“As long as he sticks to the lemonade,” Mr. Keith muttered.
Their cook, Mrs. John, had outdone herself. There was enough food for a party twice their size: a joint of cold ham, roast chickens, veal and pigeon pies, and preserved fruit. There were also cheeses, bread, butter, lemonade, and the promised bottle of claret, which Carlton Keith helped himself to, though not as liberally as Stephen might have expected.
Looking at the overabundance of food before him, Stephen felt a stab of guilt. He ought to be with his men, drilling, living in stark conditions with them, not in the lap of luxury while they ate poorly and slept in crude tents.
The footman brought out raspberry jam tarts and ginger biscuits for dessert. He noticed Sophie wrap two biscuits in a linen table napkin, and surreptitiously slip them into her reticule. For her later enjoyment, he supposed. He had heard women in her condition were prone to food cravings at all hours.
Noticing his attention, she mouthed, “For Winnie.”
“Ah.” His heart warmed at her thoughtfulness.
Miss Blake asked, “And what are your plans for the future, Mr. Harrison? Will you follow your father into the church?”
“I don’t think so, no. I aspire to be a writer.”
“Oh? A novelist?” Kate asked.
“I’m afraid not. I am primarily interested in history.”
“Oh. Well, history is good too, I suppose.”
Mr. Harrison asked Kate about her favorite book, and Kate eagerly complied with an enthusiastic and detailed description ofSense and Sensibility.
After they had eaten their fill, Mr. Harrison thanked them and rose. “Well. If you will excuse me, I had better head home.”
Kate’s expression dimmed. “Must you go already?”
“I’m afraid so. I’ll need to stop at the fishmonger’s on the way.” He smiled sheepishly. “Mamma has her heart set on perch for dinner. Hopefully, my skill in buying fish exceeds my skill in catching them.”
Kate returned his smile. Then Mr. Harrison bowed in farewell and took his leave.
After their guest departed, Stephen relaxed. The ladies sat primly on one end of the blanket in the shade, Miss Blake and his sister talking and laughing while Sophie listened. He and Keith sprawled nearby at their leisure with legs outstretched, lulled by warm air, peaceful birdsong, and the murmuring stream.
Keith groaned with satisfaction. “I could not eat another bite—or move.”
Kate passed him the biscuit tin, and with a shrug he popped one into his mouth, earning himself a headshake from Miss Blake and an amused swat from Kate.
Keith refilled his glass of claret and offered to pour Stephen a glass. He declined, as usual.
Kate and Angela prattled on like eager schoolgirls, making Keith the frequent recipient of their good-natured teasing, which the man clearly enjoyed. Stephen, however, grew restless and rose to stretch his legs, and to put some distance between himself and the incessant chatter.
As he walked away from the group, Sophie called after him. “Captain?”
She had risen to her feet but paused to accept the parasol Miss Blake thrust toward her.
“If you must walk about in the sunshine, I insist you use this. Think of your fair complexion!”
Stephen waited where he was.
Unfurling the parasol, Sophie approached him. “May I walk with you?”
“Of course. I only wanted to stretch my legs—and rest my ears.”
She grinned up at him, and he returned the gesture, feeling his heart lighten.
They walked along the stream in silence for several moments. Then she must have felt his gaze resting on her profile, for she glanced over at him.
“I feel like an imposter,” she admitted, twirling her parasol for emphasis. “Or an actress playing a role. This dress isn’t mine, nor even this bonnet. It’s like a costume.”
