In short, her situation was hopeless.She had no one to speak to but Mr.Malcolm Brown and speaking further appeared impossible.
Well, she saw no reason to openhermouth.She was not a member of the family.And she didn’t need to win the favor of any young men.They could sit in silence, for all she cared.
The soup had arrived—a delicate-looking green pea.
Determined to ignore the man to her right, she picked up her spoon and began to eat.
“Oh!”she exclaimed.
She had had pea soup many times before at entertainments.It was a popular choice, given that it was always tasty and—as any hostess knew—not too expensive.
But this soup was beyond exquisite.
“Do you like it?”
She was surprised to hear the sound of his voice and turned, rather abruptly, toward him.
“It is rather good,” she said mildly.
“I am glad to hear it,” he said gravely, as if pea soup were a serious business.What was he implying?Was he mocking her?
“Did you prepare it yourself?”she shot back tartly.She wasn’t going to treat him with civility, not when he had made clear that she was beneath his notice.
“No,” he said, as she watched him take an extraordinarily long time to pluck up his own spoon from his place setting.“I did not.”
Only heavy silence followed this statement.She took another sip of the soup and reveled in its flavors—fresh, sweet, and yet a little savory.Wonderful.
“I did not make it,” he said.“But I am responsible for the farm attached to the estate.We grow almost all that appears on the Parkhorne table.The peas are ours.”
Responsible for the farm, she thought, casting her eye over him once more and then forcing herself to look away.
Was that why he was so broad and strong?He gave the appearance of the kind of gentleman who would take a hands-on approach to farming.She knew the type.They tended to think they knew more than the rest of the world, especially about agricultural matters, and were very overbearing about it.She was sure Mr.Malcolm Brown fit this profile.
“I see.”She sniffed, feeling embarrassed now about her hearty enjoyment of the soup.
She wished she had been able to stifle her first exclamation of surprise.She hadn’t meant to compliment him.He was probably used enough to compliments.
“I understand that in London, pea soup is often made from dried peas.To save expense.But here there is no reason we may not use fresh.Since peas grow so abundantly in Somerset.Especially at Parkhorne.”
“And so I haveyouringenuity to thank, Mr.Brown, for this delicacy?”
She heard him shift again and—damn him—she couldn’t resist taking another spoonful of that delectable soup.
“I suppose.But it was my sister who explained that fresh pea soup would be regarded as a surprise to visitors from London.It was only then that I suggested it.”
While she hadn’t thought it possible, she felt a warmer feeling toward him at this moment.It was endearing to imagine this man, so large and handsome, trying to help his mother and sister come up with the best meal to serve their guests.
“Well, it is very good.”
He only nodded, but she sensed that he was pleased.
They spoke hardly at all until the fish course arrived.But when it did, she asked him, “Did you also have a hand in this, Mr.Brown?”
He ducked his head.“In a sense, Miss Perkins.”
“And what sense is that?”
His large hands moved with slow uncertainty over his plate, as if he were trying very hard not to make a mistake.She was close enough to him at the table to catch his scent, which had a woodsy, earthy quality.Most London men wore cologne.But this man, she was sure, did not.
