The footman leaned in, removing the tureen while Barnaby filled the empty spot with a large platter. He had barely liftedthe cover when Gil tapped the rim of his empty glass. “A refill, if you please.”
Barnaby nodded, the tightness of his jaw his only hint of displeasure. Clearly Fletcher’s conduct was getting on the staff’s nerves—and Edmund’s.
Without waiting for approval, Edmund spooned out a healthy serving and plopped it onto Gil’s plate. If the man didn’t get some food into him soon, he’d pass out by the time pudding was served. “Try this chana masala, Gil. I think it will be to your liking.”
“Miss Dalton is to my liking.” He waggled his eyebrows.
Edmund’s irritation flared. “Mind your manners,” he grumbled for Gil’s ears alone.
“Don’t be such a prig, old man.” Gil cut his hand through the air. “Just having a bit of fun. We are having fun, are we not, Miss Dalton?”
Miss Dalton merely picked up her fork—God bless her—and took a bite, overlooking his poor behaviour. “Mmm. This is delicious.”
Pleasure warmed his chest. Granted, it was a small thing, but for the delicate senses of the usual Englishwoman, spicy food would’ve been tolerated at best, not praised. And it was spicy—exactly how he liked it. “You like Indian fare?”
“I adore all things exotic. Have you triedkoshari?” At the shake of his head, she continued. “It’s an Egyptian dish made of lentils, rice, and chickpeas in a rather fiery sauce. A little spicier than this, I should say. I love it, and it’s one of my father’s favorites.”
“You’re one of mine.” Gil shoved away his plate, completely untouched.
The vein in Edmund’s temple began to throb. Since when had his business partner become such a lecher? He reached for Gil’s wine glass and moved it away.
“I say!” Gil objected. “What do you think you are—”
“So, Miss Dalton,” Edmund interrupted. “What treasures did you uncover today?”
“Just one, but a rather large one at that, and its rarity only adds to the uniqueness of your collection.” Her eyes sparkled in the lamplight. “A six-foot statue of Anubis carved from ebony and embellished with gold leaf. Your staff was helpful in unpacking the big fellow, as it is quite heavy. It took two men to move it.”
“You should have called on me, my dear,” Gil slurred. “I would help you with anything.”
“And yet, Mr. Fletcher”—she skewered him with a sharp look, apparently tired of his innuendos—“after so much wine, I believe it is you who will be requiring help to make it to your room tonight.”
“Oh?” he drawled as he leaned over the table toward her. “Are you offering for the task?”
That did it.
Edmund shot to his feet and hauled Gil up by the arm. “You’re finished, Fletcher. Go sleep it off.” He glanced over at Barnaby. “See Mr. Fletcher to his quarters, please.”
“At once, sir.” In four long strides, Barnaby shored up Gil with an arm around his shoulder.
Gil immediately pulled away. “I’ll walk myshelf, thank you very mush,” he slurred as he stumbled from the room.
Edmund sighed. There was a fine line between granting his partner the dignity to retreat alone and ensuring his safety ... though in truth, after the way he’d just treated Miss Dalton, a wicked part of him wished the man would stagger right into a wall.
He met Barnaby’s gaze. “Check on him after a few minutes, will you?”
“Of course, sir.”
Edmund sank back to his chair, angling toward Miss Dalton. “I apologize for my partner’s behaviour. It was unconscionable. He’s not usually like that.”
“Don’t worry about me, Mr. Price. I am not a flower so easily crushed.” She smiled as she took another bite.
His gaze lingered on her. He couldn’t help but admire thewoman’s unfazed resilience ... the very trait he’d admired in Louisa as well. And look what that had done to him. Left him little better than a twisted wreck. He was tempted to slug back his own glass of wine at the thought, but he reached for his water instead. He’d do well to tread carefully around Miss Dalton.
She dabbed her lips with her serviette. “I met your gardener today. Phineas.”
“He’s a good man.” Edmund chewed a bite thoughtfully. “Though given to roping in the unsuspecting. Let me guess. He asked you to deadhead the roses.”
“Collect honeycomb, actually.”
