“Too many unknown factors remain to jump to that conclusion, my lady,” Peyton said. “One possible consideration is that the tonic was tampered with somewhere else. Do not be too distressed, I beg of you. I shall be on hand to help. If anything happens to worry you, you need only send word.”
When Peyton spoke with cool authority Helen’s panic lessened, but her questions remained unanswered. “What about the burned fragment of letter containing those strange words,electric fish?”
“I imagine your father is better able to answer that. It may bear no relevance at all to Bart’s death.”
Fiske entered the room, followed by Jeremy with the tea tray. “Excuse me, my lady, but Mrs. Chance is interviewing the extra staff required for the ball. She apologizes and asks if you may be able to spare a moment.”
Her mother stood. “Please excuse me, my lord. Helen will entertain you.”
The door closed. Helen, her pulse thudding at finding herself alone with him, seized the teapot and busied herself. “I believe you take milk, my lord?”
“I do, thank you.”
Helen placed the cup and saucer patterned with flowers on the table before him. She moved the laden cake stand closer to him. “Would you care for a sandwich, lemon cake…” Her mind became blank when she met his quizzical gaze. “Cook makes very good coconut macaroons.” What was it about him that stripped her of her composure with one glance?
“I shall sample everything.” A smile tugged at his lips. He placed two tiny ham and cress sandwiches and two macaroons on his plate. As he stirred sugar into his tea, his gaze caught hers again. “Tell me what interests you, Lady Helen.”
“My interests, my lord?” Startled, Helen took something from the platter as she attempted an answer, and then she discovered it was the lemon cake, which was not to her taste. She could hardly put it back so left it on her plate. She took a deep breath and regained her wits. “I find the exhibits at the museum quite fascinating. Many of my father’s discoveries are there. Reading, too, and long walks when in the country.” Picking crabapples for Cook to make preserves while Bertie, their terrier, barked at the finches feeding on the yew berries. Peyton would hardly wish to hear that. “Cherrywood, the family’s cozy old house in Kent, is beautiful with the walls and the chimneys covered in great splashes of crimson Virginia creeper.”
“I can imagine. Nothing better than the countryside in spring,” he agreed.
She supposed he would prefer to ride. On horseback, he must look quite splendid. Helen almost sighed aloud. “I do look forward to returning there with the family, playing charades or whist after dinner.” It would not be that way for very long. Diana would marry, Toby would go off to university, and Harry would take digs in Town…
She glanced up at Peyton from under her lashes as he ate a macaroon. He would not want to hear how she baked cakes in the big country kitchen stove, testing recipes Cook gave her. He would consider her prosaic, which she undoubtedly was. But what else could she say? That she was a keen skater when the pond froze over and played the piano and sang for musical evenings? These activities were unlikely to impress him. A man such as he, who had lived a full life and worked in some secret capacity for the government, perhaps as a spy, would want an exciting woman. That was the way of the world.
“I spend as much time as I can at my country seat, Peyton Grove, in Surrey,” he said.
“You have family there?”
“Not now.”
Wasn’t he lonely? She was curious but could hardly ask him. And she supposed he couldn’t be, or he would marry.
“You don’t speak of London,” he said, disconcerting her. “Do you not enjoy the Season?”
She should have expected the question. Her shortcomings were unfortunately too obvious. But she refused to embellish and pretend to be what she was not. “The theater and the opera and walking in Hyde Park.”
Helen bit her lip and prodded the offending cake with a fork, spreading its contents over her plate. She longed to come up with something thrilling, to see interest spark in his eyes. But had no expectation of it. “I beat my brother, Harry, at chess, and he says he was considered quite accomplished at university.” She smiled, remembering how Harry always blustered. “Toby says Harry swells up like a bullfrog. It does make him rather cross.”
He laughed. “Then I am in sympathy with him. My sister, Lizzie, is a whiz at faro. I would rather you didn’t put that about, though. It might ruin my reputation at White’s.”
The mellow timber of his chuckle sent tingles down her spine. “I’ve met your sister, Elizabeth,” she said, forking up a piece of cake and taking a hurried sip of tea. Cook always made it too sweet.
Peyton finished his second coconut macaroon. “You don’t enjoy dancing?”
“Oh, yes. I do. I love to dance.” She assumed he was trying to understand her. Most likely was perplexed by her. She was glad to offer something that might make her seem more like all the young women he would have met. But dances meant balls, which she hated. She sighed. “I’m afraid you must find me exceedingly dull, my lord.”
“Au contraire, Lady Helen.”
She risked a look in his eyes and was startled to find a gleam in them. Did he find her amusing?
Her mother’s return saved her from dwelling on the question.
“Do forgive me, the amount of organization that goes into holding a ball is astonishing! Now, where were we?” She took the cup of tea Helen had poured for her. “Please use the library for your interviews, Lord Peyton. Fiske shall send Jeremy and my maid, Eloise, to you after your tea. I’m afraid Mrs. Chance is about to leave. You might speak to her tomorrow. Helen, you must assist his lordship with anything he requires.”
The conversation turned to more mundane matters until the tea tray was removed and Fiske escorted Peyton to the library.
Mama gazed at her. “What did you and his lordship speak of in my absence?”
