Well, almost.
Andrews returned, followed by a slew of servants delivering platters of sandwiches, cakes, and tarts, along with piping hot tea and a small glass of brandy. Lady Belle always had her tea boiling with a brandy splash. She also liked to pour it herself, shooing away the servants as soon as they placed the items before them.
Once finished with her own cup of tea, she poured one for Graham and handed it to him, ignoring his grimace. Graham disliked tea and preferred coffee over anything, but Lady Belle had insisted years ago that if he wished to speak with her, he’d have to take tea with her. It was another thing that had grated him at the beginning of their friendship, but he’d reconciled himself to it. Now he added a dash of cream and drank it as fast as he could.
He held the dainty pink porcelain saucer in his large hand and lifted the teacup with the other. He was sure he appeared ridiculous. How clever that tea set manufacturers would build such a fragile, easily breakable product, guaranteeing a return customer. Knocking back his head, he swallowed the entireserving of Earl Grey swiftly, unaffected by the scorching temperature.
“How are your bees doing in this weather?” she asked. “Do they suffer much when it rains? I hope it won’t affect business.”
The reference to his business made Graham want to puff out his chest slightly. Since studying agriculture at university at his uncle's insistence, Graham had become relatively successful in life. Years prior, he had invented a seed drilling attachment that could be fitted on a threshing machine during the planting season. It eliminated the need for two costly devices, combining the equipment for planting and harvesting into a single contraption. It had earned him a tidy sum of money that he had gone on to invest in a new venture: beekeeping. Lady Belle had allotted him the use of an old butterfly garden on the eastern side of the walled grounds at Lismore Hall.
“No, not at all. The bees love rain.”
“Do they?” She stirred the brandy into her tea, took a tentative sip, and smiled. “Well, do you wish to ask me your question before or after my news?”
“You have news?”
“I do.”
“Well then, let’s get it over with so you can carry on as you like,” Graham said, sitting up straight as he placed the saucer and teacup on the table. He reached past the delicate raspberry tarts and strawberry scones for a small, triangle-cut sandwich. Smoked salmon and dill—his favorite. Though, as always, he wished the kitchen would make the sandwiches substantially larger. He never came away satisfied from eating such tiny morsels.
“I do not carry on.”
“Aye, you do, because you’re always too invested in your story.” He popped the sandwich into his mouth in one bite andpractically swallowed without chewing. Lady Belle watched him with amused disapproval. “You never notice everyone else eyes rolling in the back of their heads.”
“You’re a wicked, insolent man, MacKinnon.” Lady Belle scowled at him though her eyes were twinkling at his teasing. “I should say yes to you today if only to finally put an end this friendship.”
“Cor, you’ll not be saying yes today.”
“Then why do you still come to ask?”
Graham considered it, choosing his words carefully. Though he had become fond of the older woman, he didn’t quite know how to explain to her that even though she would always refuse his request, it wasn’t in him to stop trying.
“Well, I suppose it’s because I enjoy your company, as annoying as you are. And because I would be lacking if I didn’t at least ask. Once a month. For the rest of your life.”
Lady Belle seemed pleased with his honest answer and leaned over the table.
“You’re a sweet boy, Graham. If I was fifty years younger, I think I would have set my cap for you.”
Graham smiled, moving his hand over the apricot tarts. Deciding instead on a petite raspberry pastry, he plucked it from the tray before replying.
“If you were fifty years younger, I’d be running in the other direction.”
Lady Belle chortled with unrestrained joy.
Theirs was an odd relationship and Graham hadn’t always liked her, but with fair reason. When he was ten, his uncle, Laird McTavish, explained to him how Lismore Hall had been lost. For years, Graham had disliked Lady Belle for being the victor of that card game, but there was an undeniable charm about her, and he could not help but be won over.
She wiped a tear away from her cheek as she laughed, trying to settle herself down.
“Andrews?” Lady Belle said, her brow creasing as she stared down at the slice of almond-topped Dundee cake on her plate. “Did the cook do something different with the recipe?”
“I don’t believe so, my lady.”
“Are you sure?”
“Would you like me to ask, my lady?”
“Yes,” she said. Andrews left the room and she pointed her fork at Graham. “You know, I remember the first time I had Dundee cake. It was right here, the night you were born.”
