Halfway through this dish—which was quite good in its simplicity—the dowager broke the silence in which they’d been consuming the main course.
“You left your notebooks behind last week, Mr. Stone,” she said crisply. “Does that mean you are returning to continue your work? Or that we’ve seen the last of you?”
Eamon cleared his throat. “I am very busy elsewhere, Your Grace. I have asked Mr. Cheswell to send you a replacement. I apologize that he has not yet complied.”
The dowager stared at him during this speech while Caro studied her plate.
“You have a silver tongue,” the dowager stated. “Just like your father. Has our company grated on you? I see no reason you should not continue what you’ve started. Cheswell can send his other assistants to do whatever he has foisted upon you. I shall write to him and tell him so.”
Having said her piece, she lifted her fork and focused her attention on eating.
Caro raised her head, her eyes holding both amusement at her mother-in-law’s imperiousness and a hint of triumph.
Why triumph? What was she up to? Eamon’s heartbeat sped in anticipation of whatever it might be.
“Do come back, Mr. Stone,” Leo said. Could he make his plea any more heart-wrenching? “No one will understand us like you do, and I know they won’t let me help.”
Caro watched Eamon closely, as though daring him to disappoint her son.
Eamon regarded the pair in dismay, torn between joy that they wanted him and worry that he’d make things worse by returning.
He lifted his hands in surrender, uncertain if he was reluctant or glad. “Very well. I will explain things to Mr. Cheswell, but I must leave the decision to him.”
“Nonsense,” the dowager said. “Cheswell will do what I wish. I expect to find you here tomorrow morning. I have given up the notion that you’ll discover anything, but we ought to have everything cataloged correctly.”
She returned once more to her dinner, as though the matter was concluded.
Singleton stalked into the chamber as soon as the dowager finished, removed the plates, and returned with bowls of bright strawberries for the sweet. The season for them had begun, so they’d be cheap and plentiful.
Once they’d made short work of the berries, Singleton decanted a bottle of dark wine, the second wine serving of the night. The pale wine that had awaited them in the glasses had been thinned with water, but what Singleton now poured into a small goblet for Eamon was thick and blood red.
Port. From the bits of dust clinging to the bottle on the sideboard, it had been reposing in the cellar for quite some time.
As soon as the port finished trickling into the glass, the dowager rose from her seat.
“Caroline, shall we leave the gentlemen to it?”
This might have been a formal supper for twenty the way the dowager intoned the command. Caro instantly came to her feet, as had Eamon and Leo when the dowager stood.
Singleton retreated to become a statue next to the sideboard as the dowager moved to the door in a swish of silk and musky perfume.
Caro went to Leo and kissed the top of her son’s head. “Singleton will take you up soon, darling, and I will come and say good night. Do not talk Mr. Stone’s leg off.”
Leo spluttered with laughter at the metaphor and hugged his mother. Caro released him and brushed by Eamon to follow in the dowager’s wake.
“Thank you for coming,” she murmured to Eamon, then she was out the door.
Eamon resumed his seat, closing his palm over the paper Caro had slipped him as she’d passed. He slid the note into his pocket and waited while Singleton served Leo tea in place of port.
Singleton departed, leaving the decanter within Eamon’s reach.
Some gentlemen might be offended by being left alone with a child as though expected to entertain him after such a strange supper, but Eamon was glad of the chance. He’d missed the lad more than he’d thought possible.
At Eamon’s encouragement, Leo launched into a tale of what he’d done for every minute since Eamon had left the house the week before. As he rattled on, Eamon palmed the paper from his pocket and held it under the table to read.
On a scrap carefully torn from a larger page, Caro had written, Fifth floor chamber, in the rear of the house.
Eamon studied the note, possibilities dancing through his head. His hand shook as he folded the scrap and returned it to his pocket.
