of my life: you, me, my parents,” I say heatedly. “A heartwarming story I cannot wait to tell our children.”
He laughs, lightly at first but with growing humor.
“It is not funny,” I mutter. “I have pictured it a million times and now it is ruined.”
Although he claims to agree, he cannot smother his amusement, and he murmurs something about wanting to clear his conscience before swearing eternal devotion.
Then he kisses me.
Oh, how he kisses me, languid and deep and shocking and ardent, and I am lying on the settee in a position that all but certainty violates the trust he begged my parents to place in him minutes ago.
He pulls back and is wearing that expression.
His apology face.
As remorse for our recent activity is intolerable to me, I announce that I am also riled at his failure to mention my remarkableness sooner. “If I had known the extent of your esteem, I might have handled your family’s rudeness with greater aplomb. As it happened, I was beside myself with anxiety at how egregiously I seemed to be failing the test.”
Now when he airs his regret, it is entirely appropriate, and when I lean forward to express my appreciation, he groans as if genuinely pained and rises. “Dinner awaits—and so do your parents. You know as well as I do that they are standing outside the door, counting the minutes and biding their time till they knock. By my own calculations, we have another forty-three seconds.”
The fact is, we have five, and as soon as the knock sounds, I devolve into a fit of giggles. Sebastian exhorts me to show a little dignity, but I cannot.
I am happy.
Dinner does little to lessen my giddiness.
Despite my hostess’s dire concerns, the food is delicious—the hollandaise is silky, the capons are moist—and the company is amiable. The Holcrofts en masse are far more pleasant to break bread with when they are not eyeing you with suspicion. Convince them you are not spying for the chancellor, and they are delightful dining companions. Even Mama notices the difference and slowly allows herself to relax enough to make asally, noting that their cook’s ruined meal surpasses our cook’s finest offering.
Laughing modestly, Mrs. Holcroft signals for dessert to be presented just as Nutting appears in the doorway. She rounds her shoulders in defeat and looks at her husband with recrimination. “George, you did not!”
“I did!” he replies with relish, dropping his fork so that it lands with a clattering clang on his plate. “Of course I did. If the situations were reversed, I would expect him to do the same for me. It is neighborly and gentlemanly and just plain decent, as they say.”
Mr. Holcroft bids the caller to enter.
“Come in, my good fellow. Do not be shy. Come in and face your accuser,” he says.
Then he looks me in the eye and smirks.
Checkmate.
Chapter Sixteen
Mr. Nutting lingers in the doorway despite his neighbor’s encouragement, casting awkward glances at the company until Mrs. Holcroft rises to welcome him properly.
“We are just about to have dessert, Alan,” she said kindly, leading him to the table as a footman fetches a chair from along the wall. “You must join us.”
Mr. Holcroft echoes this invitation with an exuberant wave of his arms. “We are delighted you are able to join us. John, place the chair next to Chester. Yes, right there. Thank you. Now, Alan, do sit down and let me get you a drink. We are enjoying a charming claret. Do have a glass during the interrogation.”
He is being beastlyandmaking a mull of it.
His intention is to fluster me, but all he has done is unsettle his friend.
And that is unfortunate, as baked custard numbers among my favorite treats and it will be difficult to savor while discussing the steward’s strangulation. As Mrs. Holcroft herself notes, allegations of murder play havoc with one’s digestion.
But that is the only drawback to Mr. Holcroft’s plan.
His belief that I will be so startled by my chief suspect’s sudden appearance that it will undermine my ability to conduct a coherent interview is completely wrong. Mr. Holcroft’s scheme gives me an unsought advantage by placing Mr. Nutting in a new environment. In his own home he would inevitably feelat home,but in the Holcroft dining room he is no more comfortable than I. Plus, he is the focus of ten pairs of curious eyes. (I am obviously excluding Mr. Holcroft in that count.)
That should unsettle the suspect further.
