“The spoon with the round bowl is used exclusively for the soup.” Payne was wielding Hugh’s best silverware like a sword. “Regardless of whether you want to eat it or not, it is never acceptable to refuse the soup.”
“Who doesn’t know the difference between a soup spoon and a dessert spoon?” Giles’s whisper distracted Hugh from watching Minerva, something he had done unhindered from the fireplace for the last ten minutes. “Are you sure they are a gentleman’s daughters?”
“I think she’s doing well.” As she had for the last five days, Minerva was taking it all in her stride. And as to her claim she lacked grace or the ability to do anything practical, she certainly didn’t need lessons in how to navigate a typical table setting. She looked every inch the lady and moved with a subtle fluidity he enjoyed watching. The fact she had insisted upon this particular lesson was more to help her sisters. “The woman has a mind like a steel trap. She never needs anything explained twice.”
He liked that about her. He also liked that he was never quite sure what was going to come out of her mouth next. She was quick-witted and outspoken. Hugh couldn’t recall another woman who had ever made him laugh more, despite all their interactions now occurring under the watchful eye of the more outspoken Diana. He didn’t enjoy that so much. He had a million things he wanted to ask Minerva if they were ever left alone again.
“Not Minerva, you idiot! I knew you were staring at her—not that I blame you.” Giles glanced back at the three women sitting in the middle of the long, formal dining table. “She is as pretty as a picture and a delight to be around. Minerva holds herself well. So does that prickly vixen Diana, for that matter. It’s the youngest who bothers me. Since she arrived, she’s resembled a permanently startled deer. Your mother will never be convinced by her.”
Giles had a point. Vee was struggling.
“She’s young. Practically still a child. But if she is anything like her sisters, she’s sharp and she’ll catch up.” Except no matter how well she did during their lessons, the second she had to perform, the poor thing froze and seemed to forget everything.
As if to prove it, Payne’s instructions wafted across the room. “Tilt the bowl thus, Miss Vee.” His white-gloved fingers carefully guided hers on the delicate handle of the bowl and inclined it slightly toward the center of the table. “And using the outer edge of the spoon only, carefully submerge it into the broth just deep enough to fill it.” Clearly enjoying his new role, he watched each of his willing pupils mimic his actions. “That’s it, Miss Diana! Splendid work, Miss Minerva! A little less exuberance, Miss Vee … There is no need to panic. It is only soup.… We’ll get it out of the linen.… Perfection, ladies … Now bring the utensil carefully to the lips and sip from it. Slurping, even quietly, is wholly unacceptable. The sipping of the soup should be a silent affair.”
“Why is it never acceptable to refuse the soup?” Diana had already mastered the mystical art of the soup and was obviously bored—ready to move on and clearly impatient with her younger sibling’s nerves. Whereas Minerva spent far too much time behaving like Vee’s mother. At this rate, they would waste another hour, maybe more, on nonsense. “When we practiced the main course, you said we could pick and choose what we wanted and nobody would judge us. Why is that not the same for the soup course?”
“Who knows? Suffice to say, the soup is sacrosanct. However, if it is not to your liking, then it is acceptable to swish it around with said spoon like so.” Payne delicately wafted the cutlery within the Sèvres bowl with exaggerated airs and graces. “His Lordship, for example, loathes white soup and simply stirs it for the duration of the entire soup course.”
Three similar pairs of green eyes instantly flicked to his across the room, but Hugh’s only wanted to lock with one of them. He didn’t want to think about why that was. Not deeply, at any rate. Just what lay on the surface.
Attraction.
Palpable, visceral, and carnal.
He recognized the signs but would never act on them.
Despite Miss Diana’s half-accurate assassination of his character the other day and despite the mischievous, rebellious side of him that saw her threat as a challenge, she had no concept of the deep seam of nobility that ran straight through him and guided his blasted principles. Nor did Giles. Miss Minerva Merriwell might well be a delicious temptation and be thoroughly delightful company—but she was also here because he had asked her to assist him. Whatever happened with their charade, he would never betray her trust by abusing it. He couldn’t bear to disappoint or hurt her in that way. This was a business arrangement, and he would not be one of the contributing factors that made fate, and life in general, cruel to her.
Those words had haunted him since she had spoken them, and he had felt compelled to reach out and hold her hand before he’d been caught holding it. Hugh had not yet had a single private moment with Minerva to ask her what had prompted them. Whatever had happened, he wanted her brief stay here at Standish House to be a fond memory. In a life he suspected was largely devoid of much joy, she deserved that if nothing else.
Her beautiful emerald eyes were regarding him with amusement. “Is it soup in general you loathe, Hugh, or merely the white soup?”
“Merely the white.” He sighed dramatically, poking his nose in the air like one of the snooty patronesses of Almack’s who always disapproved of him, making the youngest Miss Merriwell giggle. “It tastes of nothing but blandness. But one simply has to serve it.”
“Why?”
“Because white soup is currently de rigueur and therefore expected.”
“And French phrases like de rigueur are also de rigueur,” added Giles for good measure in his trademark bored tone. “And they must be tossed around liberally in all conversations, in order for the speaker to sound suitably au fait with current linguistic fashions. The dullest conversationalists nowadays are nearly always fluent in French.”
At Vee’s widened eyes, Hugh smiled kindly. “Pay him no mind, Miss Vee. He is pulling your leg. You do not need to speak French. Nor do you need to be dull. Simply be your normal charming self, and your dining companions will be enchanted.”
“Isn’t serving food you dislike merely a waste of good food? When a great many of the less fortunate are starving?”
Once again, Diana appeared ready to wade into battle with him. For some inexplicable reason, she was determined to dislike him no matter how much he tried to charm her. However, he had to concede her point, one that gave him uncomfortable pangs of more overprivileged guilt. It was something that plagued him more than ever since he had discovered both fate and life in general had been cruel to Minerva. The rescuer inside him wanted to fix that because she deserved to be happy.
“The servants know only to give me a dribble of the stuff. Out of politeness.” Hugh did his best not to look embarrassed while inwardly vowing to strike the unnecessary extravagance of white soup from the menu henceforth. “Most guests seem to enjoy the white soup. As to wastage—it is something we are very mindful of here at Standish House. Most of the kitchen scraps go to feed the pigs. On the rare occasion the chef has made too much food, for a ball or banquet”—Good grief, that sounded even more privileged!—“the excess is always distributed amongst the tenants or the needy in the parish.” The truth did not make him feel better. Who knew a simple lesson in table etiquette would make him feel so bad about owning the table? “I think the ladies have mastered the soup, Payne. Shall we move on?”
The butler removed Minerva’s bowl first. “Thank you, Payne.”
“And thank you for thanking me, Miss Minerva. However, it is not done to thank the servants during dinner.”
“Whyever not?”
Payne shot Hugh a withering look, pleased she had played into his capably insubordinate hands, then pretended to whisper, making sure his voice carried. “Because our betters like to tell themselves servants are invisible rather than acknowledge the fact that they are simply being rude by ignoring them.”
Hugh took the criticism as he took all of his irascible butler’s criticisms—lightly. Underneath all the bluster, he had a massive soft spot for the wretch and admired his spirit. “Rude is admonishing your betters in front of guests, Payne. In any other household, he would be dismissed on the spot. The fact he has survived, and is paid handsomely despite his rudeness, is testament to my generosity as an employer.”
“The fact he hasn’t dismissed me in the ten years I have had the displeasure of serving him is testament to the amount of nonsense I am privy to—or the poppycock I am expected to miraculously rectify. And I include this debacle in with that nonsense. It’s enough to turn a man to drink. Lying to his mother! For two whole years, no less. His Lordship and I both know I am paid handsomely in case I am tempted to direct my loyalties to better employers elsewhere.” Payne collected the rest of the bowls, then positioned himself back at the head of the table. “Now—to the correct knives and forks again. This is your meat knife and this is your fish knife. Never use the wrong knife, ladies…”
“The only conceivable way I see this mockery of a sham working is if you dispose of the youngest Merriwell.” Giles possessed the enviable talent of whispering without moving his lips. “Can’t you send her somewhere? Home, perhaps?”
“Minerva wouldn’t hear of it.” She had been quite specific from the second he had propositioned her. It was either all three of them or none of them. However, poor Vee’s strangled performance was a concern. A very real concern. If she behaved like that in front of his eagle-eyed mother, all his plans would be shot in the paddock before the race started.
“She’s what? Nineteen?”
“Seventeen.”
“Seventeen! Send her home to her family, Hugh. If nothing else, it would be a kindness. I daresay the child would be relieved.”
“I don’t think there is anyone at home for her to go back to.” Which rather complicated matters. “I get the impression the sisters are all alone in the world.” Payne had certainly not seen any other family on his visit to their humble lodgings in an unsavory part of London. Nor had they mentioned any …
“You ‘get the impression’? What sort of an answer is that? Why the blazes haven’t you asked? I thought you prided yourself on your meticulous research? Surely you didn’t base such an important decision in choosing a suitable Minerva based solely on her name actually being Minerva?”
“Of course not!” It hadn’t been solely on her name. Mr. Pinkerton had played a part. And there had also been something about her. The way she held herself. The way she spoke. The way she called to him.
“Oh good grief!” Giles looked toward the heavens for strength. “You did choose her based solely on her name! Good God, man—are you even certain they are a gentleman’s daughters?”
“They have the bearing of a gentleman’s daughters.” That was apparently yet another question he couldn’t answer. Hugh needed to rectify that immediately because he wanted to know. About her. She intrigued him. Consumed him. Far more than she should.
“You’re doomed.”
“So you keep saying.”
“I’ve a good mind to wash my hands of this shambles immediately.”
“But you won’t. You’re enjoying it too much.”
“I shall enjoy telling you I told you so.” Giles folded his arms belligerently, then gestured to the door, where an unobtrusive footman hovered, trying to attract their attention. “I think she’s here.”
“You see—another piece of my plan is falling neatly into place. Come on … let’s go meet Minerva’s new mother.”
“It’s easiest if you call me Mrs. Landridge and the girls call me Mama, as I am already immersed in her character.” The actress was the right age, looked suitably genteel but motherly at the same time. The perfect choice to play Minerva’s mother. She suddenly clutched Hugh’s arm and leaned closer. “I do that with every role I take on, my lord. Every. Role.” She also liked to roll her r’s.
“Er…” Hugh knew next to nothing about the theatre or theatre types. Perhaps such theatricals were the norm. “That is very good to know.”
“In my humble opinion—and in the esteemed opinions of some of my most effusive critics—complete immersion gives a superior portrayal.”
The hand gripping his sleeve released him to waft in the air. For some inexplicable reason, her voice was excessively loud, almost as if she were projecting it from the stage to the gods now rather than sitting on the yellow-striped sofa in his drawing room barely two feet away. “When I played Lady Macbeth, for instance, during a hugely successful extended run at Drury Lane, I went quite mad for almost three months. I even took up sleepwalking.”
“You did?” Surely that was a bit excessive? “How very dedicated of you.”
“Acting is an art, my lord, one which takes a great deal of dedication if one wishes to receive the sort of accolades I do.” She smiled wistfully at what she clearly saw as a happy memory rather than complete lunacy. “It was universally agreed by everyone who saw the play, they had never seen such a tragic, twisted, and utterly convincing portrayal as mine—and to the best of my knowledge, nobody has come close to playing her better since. Yet none of them truly understand the very essence of my performance.” Lucretia DeVere shuddered and clutched at her ample bosom. “You see … I became her, Lord Fareham.… In every sinew, every hair, every fiber of my being … I was the misunderstood wife of Macbeth himself! That is my secret.”
“I see.” Hugh turned to Giles and blinked, not entirely sure what to make of any of that while wondering if his friend’s recommended choice was intentionally as mad as a hatter purely for his own amusement. However, Giles was nodding sagely rather than smugly, appearing more than a little bit smitten with the odd matron by his side.
“It was a triumph. I saw the play four times in quick succession. Your performance, Mrs. DeVere, moved me to tears.”
“You sweet boy.” The peculiar woman squeezed Giles’s arm as if he had just given her the moon. “But it’s Mrs. Landridge, dear. Widowed mother of three charming daughters. Still keenly mourning the loss of her beloved husband.” Actual tears formed in the woman’s eyes. “But delighted the good Lord spared my darling Minerva and that she has found the happiness she deserves.”
Her watery eyes fixed on Hugh while her bottom lip quivered. “What a treasure she found in you, sir! All those months you sat diligently by her bedside … all those months where you refused to give up! Never have two souls deserved each other more than my precious Minerva and the man I shall soon proudly call my son.” Her chubby hand cupped his cheek, and even Hugh felt a little emotional. “I adore you!”
“I say.”
“I told you she was convincing.”
“Indeed. Very.” Even the rapid rise and fall of her substantial bosom somehow conveyed both pathos and joy simultaneously. “I’ve never seen anything like it in my life.” He felt the beginnings of a smile play at the corners of his mouth. “I think it might actually work.”
“But only if we can sort out the Vee problem.”