“I know because I anticipated the reception I would get and I asked questions of other Americans before I left London.”
“Do you mean we must keep them no matter how much they dislike us?”
“For the time being I think it would be best,” he said. “And I doubt if they actually dislike us.”
“The cook does,” Kenna said with conviction, pushing away her plate. “The meat is without texture, the potatoes are watery, and the vegetables have had the color cooked out of them. I think I would gladly put up with Monsieur Raillier’s temper if I could have his food now.”
“At least you don’t have to worry about arsenic here,” Rhys pointed out.
Kenna stared at her plate. “Pardon me if I doubt your word,” she said dryly.
Rhys started laughing and Kenna soon joined him, tears gathering in her eyes from his infectious amusement. They sobered long enough for their half eaten repast to be exchanged for dessert by a grim-faced serving girl. As soon as they were alone they glanced at the pudding in front of them which had the consistency and color appeal of mud and simultaneously burst into laughter.
Kenna wiped her glistening eyes with a corner of her napkin and dared Rhys to try it.
He shook his head and backed away, scraping a leg of his chair on the polished hardwood floor. “You try it.”
“We both will. We have to,” she insisted. “If we don’t touch it the cook will think we just weren’t hungry and she’s likely to serve this again. But if we eat a few spoonfuls—all right, just one spoonful—she’ll know we tried it and found it wanting.”
Rhys was skeptical of her logic. “You first.”
“Together,” she told him sternly.
They put their spoons in the pudding at the same time, and watching each other carefully lest one of them falter, they brought the spoons to their mouths. The spoons hovered for a moment, then Kenna and Rhys cast caution aside and took a bite, swallowing quickly. Their eyes widened in mutual amazement.
“I’ll take yours if you can’t eat it all,” Rhys said, trying to draw her crystal cup in front of him.
Kenna grabbed it back. “There are some things I won’t do for you, Rhys. And giving up this—this—whatever it is—is one of them.”
After dinner they went to the music room where Kenna played the spinet while Rhys relaxed in a chair with his feet propped up on an ottoman. He winced, looking over the top of the Boston paper, when Kenna hit some sour notes.
She made a face at him. “It’s badly out of tune.”
“I didn’t say anything,” he said innocently and lifted the paper again to hide his grin.
“Beast!” Kenna dramatically pounded out a minor chord. She rose from the bench and sat on the ottoman, pushing his feet to one side. “Rhys, the servants are all observing mourning.”
“I didn’t fail to notice that.”
“Won’t it seem odd if we don’t?”
Rhys dropped the paper. His features were without remorse. “I have already given my father and brother more attention in death than they ever gave me in life. I did not wish them dead, Kenna, but just because they are does not mean I must forgive or forget the past. If there had been some sort of reconciliation, or an overture on their part when they were in London, I might feel differently now. There wasn’t and I don’t. I will not observe mourning for the sake of appearances. I have too much respect for my father and myself to mock us both.”
Kenna was stricken by Rhys’s response. “I did not know you felt so strongly about it,” she said quietly.
He folded the paper on his lap. “I hope you are not going to try to change my mind.”
“No. It never occurred to me.”
“Good. Now I wish you would rest your concerns about the servants. This is a trial period for all of us. If you have any problems dealing with them, if their resentment causes you the slightest difficulty, or if you are not satisfied with their work, speak with me about it. We will decide what is to be done then. Does that meet with your approval?”
“Yes.” She lifted her chin a notch. “They haven’t intimidated me, you know.”
Rhys’s lips twitched. “I never thought they would. I didn’t marry an insipid English miss. Besides, there are only eight of them. You had more servants than that taking care of the grounds.”
“True,” she admitted. She gave his knee a squeeze then absentmindedly rubbed his taut thigh. “Are you going to the shipping office tomorrow?”
“Yes, and the lawyer’s. Do you want to come with me?”
