But he only shrugged. “My mother wished it.”
Which wasn’t an answer she expected. “Your mother?”
His shoulders stiffened, his features tightening. She thought for a moment he wouldn’t answer. Which would only serve her right. She shouldn’t pry.
Yet he barely paused before speaking. “It was my mother’s final wish that I stay with Lady Tesh.”
“I’m sorry about your mother.”
He blinked as if not sure what to make of her condolences. “Why? She was nothing to you.”
“No, but she was something to you. And I understand your pain.”
He was silent, though disbelief was plain in his raised brow and pursed lips.
“Perhaps I don’t know the whole of it, could never comprehend what you’ve gone through,” she conceded. “But I, too, lost my mother when I was quite young. They would not let me see her, but I snuck in regardless.” She swallowed hard, looking down to her lap. “I remember her thrashing in pain, remember the paleness of her skin…how she didn’t even know I was there.” She returned her gaze to his. “I would have given anything to have brought her relief.”
Recognition flared in his eyes, an acknowledgment and understanding. “I’m sorry,” he murmured.
She gave a nervous laugh, her gaze falling to her lap again. “I don’t know why I told you that. I don’t talk about her. To anyone.”
His finger beneath her chin startled her, so much that she didn’t object when he lifted her gaze back to his.
“I’m glad you told me.”
She gave him a tremulous smile. “I’m glad, too.”
He returned the smile. And for a moment, she felt as if they were in their own private bubble, the troubles of the world forgotten.
Just then the refreshments arrived. Platters of jellied fruits, custards, caramels, and small iced cakes were set before them, along with steaming tea and coffee, and the requested lemonade. And, of course, the ices. In nearly every color of the rainbow, they glistened in their little glass bowls, cool and sweet and tempting.
Lenora’s mouth watered. Apparently Mr. Ashford felt the same way, for his eyes widened as he took in the glory of the spread. He licked his lips.
Lenora went hot all over. She longed suddenly for one of the ices to cool her heated skin, just barely stopping herself from snatching the closest one and gulping it down.
“This is magnificent,” Mr. Nesbitt said. “I’ve never seen the like.”
Margery spoke up. “Are you fond of sweets, Mr. Nesbitt?”
“I like them well enough. Though Peter here is mad for them.”
All eyes swiveled to Mr. Ashford. Well, Lenora admitted ruefully, as her gaze had already been fastened quite firmly to the man, she didn’t have to do any swiveling. And so she didn’t miss the small tightening of his lips, nor the furious glare he shot his friend.
“I’m notmadfor them,” he growled.
“You are,” Mr. Nesbitt insisted. “I’ve never seen anyone demolish a pumpkin pudding the way this man does. Or candied almonds. Good God, he gorges himself on the stuff.”
Lenora was fascinated. If there was anything she had not expected, it was for gruff Mr. Ashford to be enamored of sweets. It was one more chink in the armor, one more piece of the puzzle falling into place, giving her a clearer picture of the true man behind the mask.
Though he’d begun to show her a bit of his true self in the past day, hadn’t he?
Mr. Ashford, however, was not happy with his friend’s teasing if his hands were anything to go by. Rough and tanned and scarred, so out of place in these delicate, feminine surroundings, they were balled up tight on the pristine white tablecloth until they nearly shook, the knuckles white.
“Mr. Nesbitt,” she said hurriedly, cutting off whatever the man had been about to say, “I suspect you’ve had the pleasure of sampling foods we’re unfamiliar with here in England. Won’t you tell us of them?”
The distraction worked, for after a moment of surprise, the man smiled. As everyone helped themselves to the bounty of treats before them, he launched into a detailed recitation of all the wonders that America had to offer. Beside her, Mr. Ashford’s hand began to relax, the taut muscles loosening.
Lenora let out a surreptitious breath of relief. She tried telling herself that her intervention was merely to preserve Mr. Nesbitt’s face, for Mr. Ashford had looked ready to dive across the table to pummel his friend senseless. Yet as she passed Mr. Ashford a bit of almond cheesecake and caught sight of the almost vulnerable look in his eyes as he murmured his thanks, she knew that was not it at all. Concern for Mr. Ashford had driven her, and nothing else.
