Jonathan knew he had never said anything about routes, but he let that go.Despite being assured of this family’s allegiance, the less said about his mission, the better.
“Among other things.”Jonathan’s tone was careful.“Reliable maps are valuable in many contexts — trade, administration, defense.”
And whether any citizen of Great Britain understood it or not, despite not having launched an armed attack, their country was deeply involved in this European conflict.Those on the Continent, this family, for instance, knew it well.
“And the Crown pays you a goodly sum for such work?”Herr von Ostenfeld asked.
Jonathan choked on a sip of wine.It wasn’t that he minded the question.But it wasn’t as though he walked into the St.James’s Palace or Buckingham House and left with a sack of gold directly from King George’s hands.His payment came in more roundabout methods, especially during war time.Sometimes credited to his account at Coutts, a private bank.Sometimes an annuity or even a parcel of land.It didn't concern him one way or the other.
“Papa,” Lise whispered, a note of reproach in her voice, then more loudly, “I believe you’ll find that the English do not speak frankly of their income.”
“It’s a fair question,” her father said, unrepentant.“Although, I suppose the heir to an earldom doesn’t need to earn his coin.”
“Indeed,” Jonathan said circumspectly.“I suppose I had more choice than my younger brother, who is a barrister.But I would never be idle, just because I can be.”
Her father grunted approval.“Honest work.I respect that.Too many young men of good family expect the world to be handed to them on a plate.”
Jonathan inclined his head, accepting the compliment and privately agreeing.He had acquaintances who did little apart from spend their allowances out of hand.Finch, for one, although he was a jolly dog and a true friend.
As they finished their soup, the table fell quiet again.When the bowls were cleared, they all helped themselves to portions of the fish.
“Caught in the lake this morning,” Herr von Ostenfeld said with great satisfaction.
The carp in bouillon, with onions and bay leaves, was filleted and served with a horseradish sauce.Jonathan was only half tasting his food, however, more focused on watching Lise.He hoped she would look at him and perhaps even speak boldly the way she had when they were in London.
Regardless, his tongue sent his brain a message that everything was delicious, if differently prepared than at home.He had discovered the same at the meal he’d enjoyed with his host, the bailiff, and the other administrative officials in the city.Different but wonderful.
As soon as the fish disappeared, the main course arrived all at once, carried by two maids.Mustard-glazed roast beef, boiled ham, fricassée of chicken, accompanied by the seasonal vegetables of peas, green beans, and cauliflower.The four of them became busy, filling their plates.Jonathan did his duty as a guest, exclaiming how perfectly everything had been prepared.
“We must be forgiven,” Herr von Ostenfeld said, “if we have pared back from a full banquet, given our small party of four, but I hope you will find everything to your liking, sufficient both in quality and in quantity.”
Lise made the first genuine, light-hearted contact with Jonathan, rolling her eyes so only he, seated across from her, could see.It delighted him that she would share her exasperation.He understood that her father was boasting how this dinner wasn’t even their finest while daring his guest to find fault.His father might do the very same.
“Everything is magnificent,” Jonathan assured his host.Then the devil made him add, “So far.”Lise bit her lip to keep from laughing as her father drew his eyebrows together.
Frau von Ostenfeld smiled.“We do not often have guests from England.The occasion merited celebration.”She gestured to her husband to refill the glasses with the pale gold Rheingau wine, crisp and slightly sweet.
“We have much to be grateful for,” his hostess continued, “with our region enjoying a good harvest.”
Even with the French breathing down your necks, Jonathan thought, but did not say it.Instead, he raised his glass.“To your hospitality, then.And to good harvests.”
But no matter what he ate or drank, even from the third course of stuffed cabbage rolls and fresh salad of cucumbers and early apples, his attention was not on the food.
It was on Lise, who had barely spoken since they’d sat down.Each time he looked at her, he had a hard time looking away.Her gown of pale pink silk was simpler than anything she’d worn in London.The bodice had a more modest neckline, too.Delicate rosettes adorned it, which — God help him — made him think of her sweet nipples, reminding Jonathan she was the sensual woman who had once come apart in his arms.
If he wasn’t looking so closely, he might have missed the tension in her shoulders, how her hand had trembled earlier when she lifted her wine glass, the careful way that she was trying to avoid meeting his eyes.Jonathan was certain she felt the same unbearable pull that he did.
“Do you miss England and your family,” Frau von Ostenfeld asked, “when you are surveying away from home?”
“No,” he said, perhaps too quickly.“That is, I very much enjoy my work, and I haven’t lived under my father’s roof for quite some time.”In truth, he was at ease wherever he found himself.
Although tonight, he didn’t feel the least bit blithe and easy.His kind host and hostess would be scandalized to learn their daughter was uppermost in his thoughts for weeks.Particularly the memory of Lise’s gasps and the salt-sweet taste of her skin.
God, he was depraved.“Even when I am in Britain,” he added, “I spend weeks away from London, as I did a few months ago while surveying northern Norfolk.”
“And you have no betrothed as yet?”Frau von Ostenfeld asked, with the blunt directness that seemed characteristic of these people.
Lise made a small sound, quickly suppressed, and Jonathan saw her hand tighten on her fork.
