Caroline glanced at Walsh, to gauge if he’d taken the remark as an insult.
His amused expression was a relief.
With that put to rest, she considered him in general. He was quirky and plain and, at times, socially awkward. He was also intelligent, good-natured, and genuinely considerate of others. Walsh was not a man she would have chosen, but he was growing on her.
“May I have your attention,” Mrs. Abernathy called loudly enough to be heard above the lively buzz of conversation. “My cook insisted on traditional plum pudding,” she announced to the table at large, as tray-carrying staff emerged from the kitchen, “to which I acquiesced.”
“Be honest, Aunt,” Walsh interjected. “You caved.”
“Oh, all right,” she replied, casting him a coy smile. “I caved. But I also insisted on the addition of something special: Floating Islands surrounded by Snowballs.”
Most of the guests, whether with sincerity or for their hostess’s benefit,oohedin astonishment.
Caroline kept a curious-but-neutral face and examined the fare set before her. The ‘island’ was meringue ‘floating’ on a bowl of vanilla custard, encircled by sugar-coated butter cookies. Every item had been perfectly prepared and painstakingly arranged, but it hardly rose to the level of special.
It was, however, pretty. And bold.
Due to its association with slavery, sugar had been shunned by northerners since before the war. Then Union forces brought the South’s sugarcane industry to the brink of extinction. The generous dusting of glistening grains was either a show of wealth or a daring slap to the face of popular opinion.
If it were the latter, nobody seemed to mind. For the first time all meal, chatter completely ceased in favor of chewing.
Malvinia closed her eyes in a look of pure ecstasy. “These cookies are fabulous. They simply melt in one’s mouth. And the custard is the richest and smoothest I’ve ever had.”
Several nearby guests voiced their agreement, including Caroline. “Mrs. Abernathy’s cook is very talented.”
“Indeed,” Walsh remarked, his smile turning into a mischievous smirk. “I just might kidnap her when I move out.”
That set off a ripple of stifled giggles from the women within earshot.
“What was that, Walsh?” Mrs. Abernathy asked.
“Nothing, Aunt,” he replied, setting off a louder ripple.
She eyed him for a moment then let it drop.
“Have you found a place of your own?” Caroline asked him once she’d stopped chuckling.
“Not yet. I can’t decide if I want a place in town or something a little farther out. What do you think I should choose?”
“Oh, I couldn’t say. That’s a choice you must make for yourself.”
“But if you did...”
“Well, living in town has its advantages, if you don’t mind the bustle and the noise.”
“Would you mind it?”
Caroline paused to think how she might politely sidestep such a pointed question. “I wouldn’t want to be tens of miles from the nearest neighbor, but I do enjoy having space for flowers and a vegetable garden.”
“And stables,” Malvinia interjected. “You always did like to oversee the care of your mount rather than relinquish it to a livery.”
“That, too,” she agreed.
Walsh studied her for a moment then turned to her chaperone. “What about you, Miss Teague?”
“I would be happy just about anywhere, so long as it was warm and well-stocked with the things a person truly needs.”
Malvinia’s humility was contagious, and Caroline mentally revised her answer. She could settle for that. She could tolerate living in abject poverty if she had Jackson.
