Sacha muttered something. When Alexei glanced at him, his face was an emotionless mask. But the way he sat, with his shoulders stiff and his back tight, told Alexei enough. That and the fact his brother’s plate was nearly cleaned, never mind they’d only been served the main course ten minutes ago.
It really was a shame neither of them was enjoying himself. The dining room itself was far nicer than anything they had in Sitka, with mahogany wainscotting, gilded-mirror frames, and hand-painted wallpaper. The chandelier overhead was large and intricate, showering them in light that glinted off the cut crystal goblets and the porcelain dishes on the table.
But given the choice, they’d both enjoy a simple bear roast or borscht served on plain dishes while his family was crammed around the scarred kitchen table back in Sitka. That would have been far more appealing than this meal, even with the lobster.
“Is the food to your liking?” Laurel asked quietly from beside him.
He turned toward her. She really was quite beautiful, with clear green eyes set into a delicate face and her soft brown hair pulled into an updo that looked both simple and elegant.Everything about her was finely composed, from the graceful slope of her neck to the faint color in her cheeks to the smooth gown draping her frame.
Her brows knit together. “Or is something not to your liking?”
The food. Right. She’d asked him about it, and rather than answer, he’d ended up staring at her like a besotted fool.
“Forgive me. The food is quite delicious.” He cleared his throat, then raised his eyes to Laurel’s mother. “Mrs. Farnsworth, please give my compliments to your chef.”
Laurel’s father waved his hand absently. “Of course. We brought him in from France last year, and we’ve already decided we’re never letting him go. His cooking is truly extraordinary.”
“I just love hosting dinner parties now that he is the chef. His dishes are the envy of all our guests.” Mrs. Farnsworth gave a delicate laugh and lifted her wineglass, the trio of rings on her hand catching the light. “Gertrude Downing is fit to be tied that we have a better chef than her. It makes me want to invite her over for luncheon once a week.”
“Mother? You’ve had the Downings over for lunch? Next time invite me as well.” Genevieve adjusted the heavy pendant at her neck—a pendant that looked to be three times the size of the modest one Laurel wore—then leaned forward, her eyes gleaming with a look of excitement Alexei didn’t quite trust. “I heard they are going to have to close their garment factory. They can’t compete with the prices of ready-made dresses from out east.”
Beatrice wrinkled her nose. “Serves them right for wanting to get into such an industry. Can you imagine wearing a dress made in some dirty factory and not by a dressmaker who measures and fits you and then makes the dress to your exact size?” She smoothed a hand over the bodice of her sapphire-colored gown. “It took Madame DuBois two weeks to make this dress.”
Genevieve sniffed. “Mine took nearly three weeks. The lace was imported from Bruges. But that’s not the point. Can you imagine the money their father will lose, needing to close everything? I don’t even know that they’ll be able to keep their French chef. They might be forced to settle for an American one.”
“That would serve Meredith Downing right.” Beatrice tapped a finger against the stem of her wineglass, not seeming the least bit concerned about the potential Finnancial ruin of the Downing family. “Do you know what she told me at the Wentworth wedding? She had the audacity to assume that my dress was out of style. She said something about it looking like something she’d seen inHarper’s Bazaarthree years ago. Three years! Can you imagine? I felt amply justified in informing her that it had been in December’s edition, and I had promptly commissioned Madame DuBois to make one for me, with a few enhancements, of course.”
“The nerve of that girl.” Genevieve huffed, then looked across the table at Laurel. “Did she say anything aboutyourdress? It likelywasfrom three years ago.”
“Oh, heavens,” Mrs. Farnsworth sighed and pressed a hand to her chest. “Do not remind me of that atrocity. Laurel, I told you to pay a visit to Madame DuBois in December to have a new dress made for the Wentworth wedding, but there you were, wearing that same dress you wore to the spring ball at the Mercers. I still don’t know what you were thinking.”
All eyes at the table turned to Laurel. She shifted in her chair, staring down at her plate with her lobster Newburg only half eaten. “It was a perfectly good gown that I’d only worn once. I saw no reason not to wear it again.”
Beatrice dropped her head into her hand. “She’s hopeless, Mother. I don’t know what to do with her.”
“Honestly, Laurel.” Genevieve waved a hand at her sister. “Why do you complain about not having a husband? No man will want to marry you if you don’t even try to look presentable.”
Alexei glanced at Farnsworth, waiting for him to put a stop to the conversation. For a family so concerned about appearances, disparaging a family member during dinner with guests hardly seemed proper. But Farnsworth simply took another bite of food.
“I don’t complain about not having a husband,” Laurel said, her brows drawing down. “That’s Mother. And Idotry to look presentable.”
Beatrice shook her head. “That’s the fifth or sixth time I’ve seen you wear that dress, and it doesn’t even have any embellishments. Genevieve is right. You don’t even try.”
“And I know for a fact,” Mrs. Farnsworth added with a disapproving glance, “that you only gave your lady’s maid a half hour to dress you and do your hair before dinner. That’s not trying to make a good impression.”
Alexei set down his fork, the clink of silver hitting the china plate resonating through the room. “I think Laurel looks lovely. Perhaps the fact that she only needs a half hour to ready herself for dinner is a testament to her natural beauty.”
Beatrice coughed into her wine. “You do know Laurel’s twenty-five and hasn’t yet been able to find herself a husband? Daddy’s been trying to find her one for years.”
Alexei stiffened. Beside him, Laurel had hunched her shoulders, her whole body seeming to shrink in on itself. Did the women in this family have no shred of decency? He couldn’t imagine what he would do if one of his sisters said such a thing about another sister, and in front of company, no less.
But neither Beatrice’s husband nor her father seemed inclined to put her in her place.
Alexei opened his mouth to say something on her behalf, but Sacha spoke first. “Perhaps she hasn’t met the right man yet.”
Beatrice set down her wineglass with a thud. “Or perhaps none of the right men want anything to do with a woman who spends more time in the kitchen like a servant than she does making herself presentable. Did you know that’s where I found her when I arrived earlier, Father?”
“You were in the kitchen?” Farnsworth’s voice was cold.
