Eleanor picked at her food and sneaked looks at Aunt Mary, who ate little and didn’t say a word, but darted nervous glances between her husband and Cam, cowering whenever she caught her husband’s eye.
“This is the strangest luncheon I’ve ever had,” whispered Charlotte, so softly the words were more like breaths of air. “I can’t choke down a bite.”
Eleanor didn’t show any sign she’d heard her sister, but whispered back, her lips hardly moving. “Pity. The squab is excellent.”
Charlotte let a faint snort escape her at this, but only Eleanor noticed it.
They’d done this often as children. Their father had insisted on utter silence at table, but Ellie and Charlotte, who were always seated at the furthest remove from him, had flouted this command at every meal.
Quietly.
For a moment Ellie could almost imagine they were back at Bellwood, each with one eye on their father and the other on their plates, carrying on near-silent conversations without discernably moving their lips. They fell back into it now as a matter of course, as if by mutual consent. They often had moments like this, pockets of time when they seemed to fall into each’s other’s minds.
Perhaps it was like this for all sisters.
Charlotte lifted her fork and let it hover in front of her mouth. “I don’t mean the food, and you know it very well, Eleanor. What in the world are we doinghere? Hunting party, indeed.”
Eleanor raised her napkin and patted daintily at her mouth. “Oh, but we are hunting.”
Charlotte took a sip of her wine. “Are we, indeed?”
Eleanor stuffed a bite of squab into her cheek with her tongue, and under the guise of chewing said, “Camden West knows far too much about me, and I know nothing about him. I need information, and I will have it by the time we leave.”
“Ah. And here I thought you’d given up. I spent the entire ride here choosing your trousseau in my head. Everything was black. Black night rails, even.”
“I can’t imagine why you think I’d give up. Have you ever known me to before?”
Charlotte made a subtle movement with her shoulders Ellie interpreted as a shrug. “No, but you seem rather cozy with Mr. West.”
Eleanor stabbed at her squab with her fork. First she was taken with him, and now she’d cozied up to him, as well? Everyone around her had gone mad. “Cozy like a snake, right before it strikes.”
She glanced from under her lashes at Cam, who was seated several seats away from her, on the other side of the table. He looked as though he’d been bitten already, and the poison had reached his heart.
Eleanor did her best to ignore the way her own heart squeezed in response to the pained look on his face, but her appetite vanished. She laid her fork beside her plate and tried not to think about what it must have been like for him to grow up with Reginald West’s frigid eyes upon him.
“Where do you plan to get all this information you need?”
Charlotte’s words were almost inaudible, but they jolted Eleanor from her reverie.
She couldn’t afford to sympathize with Cam, or worse, imagine how he must have been as a boy, with tousled chestnut hair and sad green eyes—
Charlotte nudged her with a foot under the table. “Eleanor? How will you get the information?”
“The servants, and possibly also from that quarter.” She nodded subtly toward Mary West.
Charlotte flicked her eyes in Mrs. West’s direction without moving her head. “Yes. That might do. Shall I see what I can find out, as well?”
“No. I don’t want to attract Cam’s attention. He’ll notice if we both start questioning the servants. Just keep Delia and Lily occupied while I slip away this afternoon.”
“He is rather inconveniently clever,” Charlotte muttered. “Observant, as well, for even now he looks as if he suspects us of something.”
Eleanor darted a quick look at him. She and Charlotte had perfected their skills with years of practice, and yet here was Camden West, about to catch them out at it. He looked like a green-eyed cat about to slam a paw down on the tail of a fleeing mouse.
Eleanor picked up her fork, choked down her squab, and didn’t raise her eyes again until luncheon was over. As soon as Mrs. West rose from the table the gentlemen disappeared, eager to get to their sport while there was still plenty of daylight. All but Reginald West, who disappeared into his study, much to Eleanor’s relief.
Perhaps he’d stay there for the rest of their visit.
“If you ladies would like to see the gardens, Amelia will be happy to take you.” Mary West stroked Amelia’s hair back from her face. “I’ll make sure your rooms are ready for you so you can rest when you’ve returned from your stroll.”
