A meat dish and a fowl followed the fish, as Carrie came in dressed in a lilac gown. Gwen entered after her, looking as pale and weary as Carrie.
Nicholas stood. “As you see, we have a guest.”
“Aunt Penelope!” Carrie hurried over to kiss her cheek. “It is good to see you.”
“I shall feel the same about you after dinner,” her aunt said, buttering a roll.
Carrie hugged her brother and sister before seating herself.
Nicholas dismissed the footman and pushed in their chairs. “Perhaps, after dinner, you might like to tell me why you thought it necessary to come all the way to Surrey?” he asked politely as he poured wine for them.
“I am eager to talk to you,” Carrie said, narrowing her eyes.
“I’ll go home tomorrow,” Gwen said. “It will be good to see Bartholomew and Winston.”
“Of course. And Carrie’s Season? Tell me, is it abandoned or merely delayed for the time being?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Merely delayed,” Gwen said in a tired voice. “That is, if anyone still wants us to attend their balls and routs. We will miss an evening at the theatre and a picnic in Richmond Park. But I suppose we shall be forgiven for that.”
“Thetonwould forgive you almost anything, Gwen,” he said soothingly.
From across the table, Carrie’s eyes sought his with a look he struggled to decipher. That firm chin. Did she think he would send her straight back? Nevertheless, his heart leaped happily to see her. He gazed down at his half-eaten trout, then faced with its glassy eye, pushed it away and wondered idly what course his chef’s revenge would take.
Gwen, always a charming and inventive hostess, chatted with Lady Penelope about the relevance of pineapples decorating table displays. “I saw one recently taking pride of place among the fruit. It was a horrid brown color and looked quite rotten.” She shook her head. “I can’t imagine why they are so treasured.”
“Anything from warm exotic climes and rarely found in London is prized,” Aunt Penelope said. “I blame the weather. We English always gravitate toward the sun. As if it has healing properties. Nonsense. It merely gives a woman a wrinkled complexion like an old saddle.”
Gwen dipped her head. Nicholas took a quick sip of wine before he choked on a piece of broiled chicken. When it was safe to look up, he caught Carrie’s amused gaze.
***
In the drawing room, while coffee was served, Bella began a game of charades despite the assembled party’s disinterest. She touched her nose to denote a person, but the rest became confused. It was impossible to guess who it was, for she fell about giggling, and Jeremy complained.
So happy to be here, Carrie’s toes almost curled in her shoes. But how foolish. Nicholas would return her to London before the week was out.
“Which person is Bella trying to convey?” Nicholas asked, sitting down beside Carrie on the sofa. “I’m afraid I’m not good at this game.”
She laughed. “I don’t know either. Bella,” she called. “We give up. Who is it?”
“Abercrombie,” she said, laughing. “When he looks most displeased.”
Scotty tucked her knitting away and rose from her chair, looking meaningfully at her charge.
“Bella, Jeremy, it is time for you to go to bed,” Carrie said.
“Lady Penelope? Shall we play a hand of whist?” Nicholas asked after the children had left.
Her ladyship waved her fan languidly. “One game before I retire.”
Nicholas went to the games table and removed the cards from the drawer. They all sat down as he shuffled.
“I am exhausted,” Gwen declared when the game was over and followed Lady Penelope from the room.
Carrie sat with Nicholas, drinking coffee while he had a glass of port. It was quiet and peaceful, the only sound the crackle of a small fire in the grate. She rose and went to the window. Outside, a footman, carrying a rifle, roamed the lawn.
She turned back to Nicholas. “One of your footmen is outside. He is armed. Do you expect trouble?”
“Merely a precaution.”
