“Picnics at home are usually sandwiches and a bottle of lemonade,” Nellie said.
“Would you have preferred it?”
“To this magnificent feast? Heavens, no.” She smiled at him. “And your company, of course.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “And which is of greater import? My company or the food?”
She laughed. “Your company, of course. But I confess to being hungry after our ride.”
“Then I must feed you.”
“Thank you. This is very grand. It lacks nothing but music.”
“An oversight,” he said, coming to sit down. “I should have had a fiddler accompany us.”
“Oh, yes. If music be the food of love, play on.”
She lowered her head and busied herself rearranging the items on the table.
He had not missed the shadow in her eyes. What the devil? Had she come to accept the terms of their marriage? He was aware of her penchant for poetry and poets and was equally aware that he didn’t particularly share it, preferring to read books, which offered clear, rational thought. But their union suited him, especially as he found Nellie extremely desirable. She might feel differently, however. Had there been another man in the picture before they met? The Irish poet, who he imagined would have shared her interest? It stood to reason a lovely woman like Nellie would have attracted many men. While he didn’t expect or want her love, nor did he want his wife mooning over some other fellow from her past.
He held up his glass. “To our future together.”
“Our future, Charles.” She evaded his gaze as she leaned close to clink her glass against his. “Now, what have we here?” On her knees, she examined the array of dishes John had removed from the hamper. “Oh, my goodness. If I sample every dish, I shan’t be able to get back on my horse. But I cannot resist game pie. Your chef makes superb pastry.”
He watched as she busied herself with their plates. She’d been more relaxed with him yesterday. Couldn’t be the foxhunting. He’d made that clear, hadn’t he? But he’d attempted to discover what went on in Nellie’s head before and failed miserably. He wouldn’t ask again. She probably wouldn’t tell him. Uncomplicated women tended to bore him in the past, but at this moment, he wished Nellie were a little easier to understand.
He decided to find a safe subject before he spoiled the day, trying again to dig into her thoughts. “Do you approve of Belle?”
“I do.” She glanced at the mare tugging at the grass beside Thor. “She is quite spirited and light on her feet.” Her lips twitched. “I would like a chance to beat you again, should we race.”
He laughed.
“You doubt I could?” She gazed at him, eyelids half lowered. A slight smile played on her lips, and for a minute, he was privy to what she so often hid from him. That which he’d begun to look for and hope to see. So sensual, he caught his breath. “Shall I serve?”
“Please do.” He watched as she busied herself, deftly filling their plates with deviled eggs, a slice of game pie still warm enough to spice the air, a leg of cold chicken, salmon, and salad. She placed a basket of warm bread and a selection of cheeses on the table.
“I shall resist your chef’s elaborate dessert.” She handed him a plate. “I have been measured for my wedding gown. It would be disastrous if it required altering.”
The mention of their wedding brought a pause to the conversation. For several minutes, they ate in silence.
Charles nibbled the chicken leg as he half lay propped on one elbow on the rug. “You seemed to enjoy young Blake’s company last night.”
She looked up from cutting into a slice of pie. “He was most entertaining.”
Charles felt a twinge of something indefinable. Blake was a good-looking young fellow, and attentive, and he’d made her laugh. “His father, the Squire, runs the foxhunting here. Keeps many hunters at his stable.”
Her eyes met his. “I know.” She pushed her half-full plate away. “Can we not speak of it now? I want to enjoy our lunch.”
“Yes, there are important things we should discuss.”
“Certainly.” She’d become cool and unapproachable again as she forked up a piece of pie. “About the wedding?”
Charles tossed the chicken leg onto the plate and grabbed a napkin to wipe his fingers. He reached for champagne and drank half the glass. “Is it the wedding which worries you? Or something else?”
“There’s nothing,” she said coolly.
“Would you tell me if there was?”
