I frowned. Perrin and I had few acquaintances in common, and none that would make me uneasy. He was up to something, and not knowing what it was annoyed me.
Lady Havenstone cleared her throat. “Have you heard anything about Cook Clem, Lord Perrin? Is he recovering his strength?”
Everyone in the room leant forward to better hear Perrin’s answer. A large inducement to travel to Perrin Manor had been the well-earned reputation of its chef. Perrin had discovered the man in some unknown village near the border of Wales andplucked him up. The meals at Perrin Manor were held in great acclaim. Cook Clem was a master in the kitchen.
The chef was not yet thirty. While Perrin Manor was a step up from some country hamlet, the nearest village of Modbury was hardly a lively metropolis. Tucked away in the remote southwest of England, it lacked the verve and vigor a young man might desire. I wondered if the chef had ever considered a move to London.
Perrin slapped his hand down on his thigh. “I wish everyone would stop pestering me about him. Clem has merely caught a chill in this dratted weather. He’ll be back in the kitchen soon.”
Like we were all a part of a collective bladder, the guests in the sitting room sagged back in their chairs, deflated. Soon wasn’t soon enough.
“It isn’t as though I don’t miss his cooking, too,” Perrin grumbled. He rubbed a stomach that had gradually expanded over the years. “The assistant cook’s meals give me colic.”
I looked heavenward. Dinner hadn’t been that bad, merely completely lacking in flavor. But Perrin always found any opportunity to gripe about his situation. Though if I went this whole trip without tasting one meal from Clem, I feared I would match my brother-in-law’s ill temper.
Lady Havenstone sat forward in her chair. She was a slender woman with a turned-up nose which gave her the appearance of disapproving of everything she saw. “I have a tonic that might help Cook Clem. When I catch a chill, it straightens me right out.”
“He is being well taken care of,” Perrin nearly shouted. He glared at the baroness.
Lady Havenstone glared back. If she had any tonics for the colic Perrin had mentioned, I noticed she didn’t offer those to him for any relief.
An uncomfortable silence reigned, with only the heavy pelting of the rain sounding in the room.
After a moment, I raised one shoulder. “We could always—”
“No.” Perrin sagged back in his chair. “We will not be entertaining another ofyoursuggestions.”
I glowered down at my boots. If more of my suggestions were entertained, this would be a much livelier party.
My scowl deepened when I examined the lace trim on the hem of my gown. The trim newly acquired to hide the small tears one of Perrin’s beasts had inflicted upon my Mornine gown. There was no good food at this house party, a pesky animal was always underfoot, and I had to suffer through dull company. I never should have come. I lifted one boot to bring the lilac trim closer to the light. The needlework of Perrin’s maids was excellent, however.
Miss Walker stood and went to the sideboard. She poured a glass of wine from Perrin’s amber decanter and brought it to Perrin. “Being forced to remain indoors isn’t such a bad thing when the company is good.”
There existed another awkward moment.
“I don’t know how you drink that rot,” Bertram said, nodding at Perrin’s glass. “You must have a stomach of iron.”
“Wormwood is good for the digestion.” Perrin took a large swallow as an example.
Miss Walker tugged on one of the poorly-cut curls that framed her face. Whichever maid had done that to Miss Walker’s hair should be barred from ever holding another pair of shears. “Have you thought about refurbishing Perrin Manor, my lord?” She poured a drink of her own, a small glass of sherry. “My father and I recently repainted the first floor of our home. It makes such a difference. You should come by soon for supper and see.”
“My paint colors are fine,” Perrin said. He removed his handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed his forehead.
“Yes, but even rearranging things can make such a difference.” Miss Walker pointed to a portrait above the mantel. It was of the Lady Perrin, commissioned soon after her marriage to the earl. She’d had the same dark eyes as her brother Bertram, but a much cheerier disposition. “I’ve always thought that picture would look so much better in a west facing room. The library perhaps.”
A room Miss Walker most likely didn’t enter, and therefore a place where she wouldn’t have to see the portrait of Perrin’s late wife. All of the neighbor woman’s flutterings and flatterings toward Perrin, a most undeserving subject, led me to the conclusion that she desired to be the Lady Perrin. Reminders of the past countess could only be displeasing to Miss Walker.
I looked toward Miss Smith. That young lady’s presence here must be a similar cross for Miss Walker to bear.
Perrin scowled. “What does the direction of a painting matter? No, it stays put. Besides”—Perrin gave me a sly look from the corner of his eye—“it’s a good reminder of how fortunate I was in my marriage. I’ve always said a good wife makes or breaks a man. When disloyalty is found in a home, you can be sure the man is miserable.”
And there it was again. A poisoned-tipped dart Perrin seemed to have aimed at me. One I couldn’t understand. While our relationship had never been what one would call amiable, it had always been civil. He was my husband’s brother. I respected that connection. I’d thought he did, as well. Ever since I’d arrived at Perrin Manor, however, I’d felt a sort of malice directed at me, almost as if….
My stomach cramped. No. That made no sense. There was no way he could know.
“Well, if my wife doesn’t find it too disloyal, I think I will leave her and all of you to join Mr. Smith at billiards.” Lord Havenstone ran his fingers over his wife’s shoulder. “Be careful what you and the other ladies get up to, my love. On a night such as this, one never knows what sorts of monsters and ghosts will want to steal away fair ladies.”
Frowning, she brushed his hand from her person. “Stop being foolish. The only monster here is the storm.”
