He had seemed a kind, albeit nervous, man throughout the dinner.Exceptionally handsome, yes, but not as arrogant as one would expect.
But then she thought of how at every turn, he had encouraged her to eat more, how he had seemed so amused when she had bitten into that strawberry.
He was calling her a glutton.
Whereas men in London were worried about implying such a thing, he had piled her plate with food and now waslaughingat how much she had eaten.
“I was wrong, Mr.Brown,” she said quickly, sure the color had flushed all the way into her cheeks.“It turns out that I will have plenty of barbarities to complain of when I return to London.”
And with that, she swept herself up and out of the room.
Chapter Six
Of course, inthe end, he had ruined it.
For what had seemed an impossible length of time, it had appeared that he, Mr.Malcolm Brown, eldest illegitimate bastard of one of the biggest blackguards in England, had actually made decent conversation with the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes upon.
But naturally, it hadn’t lasted.
He had not meant to insult her.
He had beenmeaningto thank her.
Her taking an interest in the food had made it possible for him to talk.At the beginning of the meal, given how badly their introduction had gone, it had seemed very possible that they would sit in silence.And he knew Beatrice or Severn would tease him for that.
She had been kind enough to forgive him and to even converse with him.
And he had taken pleasure in that conversation beyond what he should have.
He couldn’t help that he found her so beautiful.Nor could he help, as their conversation progressed, that he found her manners so pleasing.Yes, she was as polished and refined as he imagined any London woman could be.But she hadn’t been at all conceited once she had recovered from the clumsiness of his introduction.
When she had bitten into that strawberry—hisstrawberry, thathegrew, inhisgarden—and actuallymoaned, he had gone hard in his trousers.Worse, perhaps, because he had been unable to hide it, was that he hadn’t been able to keep himself from smiling.
She probably understood that he was a lech.She was probably used to men fawning over her, ogling her.She was probably disgusted by a man as rough as him casting his eyes over her exquisite complexion, the bounty of her bosom, and then baring his teeth like an animal.She must be repelled by the evident desire in his gaze.
But she had been studiously polite about it.She had betrayed no disgust or horror despite his evident admiration.
And then he had implied she was gluttonous.Which he didn’t need years of London society training to know was a surefire way of offending a woman.
Her parting words had left no ambiguity.
He had ruined his chance completely.
The one chance he had had to have a pleasant association, something like an ally or a friend outside of his own family, during this next week when he would be forced to take part in the house party festivities.
Now, the ladies were gone, and the gentlemen sat at the table.
This group included his three brothers, of course, as well as Mr.Larchman, the local vicar.Mr.Larchman was a longtime friend of the family, and his only daughter, Maven, had been a close companion of Philip’s since they were children, given that they were nearly the exact same age.Maven had not been invited to the festivities tonight, however, because they already had too many ladies.Malcolm knew that Mrs.Salisbury felt badly about that omission but there was nothing that could be done about it.She planned to include Maven over the course of the next few weeks where she could.
In addition to these four, there were four local landowners, men whom Malcolm knew from his dealings in the parish.They were all middle-aged men who—thankfully, according to Mrs.Salisbury—had no daughters of marriageable age.Mr.Dermott and Mr.Lambet were the two whom Malcolm knew best, and they were perfectly respectable men who cared about tending their land and stewarding it responsibly.In fact, before he had worked at Parkhorne, when he had just been sixteen, he had managed one of Mr.Lambet’s farms.These four were happy to eat, and admire, and say good things about the family, Beatrice had told Malcolm, and they were presentable enough not to offend any of the ladies from London who might be used to more spectacular tablemates.
The gentlemen were further rounded out by three others who had been invited from London and were what Beatrice calledlapdogs.This moniker meant they had little interest in field sports and didn’t mind attending to the ladies all day.And crucially, his sister had explained, these three lapdogs would not be competition for George’s prospective brides.
In the case of Mr.Harold Jones, who had come along with his mother and his sister, Miss Perpetua, one of George’s prospects, he posed no threat because—according to Beatrice—he had no interest in ladies at all.He was enduringly popular in his sister’s world, nearly the height of fashion, to use her expression, and apparently engaged in a long-term love affair with a viscount.He was frequently, however, despite his large fortune, run over with creditors, and so often appreciated long excursions to the country to curtail his expenses.
The other young gentleman, Mr.Lionel Marburry, was also a brother—of Miss Bertha Marburry.He was very young, even a few years younger than Philip, and at Cambridge.Like Bertha, he had only a modest fortune, but was, according to Beatrice and Mrs.Salisbury,very sweet.With these qualities, Mr.Jones was frankly more in danger of stealing George’s favorite.
The last young man was a friend of George’s from Cambridge, Mr.Barstow, who was timid, shy, eminently respectable, and the younger son of an earl.His rank gave an extra welcome polish to the affair, and given that he had little charm, little money, and little appetite for flirting, he added the advantage of companionship for George without the risk of being likely to usurp him in the eyes of any of the young ladies.
