“More than mischief, I’d say,” Lakehurst said, straightening.
The butler appeared at the doorway, announcing dinner was served.
The Viscount rose and offered an arm to Cassandra and Mrs. Hallowell. “Ladies, shall we?” he asked, smiling from one to the other.
Mr. Farrow came hurrying toward them. Cassandra stiffened. She did not wish to go into dinner on Mr. Farrow’s arm and she knew that was his intention.
The viscount must have felt her reaction for he glanced down at her, then looked toward Mr. Farrow. “Ah, Mr. Farrow! Good man. You’ve come to offer your arm to Mrs. Hallowell. Splendid. Though I should wish the company of two beautiful ladies, sometimes it is dashed awkward to walk three abreast past furniture,” he said heartily.
Mr. Farrow paused, and looked as if he would say something, but instead compressed his lips together.
Lakehurst gently released Mrs. Hallowell from his arm. That lady saw nothing amiss with his actions and took Mr. Farrow’s arm with alacrity.
“Thank you,” Cassandra said softly.
Lord Lakehurst reached over to pat her arm with his other hand. “My pleasure,” he murmured.
* * *
With the Duke of Malmsbyjourneying to Northumberland, Lakehurst sat at the head of the table, with the Duchess at the other end. To his right sat Lady Darkford, and on his left sat Mr. Stillworth.
They had shortened the dining table as much as it could be while still remaining comfortable for the diners. There was no epergne in the center of the table to obstruct vision or conversation. The dining room walls were covered with green silk, the drapes were made of velvet in a darker shade and swagged with tartan material. Most of the paintings hung on the wall were Scottish landscapes. If the Lady Margaret parlor was his grandmother’s favorite room, this room had been of his mother’s design in homage to her homeland and her favorite room. He’d always thought the room to be too dark; however, he wouldn’t change a bit of it until the drapes rotted and the silk walls shredded. It represented his mother and all that she loved of Scotland.
Lady Darkford talked with Mr. Martin. Lakehurst turned to Mr. Stillworth.
“Stillworth, I’d like to learn more about this tea business you and the late Marquess were involved with.”
“Baydon Imports?”
“Is that the name of the company?” Lakehurst asked.
Stillworth nodded. “Richard wanted to name it Darkford Imports. I objected, as that might make it seem as if he owned the company himself. As we are co-founders, I didn’t like that idea. We considered Tidemark but settled on Baydon Imports since Baydon Castle is our shared ancestral heritage.”
Lakehurst nodded in understanding. “Do you just import tea?”
“No, the core import has been coffee. What we wanted to do is successfully grow thecamellia sinensisplant—the tea plant—in a country other than China! We are—I suppose I should say wewere—experimenting in different climate zones in India.”
“Were?”
“With Richard’s death, my Uncle Edmund has not been willing to continue the tea experiment,” Stillworth said, glancing down the table at his uncle, disgust clear in his voice. “We had a few good harvests and produced some excellent teas, but he’d prefer to stick with coffee. Safer investment, he says.”
Lakehurst looked down the table to where Edmund Tidemark was talking to his grandmother.
“Conservative?”
“Extremely.”
Lakehurst glanced at Lady Darkford and saw she was in a conversation with Mr. Martin. “I understand he and his wife consider Lady Darkford to be mentally unstable.”
Mr. Stillworth snorted. “Yes.” He shook his head. “They never approved of Richard’s choice for a wife. I, for one, thought she was good for him. Even too good!”
“What do you mean?”
Mr. Stillworth raised his chin in her direction. “She didn’t fuss about his meetings at Baydon. Always tried to be away.”
“Were you an attendee?”
He laughed. “I was out of the country for most of his‘meetings’as he called them. On my return, I attended occasionally.”
