Another part of him simply didn’t care. He merely wanted done with this blasted business.
Thankfully, Nettlesby would be departing in the morning. Ferndown and Lord Frank would be leaving in two days for a meeting with the Committee on Privilege in London. His Grace had mentioned more than once that the King required their presence in London.
“Dr. Whitaker, I remember your aversion to strong spirits.” Lady Charlotte lifted her blue eyes to his from across the table. “It is why you were the doctor who arrived to assist us with Freddie. We were ever so grateful.”
Was that an apology in her eyes as she attempted to turn the conversation?
“Aye,” Alex replied. “I was the only sober physician for miles that day.”
“I say, Lady Charlotte.” Lord Frank shot his sister-in-law a stern look. “Talk of childbirth is hardly the done thing over dinner.”
Color flushed Lady Charlotte’s cheeks. Candlelight flickered from candelabra on the table and bounced from mirrored sconces on the walls, bathing the lady in glimmering light.
Another stab of annoyance jabbed at Alex’s chest.
First, the act of childbirth was a natural thing. There was no shame in discussing it.
Second, he disliked the sense that Lord Frank felt the need to silence Lady Charlotte’s voice. As if she were to be pretty and nothing else.
Third, Lady Charlotte blushed most becomingly, and the sight affected Alex’s breathing, as he suspected that nearly every expression appeared graceful and elegant on her.
He mentally shook away the florid thought.
He did not find Lady Charlotte charming.
He did not find this dining room with its gilt ceiling and velvet draperies beautiful.
He did not find the roast beef on his plate delicious.
And if he kept telling himself that, perhaps it would be true.
Just get through dinner.
The Dowager cleared her throat at the bottom of the table, reaching for her own wine glass. “As a French woman, I cannot agree with your opinion on alcohol, Dr. Whitaker. A fine wine, after all, is as French as beautiful silks, exquisite food, and clever conversation.”
Ferndown chuckled. “You are correct, as usual, my lady.”
“Merci, Duke.” Her ladyship nodded her head in acknowledgment. “However, I must respect yourténacité, Dr. Whitaker. You are like our Charlotte,mais non? She will not eat meat. You will not drink wine. You are together insolidarité.” The Dowager lifted her glass in a salute.
Against all his better judgment, Alex smiled. He met Lady Charlotte’s gaze across the table, darting a glance at her plate that was, indeed, free of meat.
“Is this true, Lady Charlotte?” he asked. “Ye dinnae eat meat?”
“Yes. It is true.” She nodded, blushing again.
Alex had many follow-up questions.
Why did Lady Charlotte choose not to eat meat? Was it simply the taste?
Or did Lady Charlotte harbor more philosophical reasons for her decision?
The thought intrigued him.
After all, such an attitude implied mindfulness, a sense of self-awareness and intelligent idealism that he considered at odds with such porcelain beauty.
But . . . why? If she had been plain, would he have felt the same?
The thought shamed him because he wasn’t sure he knew the answer, and what did that say about him? Had he not mentally castigated Lord Nettlesby not ten minutes past for similar behavior?
