Truth be told, he’d found himself becoming warm often over the past day and a half, a direct result of catching Camilla grinning time and again as she went about interacting with his family.
There was something downright enticing about her when she grinned, as if she’d let down her prim-and-proper guard and was allowing herself to simply be Camilla, a lady who seemed to enjoy finding herself thrust into a world she hadn’t known existed.
Her interest the evening before in sampling all the local dishesMeemaw had made for supper had been obvious, and he’d found himself riveted by her different reactions.
Lima beans, morel mushrooms, river trout, and puffers—or rather, potato pancakes—had been her favorites because she’d eaten every bite of the helpings on her plate, whereas corn pone and rabbit stew had obviously not been to her liking. She’d merely taken one bite of each before she’d ever so casually pushed them to the side of her plate.
He readily admitted he’d been completely taken aback when, after everyone finished dinner by enjoying a piece of rhubarb pie, Camilla insisted on helping clear the table, even though Mr. Timken had assured her that her assistance wasn’t needed. Camilla hadn’t hesitated to argue with that, stating that since Elma and Beulah had fed all the men hired to guard her, as well as Lottie and Bernadette, there were more than a few dishes, along with all the pots and pans, that needed attending to. Camilla had then refused to let Meemaw or Elma lift a finger to clean, stating quite emphatically that they’d cooked the food, so it was only fair that they took it easy while everyone else pitched in to clean up.
It hadn’t escaped his notice that after that pronouncement, Meemaw, with Elma in tow, had disappeared, returning a few minutes later with Meemaw’s recipe box in hand.
All in all, it had been a more-than-enjoyable day, one of the most enjoyable parts being when he’d joined Camilla in the kitchen, drying the dishes after she washed them, although she’d gotten more water on herself than on the dishes, suggesting she’d never washed a dish in her life, not that she seemed overly concerned about the drenched state of her gown when they finally finished.
She hadn’t even repaired to her room to have Bernadette help her change when everyone moseyed out to the back terrace to have a few glasses of dandelion wine. Nems and Andy Sklenicka even pulled out a fiddle and a banjo, which they put to good use entertaining everyone until the mosquitoes started biting.
“If you really want to fit in around here,” Luella said, pulling Owen from his thoughts, “you should start sayingyou’uns.”
“Younz?” Camilla repeated.
“You ... uns,” Luella corrected. “As in ‘are you’uns goin’ to be doing the warsh today, or can you meet us at the crick to do some fishin’?’”
“And crick would mean creek?” Camilla asked.
“Indeed.”
“I’ve taken the liberty of writing down some of the local dialect and phrases in a journal,” Charles said, strolling up from behind them and stopping beside Luella, Leopold trailing in his wake.
It was a little concerning when Luella’s eyes took to flashing. “Why would you write those down?”
Charles blinked. “Shouldn’t I?”
“Not if you’re intending on going back to New York and using that journal as a source of amusement with your friends to highlight what you evidently see as our backwoods ways.”
Charles’s eyes widened. “I do most humbly beg your pardon, Miss Chesterfield. I certainly haven’t been documenting my observations to make sport of you or the fine people living in this region. I simply wanted to chronicle things I’ve heard so I can peruse them when I’m at my leisure.”
“Why?” Luella asked.
“Because I found myself being the source of Nems and Andy’s amusement last night when I asked them to clarify whatdem daremeant as they were telling a story.” Charles shook his head. “It took them a good five minutes to explain in a way I could understand that it meantthem there, or something to that effect, although in my defense, those gentlemen do know how to meander their way around an explanation.”
Luella tilted her head. “You’re trying to decipher our local dialect so that you’re not made fun of again?”
“Since I’ve experienced my fair share of derision over the years, Miss Chesterfield, I try to avoid setting myself up for more of thatif at all possible. In this particular case, having a grasp of the local jargon may at least leave Nems and Andy with the impression I’m not a complete idiot.”
“You’re worried about what Nems and Andy think of you?” Luella asked slowly.
“Of course I am. They’re very nice men and even invited me to go fishing. I’d at least like to have a handle on some of the local vernacular so that we can enjoy conversations instead of me having to ask them to interpret every other word they say.”
“Huh,” Luella said before she stepped closer to Charles. “I must say that it speaks highly of your character that you’re determined to learn our special language down here, but I find it difficult to believe that you’ve experienced derision over the years, given you’re a member of that fancy Four Hundred Camilla told me about.”
“A scornful attitude isn’t held at bay simply because one possesses wealth and their family holds a status within a specific social setting, Miss Chesterfield,” Charles said. “I’ve never ‘taken’ within society, probably because I’m considered somewhat dull, and people who are uninspiring often find themselves bearing the brunt of unpleasant remarks.”
“I haven’t gotten the impression you’re dull in the least,” Luella countered. “And, if you haven’t noticed, you’ve been attracting more than your fair share of attention as we’ve wandered up Market Street.” She smiled. “I expect some of the ladies who’ve been discreetly observing you will muster up the nerve to approach us at some point during our excursion today. I can guarantee once they discover you’re a member of New York high society, they won’t conclude that a single word that escapes your mouth is humdrum.”
Charles’s gaze darted to three ladies who were walking toward them, blinking when all of them cast what could only be considered flirtatious smiles his way before they strolled on by. He returned his attention to Luella. “They may be initially impressed, but once they get to know me, they’ll decide, quite like all the ladies of the Four Hundred have, that I’m a less-than-riveting conversationalist.”
“I’m less than riveting in that regard, as well,” Luella admitted with a grin. “In fact, I’ve been known to bore people to tears when I get on the subject of my favorite plants, especially flowers. To prove that point, know that I could speak for hours about a project I’m in the midst of, one where I’m currently attempting to make a new lily hybrid—not that I’ve found much success with that yet.”
Charles took a step closer to her. “You must tell me all about this hybrid process, Miss Chesterfield, because I wouldn’t find that less than riveting in the least since I’m an amateur horticulturist.”
