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Oliver snapped his attention to the voice across the table, finally interrupting Miss Bowles’s incessant words. His seat companion looked affronted, but Oliver hardly cared as his cousin, Millie, addressed him two seats down and across the table.

“How do you find the soup this evening?” she asked.

“I find it very agreeable,” he replied. “And you?”

Their conversation was not made with ease, as they were rather far apart, but frankly, he did not care what looks he received for being impolite. He was desperate for sensible conversation, and he always experienced that with Millie.

“Oh, quite,” she replied. “It is my favorite soup. Far better than others. Pea. Onion. Celery. Chestnut. Although I am partial to a few of those, as well.”

“Quite right, cousin.”

Oliver stifled a smile as the two of them continued discussing soup with one another with knowing looks passing between them. Clearly, Millie had been as desperate for a break in conversation from her own seat neighbor, Mr. Stroud, as Oliver had been.

To keep the conversation going, Oliver had a mind to also engage his other cousin, Helena—Millie’s older sister—and her husband Charles, but they were involved in their own private conversation. No doubt about their expected child or Helena’s sickness being slightly better that day.

“Have you ever tried artichoke soup, cousin?” Millie continued. “Now that is a treat for one’s mouth.”

“I cannot say that I have. But I’ve a mind to try it now.”

“Do let me know what you think of it. I cannot⁠—”

“Are you certain the two of you love soup so greatly?” Miss Bowles interrupted. “As I have only now noticed that neither of you have eaten much of the blessed soup tonight.”

Oliver nearly chortled. His cousin appeared on the verge of laughter as well, but the door opened, pulling them from their conversation as the next course was brought in by a steady stream of footmen.

“Thank goodness,” Miss Bowles murmured under her breath. “Now we may cease all of this talk of soup.”

“And orangeries?” he asked with an innocent smile.

She watched him, as if attempting to decipher if he was teasing her or criticizing her, but a footman stood between them to take Miss Bowles’s bowl of soup before she’d made her decision.

Millie was once more usurped in conversation by Mr. Stroud, appearing every bit as bored as before, but before Oliver could attempt to rescue her as she’d rescued him, a movement caught his eye near the door. A few maids stood in the corridor with covered dishes, awaiting outside the room for the footmen to bring the dishes within the dining area.

Clara stood among them—and her attention was focused solely on Oliver. Her eyes widened as they snapped away, her cheeks flushing a rosy red.

Oliver’s heart skittered, a reaction he couldn’t remember feeling since he was a boy and had his heart broken at the ripe age of fourteen.

That was when he’d decided to never fall for another woman again. At least not with his whole heart.

“As I was saying,” Miss Bowles said beside him, “orangeries are simply far superior to anything else, and I...”

Oliver held his breath, forcing himself to focus on Millie or on the candles flickering on the table or on the other words spoken around him, but he couldn’t with Miss Bowles’s grating words.

She was different than what he’d expected. And seeing Clara right now made it all the more apparent.

He’d been so ashamed of himself when Miss Bowles had had the audacity to laugh at Clara’s stumble early that day—then again when she’d scolded the maid for dropping the baskets of greenery.

Baskets of greenery with which Oliver should have insisted he helped.

“When I marry, I shall have an orangery of my own—if not two. My husband certainly must oblige, or I shall not...”

Heavens, now she was speaking of marriage. This would not end well for either of them if he allowed it to continue. He needed to speak with another available woman, let Miss Bowles know he had no interest in shackling himself to her.

Miss Leah Sterling was lovely with her full figure and stunning eyes. And Miss Nell Prescott was just as beautiful—though he’d heard she was on her best behavior for the duration of the house party, so she wouldn’t be able to give him the distraction he sought.

At any rate, he was fairly certain Archie, the Earl of Dalmeer, was interested in her himself, and he wouldn’t wish to come between another man and his pursuit—especially with someone he considered a friend.

“Forevermore,” Miss Bowles droned on, “I rather like being known as the woman who can do no wrong by orangeries, for that means I have a higher sense of taste, a better view of the world around me, and a sweeter sense of life. For whom can be seen as proper without a love of the structures and what they bring to...”