“Slightly.”
“That is the mint.”
“I’m surprised you are letting her cover you with one of her concoctions, Leonie,” Dora said. “I spent my childhood avoiding them.”
“You spent your childhood with so many scrapes you had to bathe in that salve,” David said, and everyone laughed.
It was strange to see Leonie at ease with his family. She acted as if she’d always meant to be one of them. She easily kept the conversation flowing by asking his mother how she came to choose his given name.
“Roman Lancaster was in the Department of Philosophy and my late husband’s closest friend, although there was a good twenty years between their ages,” his mother said. She smiled with the fondness of memory when she explained, “My children’s father was quite a few years older than myself. Be it as it may, Roman died shortly before this Roman was born and Alfred wanted to honor his friend with the name. Now, in many ways, my Roman honors both men.”
Leonie looked touched by his mother’s sentimentality.
Of course, Dora spoiled that moment by pointing out that she, too, had one of the Latin names.
“Greek,” their stepfather mildly corrected.
“Only Elizabeth escaped and that is because of Mother.”
His mother smiled and confessed, “I told my late husband that if I was the one carrying the children, then I should have first choice for a name. In fairness, I let him name Dora and then I, too, loved Roman Lancaster. He was a good, good friend.” For a second, a memory seemed in danger of overwhelming her. She looked over to her husband and there was one of those silent times of communication where his mother and stepfather perfectly understood each other.
Those moments always touched Roman. He longed to have that sort of deep affinity with his wife.
He felt someone watching him and looked up to see Leonie with a thoughtful expression on her face. Did she, too, long to be close to another? Had she witnessed the respect his parents held for each other and found it moving?
Roman couldn’t tell in her expression. She could be a cypher, a mystery. Or a wasp’s nest. She had already turned out to be vastly different than he had anticipated.
And that was part of her intrigue for him.
Dinner was a simple repast served at his parents’ cottage. His mother had made a stew with bread she had baked the day before. Elizabeth, Lawrence, and the children, Edward and Jane, joined them.
Leonie proved to be good with children. Beth was taken with her to the point that his sweet oldest sister mouthed the words, “I like her,” to Roman.
What surprised Roman was how Leonie could be gentle with Beth and sharp-witted with Dora, especially if Roman was the topic. She was also well read. He’d not considered her education and perhaps he should have. However, she held her own in a conversation with David. She asked intelligent questions and seemed genuinely interested in the answers.
Was it a ruse? She was a polished product of London drawing rooms. She could probably talk to diplomats and merchants alike.
The best moment was when his mother asked for stories of India. Usually, his family had no curiosity about what he’d seen and that was fine with him. Some of what he’d done and where he’d been would not have made respectable table conversation. However, Leonie drew out of him the good memories.
They talked of pilgrims bathing in the muddy rivers and monkeys stealing anything shiny. Leonie brought up the heat and everything was either very dusty or very green.
He’d forgotten that. He could almost smell the heat and recall vividly how the Indian women preferred vivid colors in their dress that seemed to make the sun brighter.
“More cider?” Dora asked everyone as the meal was coming to an end. It was sweet, potent stuff made by the villagers. Everyone save for Beth, Lawrence, and the children had been drinking it.
Beth shook her head, and then noticed Leonie’s thoughtful expression. “We are Methodists,” Beth explained to her.
“And?” his wife prompted, not understanding.
“We are temperate,” Lawrence answered.
Leonie’s brows came together. “What does that mean?”
“We don’t drink spirits or ale or cider,” Lawrence said.
“Or elderberry wine,” his mother chimed in.
“By choice?” Leonie asked.
