“Enough,” growled Hugh. His face contorted as various emotions surged through him. “I’m sorry, Trevor. I do want to say, though,” he paused, bringing his napkin up to dab at the corners of his lips, then laying it very precisely beside his plate. “I do want to wish you happy.”
“You do? You know?” asked Trevor, nonplussed.
Hugh nodded his head heavily, wishing he were anywhere except sitting before his friend and witnessing his happiness.
A slight sound, like a muffled scuffing, attracted his attention. He looked up. Wilmot was leaning against the door molding. How much had the man heard? He watched cagily as the man unfolded his arms, pushed himself away from the door, and strolled into the dining room.
“I hope I’m not interrupting a private conversation?” he inquired politely, pouring himself a cup of coffee.
“No, no, not at all,” assured Trevor. “My friend here,” he said, casting a jaundiced eye over Hugh, “is still recovering from tipping his elbow too much and is sorry company. I welcome your appearance.”
Hugh’s scowl darkened.I bet you do,he mocked silently. He pushed a few more pieces of food around on his plate, then rose, nodding his head coolly in Wilmot’s and Trevor’s direction. “If you’ll excuse me, please, gentlemen,” he murmured, striding toward the door. At the doorway he passed Richard Mannion and Charles Chaumonde, ignoring them both. He shoved past them as if all the demons of hell were nipping at his heels.
Richard and Charles looked after him, bemused expressions on their faces.
“Is something the matter with Hugh?” inquired Charles.
Trevor laughed. “Nothing that time and black coffee won’t cure. He has a devilish head this morning.”
Richard grunted as he placed a succulent section of capon on his plate.
“My compliments to Louisa, Charles,” Trevor continued. “That was an excellent party.”
“She has a flair for entertaining, my Louisa does,” affirmed Charles, seating himself at the table.
Russell Wilmot set down his coffee cup and dabbed his mouth with a fine linen napkin. “I should like a word with you, Mannion, before I leave this morning,” he said curtly, his dark brows twitching.
Charles set his fork and knife down abruptly. “You’re leaving, Russell? It was my understanding you were all staying until late this afternoon.”
Shaking his head, Wilmot smiled slightly, his eyes nearly closed. “The press of business. I’m sorry,” he said deprecatingly. “It has been, however, an enlightening weekend.”
Richard Mannion looked at him sharply, then back at his plate and resumed eating.
“Bonjour!”called Paulette gaily as she swept into the room, the train of her forest green riding habit draped over her arm.
“You are up early,” observed her brother.
“Who could be abed on such a wonderful day?” she asked rhetorically before leaning over to bestow a kiss on her brother’s cheek.
His eyebrows rose. This behavior was not typical for Paulette. He turned his head to watch his sister take a thick sweet pastry for her plate.
“I suppose I need not ask what your plans are for this morning,” he said dryly.
“Comte Baligny is taking me riding this morning,” she managed between bites. “I must hurry, or I shall be late.”
“What are Vanessa and Adeline doing?”
“They are helping with the children,” she tossed out as if bored with the topic. “I think they are planning a picnic for them.”
“Indeed!” put in Trevor. “Dashed good notion. I don’t spend enough time with my two. I believe I will go see if I may be of assistance. If you gentlemen will excuse me,” he said, hurriedly using his napkin and pushing back his chair. “If you’re firm in your decision to leave this morning, I doubt I shall see you again, Wilmot, so I’ll say my goodbyes now.”
He held out his hand to Russell Wilmot, who looked at it a moment before offering his own in return. Richard Mannion and Charles Chaumonde were surprised at the blatant insult and stirred uneasily in their chairs. Trevor chose to ignore it, and bidding the others good morning, he left in search of the women.
“Now see here, Wilmot,” began Richard.
Wilmot cut him off, his face coldly neutral. “We will talk later, Richard. In private,” he promised.
Paulette looked from one to the other, her eyes wide. Finishing the last bite of her pastry she, too, rose to leave.
