But surely Henry would be allowed to bother her on occasion?
The rest of the dinner was served by Eakins and the footmen.
“What am I eating?” Susannah hissed over the table to Henry.
“Salmagundi.“
“Salma . . . ?”
Henry looked at his plate. “This one has chicken, egg.” He poked with his fork. “Ham, beetroot, pickled cabbage.”
“Oh.” She looked happy and relieved. “Normal things, just all together.” She took a mouthful and chewed and swallowed. “I taste fish.”
“Anchovies. Do you not like fish?”
“I love fish.”
He loved how she saidlove.
She forked up another bite. “But I’ve never had very much of it.”
Yes, the Beasleys wouldn’t eat fish often in Much Wemby and then only the varieties that could be found in the Wem, nothing from the sea.
He thought of oysters. They were sold cheaply all over London, but Susannah wouldn’t have tried them. How quickly could he get fresh oysters sent to Bledsoe Park? No, it was too late in the year. Perhaps Susannah would stay until autumn, and he and she could slurp from the shells together.
Another kind of hunger, the kind not quenched by eating dozens of oysters, gnawed at him.
When they finished eating, he got up and went to the small cabinet with no key and opened it and took out a purse he had put there earlier.
“You were speaking of publishing fees.” He gave the purse to Susannah and took his seat again. “Would you like some port?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never had port. What is this?” She lifted the heavy purse.
“Three pounds in half-crowns as a rather meager deposit on the book. Just some handy coins in case you need to do some shopping.”
Her face fell. Leaden-headed Henry. He’d paid her in a crass manner in front of the hovering butler and the footmen clearing their plates. Worse, he’d reminded her of their positions relative to each other.
No. He turned his backbone into a rod of steel. She was surrounded by Bledsoe Park. She was not likely to forget their positions.
Hewas the one forgetting their positions.
“Maybe you should wait to see if you like the book,” she said. But she did not hand back the purse.
“I will like it.”
And if he did not, he would still tell her that he did. He almost laughed. His word would soon be worth nothing.
“Your confidence in me is very heartening,” she said.
She didn’t look heartened, but he said, “Good.”
“Do you mean to publish the book yourself, my lord?”
“No.” An earl did not involve himself in trade. “After you make a fair copy for Mina, you can go back to the Manwaring Brothers and sell them this one, too.”
“That seems,” she hunched her shoulders, “not fair. You would own the book. You paid for it.”
I don’t want itdid not seem the right thing to say.
