After removing her gloves and placing them in her lap, Charlotte leaned across her dining companion, Lord Greenley, and tapped Amity on the hand.
“No bags of meat tonight,” Charlotte whispered, loudly enough for the man to hear. It didn’t matter though. Amity could tell Lord Greenley was using only one of his five senses, given his good view down her sister’s décolletage.
All Amity could do was smile slightly. Certainly, at the Peabodys’ table, there would not be any sausages to which her sister so crudely referred. Rather, their hostess announced each new course in French with much rolling of herR’s. Luckily, with French grandparents and a good education, Amity knew what she was eating. From the turtle and spring-time potage to the filet of sole, oysters and breaded whiting during the fish course, through the chicken and roast beef, the lamb cutlets and breaded quail, the roasted figs and asparagus, the meal went on and on.
Amity realized by therelevéscourse during which the main meat was served that she ought to take the smallest bite of each dish or she would never make it to theentremets sucré.And she did so love fancy desserts. It would be a shame to be too full.
Shooting a glance at Charlotte, she set her fork down and hoped her sister followed suit. She also took a peek across the table. The duke happened to look up from hispoulets a la régence.
With the smallest lift of his brow, Lord Pelham asked her how she was doing. With a returning lift of her shoulder, she indicated she was fine. It was the best exchange she’d had during the meal so far. In another minute, Lord Ridley finally attempted to show an interest by questioning where her father went to school, Eton or Harrow, and from what part of England the Rare family hailed.
After her answers seemed to dissatisfy him, he looked to his right for someone else with whom to converse. Thus, Amity sat unspeaking for an entire course, feeling shunned and a little sorry for herself.
With Lord Ridley’s shoulder firmly toward her, she knew her only hope to escape her isolation was to engage Lord Greenley in conversation. She almost wished her gown’s neckline were lower cut. Yet with half the meal still to come, and while Charlotte was conversing with the gentleman to her far left, Amity would make a valiant attempt.
“My lord.”
He turned slowly, his glance dropping to her bosom and the lace at her décolletage that obscured his view. When his gaze rose to her face, he gave her a wan smile, nothing like that of Lord Pelham, but at least he seemed to recall common courtesy and spoke.
“How are you enjoying the meal?” he asked.
“Very much,” she returned. “And yourself?”
“It’s better than some, not as good as others. In a word, it will do.”
“Goodness, my lord, your palate must be extremely persnickety not to find this to be a sumptuous repast. I cannot find fault with a single dish.”
He sniffed, twisted his mouth in an expression of mild distaste, and deigned to look so impossibly arrogant, Amity laughed out loud.
Absolutely unexpected, the laughter burst from her before she could stop herself. To her horror, it seemed to cause an immediate cessation of all noise in the room except for the clattering of a fork dropped carelessly onto a plate.
Turning toward the sound, Amity realized it had come from Charlotte, who was now staring at her with large, alarmed eyes.
Oh dear! Oh dear! Oh dear!
Amity’s mouth went bone dry. Reaching quickly for her wine, she proceeded to knock it over, making their hostess exclaim while some ladies tittered at her clumsiness. One of the servers rushed forward to mop it up, remove the glass, and replace it with a full one — all within about thirty seconds.
The longest thirty seconds of Amity’s life — with the other diners staying completely silent. She could only be eternally grateful the wine had been white.
“Doesn’t anyone laugh at a dinner party anymore?” Lord Pelham suddenly asked. Amity looked at him with gratitude, and he winked at her. “I, for one, am delighted at the happy sound and am ready to laugh along with the lovely young miss.”
“Perhaps if we knew what had caused the outburst of good humor,” said Lady Peabody, without any malice, sounding as if she genuinely wished to be in on the joke.
Drats and double drats!Amity could hardly say it was Lord Greenley’s sourpuss expression that had engendered her involuntary laughter. In fact, by the look on his face, he knew she had been laughing at him, and he didn’t look the least bit pleased.
Reaching slowly this time, Amity picked up her wine glass, aware of every eye trained upon her. She took a small sip of chardonnay, careful not to gulp or to cough. At last, she spoke.
“I was thinking of a jest I read in the newspaper the other day,” she lied. Fending off anyone asking her what it was, she looked directly at Lord Pelham. “I’m sure all of you have read it already. Perhaps someone else has an amusing story or a joke to tell.”
That sounded like the utterance of a half-wit, but it was the best Amity could do, along with sending the duke a beseeching look, which unfortunately, Lady Madeleine also caught, making her raise a delicately perfect eyebrow.
“I shall think of one,” he said, “ifyoucome up with the next one, either a story or a joke.”
The infernal man!She had nearly succeeded in getting all the attention off herself, and then he had to say that.
The tension in the room relaxed, however, as the duke launched into a story about his own boating misfortune the previous summer, involving a lost oar and a leaky hull. It was self-deprecating and amusing, and soon, everyone was laughing along with him.
Meanwhile, Amity considered what she would say. Her sisters always thought her a good storyteller. But doing so in private was far easier than being on display in the Peabodys’ dining room.
