“I can’t tell you.” He turned in his chair so he didn’t have to see the anger in Gray’s face.
“I’ll hire a lawyer for you tomorrow, but he won’t be any help unless you tell us what’s going on. How did you get those buried studies?”
“Gray, please stop asking.” Acid churned in Luke’s stomach at the thought of being confined here overnight. Maybe even longer. He’d naively hoped Gray might show up with a bag of money to post bail and get him out of here.
“Youoweme,” Gray said, his voice cutting. “You put us allthrough the wringer last year, and I have no desire to repeat the process.”
“That makes two of us.”
“Then tell me who gave you the information. That’s your best chance for getting out of here.”
This room was too small for yelling. It made the walls feel like they were closing in, and it started getting hot. Luke dropped his head into his hands, unable to meet Gray’s eyes and unable to expose Marianne. It would ruin her. Even if she could endure the fear and humiliation of being locked up, she would lose her family. The Magruders were not a forgiving lot.
“I can’t tell you who gave me the studies, but Clyde knows I work forModern Century.He knows the studies found their way to me, even though the article was anonymous. I think he is to blame for this.”
“Then he’ll be made to answer for it,” Gray said in a quietly lethal voice.
Twenty-Four
The dining room in the Washington town house was small, but Marianne managed to fit place settings for seven adults around the dining table that featured their best china, an assortment of goblets for each person, and a trio of silver candelabras, all for Sunday night’s dinner with Colonel Phelps. Marianne never had much interest in entertaining, but her mother and sister-in-law vied for dominance as they planned the five-course meal. Delia showed off her calligraphy skills by penning lovely place cards, while Vera perfected the floral arrangements.
“The evening will start with the lobster bisque,” Delia said. “After that will come a nice baked brie pastry. Marianne, do you know if Colonel Phelps likes brie?”
“I have no idea,” she said while setting a butter knife alongside each bread plate.
“You need to learn the colonel’s preferences,” Delia said. “The key to a man’s heart is in fulfilling his culinary desires.”
The only man’s heart Marianne was interested in was Luke Delacroix’s, and since he’d spent the last five months eating controlled meals with the Poison Squad, he wasn’t too fussy. Everything about tonight’s meal seemed a little too elegant for her taste, and she envied Sam, who would be eating in thekitchen because tonight’s affair was for grown-ups only. These days, Sam preferred the company of the servants anyway. He was still cowed and sullen around Andrew because of what happened to Bandit, and Marianne suspected the damage from that spiteful act would haunt the boy for years.
The table was starting to look overstuffed with three glasses at each place, along with three different forks, two types of knives, and a bread plate. Then Delia stepped forward to add more, and Vera nearly exploded.
“Delia, I’ve already told you there is no room on the table for the individual saltcellars.”
Delia paid no mind as she set another tiny bowl beside a place setting. “But they’re so precious!” she defended. “All the best families use saltcellars instead of a shared saltshaker.”
Delia had brought the saltcellars all the way from Baltimore specifically for this dinner. Each miniature bowl was made of amethyst crystal cut to look like a thistle, and had a tiny silver spoon with a matching amethyst at the finial. Marianne couldn’t decide if they were charming or tacky.
Vera clearly thought they were tacky. “Once we have the floral arrangements on the table, there will be no room for saltcellars.”
Delia lifted her chin and began removing the crystal bowls. “What a shame this table is going to look very common for Colonel Phelps.”
Marianne continued setting out the butter knives and said nothing. She wished people would stop making such a production over Colonel Phelps, but what could she do?
By seven o’clock all the guests had gathered in the parlor for an aperitif. Andrew and Delia could both be counted on to comport themselves with ease, but old Jedidiah was always a question mark. Her grandfather had the intelligence to carry on a conversation with anyone, but some people were put off by his back-country accent and coarse sense of humor. The first thingher grandfather said to their guest of honor was to apologize for the way Marianne and Delia looked “so darn pooped.”
“The womenfolk spent all afternoon out in the backyard, skinning the coons I caught for supper,” he said in a teasing voice as he shook Colonel Phelps’s hand.
Delia froze in mortification, but Colonel Phelps took it in stride and knew exactly the right thing to say.
“I’d have come earlier if they needed any help,” he said with an engaging smile. “I did my fair share of hunting and skinning when I was out west with the cavalry.”
Jedidiah nodded in approval and launched into a discussion of army rations during the recent war. Marianne stood a few feet away, trying to see the army’s youngest colonel with new eyes. If she wasn’t already so dazzled by Luke, could she have been attracted to him? He had an easy manner with Jedidiah. After twenty minutes, Colonel Phelps had established a better rapport with the crusty old man than Delia had managed after twelve years of marriage.
At last it was time to proceed into dinner, and Colonel Phelps offered his arm to escort Marianne into the dining room. He murmured all the right compliments for her mother’s fine presentation and the elegance of the setting, but all Marianne could see were the amethyst saltcellars that had mysteriously reappeared beside each place setting.
Vera noticed too. She went white around the lips while trying to graciously accept Colonel Phelps’s compliments.
Why did Delia have to do that? This evening was already stressful enough for Vera without petty attempts to see who could outshine the other.
