He paused, as if he wasn’t certain he should say more.“I suggested the salmon.It is particularly fresh in these parts because we are so close to the Bristol Channel.Beatrice—my sister—Lady Leith—” He seemed to lose his train of thought in this warren of appellations for a moment, but then he found himself.“She said that salmon would be regarded as luxurious.Even though here, at this time of year, even poor men catch and eat it.”
“You seem to hear a good deal about London from your sister.”
“Aye,” he said, with a bob of his head.“And my other siblings.They are all there often.”
As the fish course was cleared away, he addressed her again.“Will you take wine, Miss Perkins?”
It seemed to only now have occurred to him to offer her wine.The others around them had been drinking it for some time.
“Yes.I would.”
A servant stepped forward and filled both their glasses.They both took a sip without looking at one another.
The next course quickly followed.Unlike the other two, which had featured one dish, this one had many—Scarlett spotted at least one side of beef, two whole chickens, a goose, and a side of mutton.This spread was accompanied by a range of vegetables, including roasted potatoes, asparagus, and several savory tarts.
“May I… may I—” Mr.Malcolm Brown began.
“Yes.Please.”
He reached toward the platter nearest to them and began serving her, and then himself, and then repeated the ritual with the three other dishes nearest.
She appreciated that he actually gave her abundant servings of each dish.London gentlemen were rather stingy in that regard, she found, because they had been so repeatedly told that to overlade a lady’s plate was vulgar.This truism left Scarlett—who, she had to admit, always had a very good appetite—with portions more suited for a china doll than an adult woman.
“Do you know what this dish is, Mr.Brown?”She pointed down to a rustic-looking fricassee on one side of her plate.
He bobbed his head in that slow, characteristic way again.
“Rabbit and mushrooms.It is traditional to Somerset.But I doubt it is a regular dish on many London tables.”
She speared a bit of it with her fork and plunked it into her mouth.It was very good—savory and deep and surprising.
“Do you like it?”
“I do,” she said.“It is unusual—but satisfying.”
He blushed a little at that.She wasn’t sure why, however.
“It is my favorite.My sister, again, insisted on having it at the table, even when I told her that it would be too rustic for London people.But she said visitors to the country like to encounter such novelties.”
“It’s true,” Scarlett said.“At the very least, they can return to London and talk of what barbarities they experienced while traveling.”She gave a quick smile to counteract the pucker she saw appearing above his brow.“But in this case, I will have no barbarities to complain of.This dish is delicious.”
Their talk continued in this vein across the next two courses—both abundant and decadent and filled with foodstuffs that Mr.Malcolm Brown revealed an intimate knowledge of—and Scarlett actually found that she was enjoying herself.
When the dessert course arrived, a board of cheese was laid near them, and Mr.Brown informed her of all the different types as she sampled them.Somerset, he informed her, was famous for its cheddar.She had known this, of course, but she hadn’t known much about the process that he had gone on to describe—how they aged it in caves and how Mr.Brown himself had procured this particular cheddar only ten days ago for the purposes of this house party.
They finished off their meal with a plate of strawberries and cream, which they both agreed was as delicious and simple as a dessert got.
He rarely smiled over the course of this dinner, and neither did she.But he definitively did so when she bit into a strawberry and emitted a small moan.He then informed her that they grew them here, at Parkhorne, themselves.
When Mrs.Salisbury stood, signaling that it was time for the ladies to retreat into the drawing room, she felt much better about Mr.Malcolm Brown.
“Mr.Brown,” she said, nodding at him before rising.
“Thank you, Miss Perkins,” he said.“I am so glad—that you—well—about how much—that you like—that you like to eat so much.”
Her blood ran cold at the words.
Hewasmocking her.
