“I am, ma’am.” Caroline curtsied politely.
“Welcome to Fairclough Manor.”
Caroline gratefully accepted the seat she was offered and took a few biscuits and a cake. Her stomach rumbled, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten since they broke their fast at the inn that morning. Lousia sank into the seat beside her, folding her hands in her lap and pursing her lips.
“Eat something, Louisa!” her mother-in-law commanded, gesturing to the trays. “You are far too skinny. You must put some meat on you if you expect to deliver healthy babies for my son.”
“No, thank you,” Louisa replied curtly. “I cannot stomach food so soon after my journey.” She glanced with disgust at her husband, who had no qualms about stuffing himself with the bounty laid before them. He emptied one tray, and a well-built footman replaced it with another, laden with tarts and scones.
“You’ll find plenty to eat here.” Mrs. Hurst nodded. “I daresay nobody has ever starved while staying at Fairclough. Please, help yourselves. You all must be famished from the road.”
A dark-haired footman held the tray out for each of them.
Reluctantly, Louisa took a single biscuit and bit the edge of it, chewing it slowly, taking in the footman’s excellent height and strong build with a look of approval.
It was small wonder that Mrs. Hurst suffered from ill health; Caroline observed during tea that the mother shared her son’s penchant for sweets. She packed away a full tray of tea cakes, half a platter of tarts, and several biscuits, into her belly before tea was over.
By studying the family portraits lining the wide corridor, Caroline discerned that Mrs. Hurst had not always been so large. At the start of her marriage, she was young, round-faced, but by no means large. However, as the years passed, her waist increased, while her husband’s, by contrast, shrank thinner and thinner, until the pair of them resembled that couple from the old nursery rhyme, Jack Sprat and his wife– he who would eat no fat, and she who would eat no lean. Their son followed in his mother’s footsteps, growing from a fat, chubby baby, into an even fatter boy, before becoming the corpulent man he was today.
Their dinner that evening was laden with rich foods such as oysters, red meat, and wine, followed by more desserts.
Caroline had to admit that Mrs. Hurst was right–she would not go hungry at Fairclough.But I may have to watch that my waist does not increase!
Chapter 2
After he finished clearing the tree, Theo returned to the house. He passed through the drawing room, nearly colliding with his friend who stumbled in at that moment.
“Beaujean,” Theo exclaimed. “You're not only now waking up, are you?”
“I am afraid I am,” Beaujean answered. “I was out a little late last night.” A grin appeared on his face.
“Not with that tart from the tavern?”
Beaujean shrugged. “What can I say? You didn't expect me to turn her down after you left?”
Theo looked around. “Has Oliver returned?”
“Haven't seen him.” Beaujean jumped onto the sofa, stretching himself out across it. He yawned, apparently content to waste his day away.
The side door leading to the gardens opened, and Oliver Hodge entered.
“The first row in the orchard is pruned,” he told Theo.
“Excellent,” Theo said. “I will assist with the second row tomorrow.”
“Don't know why you bother with it all,” Beaujean murmured lazily. “You lead the life of a gentleman, now. Trees are trees; there are gardeners for that sort of thing. Besides, Hodge, aren't you going to be taking possession of your living soon?”
“I wouldn't expect you to understand.” Oliver shook his head. “You spend your days writing poetry and seducing women.”
“And proud of it,” Beaujean smirked. “I penned a few lines for my lady-friend before I went to bed earlier. Care to hear them?” He read it to them. It was a bawdy piece of verse, rife with euphemisms.
“Not a bad start, Beau,” Theo commended, “But you may wish to refrain from using too many remarks about the lady’s physical traits, lest you make her think it is all you admire her for.”
“I did try,” Beau said, “But there are only so many words which rhyme with ‘pretty.’”
Oliver held back a snort. He turned to Theo. “Did you finish clearing the tree?”
Theo nodded. “Your father insisted on helping me with it.”
