“I’m afraid there’s nothing much to say. He invited me here, and I... I came.” Beth sat daintily, waiting for their reactions. Would they think her desperate? Wanton, even?
“Well, that’s Boyd for you. Straight to the point.” Mrs. Maxwell stared at her matter-of-factly, as though a lady coming to a house party to test her mettle as a winemaker’s wife were a common life occurrence.
“I don’t know him enough to pass judgment,” Beth said.
“We’ve been waiting for him to settle down for ages now, and when he told us he had invited you, we celebrated his wisdom.” Julia twirled her spoon through the air. “Don’t be afraid of his gruff demeanor. He’s a dear man underneath all that,” she paused, “exterior carapace. Like all superb wines, his essence is hidden deep inside. It’s just a matter of persevering... and continuing to taste.”
Beth lifted her gaze to her former rival. They both seemed to accept her presence, even cheer for her. The unexpected camaraderie warmed her from the inside out. “Thank you, Mrs. Maxwell.”
“It’s Julia. And you can count on us. We women should support each other, don’t you think?”
The doors burst open, and Boyd strode through, his gaze tunneling straight to Beth. “Miss Croft, there you are.” He paused, noting her company.
Anne beamed. “Come join us. We were just talking about recalcitrant wines.”
Beth straightened her posture, producing a bright smile to rival her dress. This was her opportunity—to show her expertise and prove herself worthy.
Settling into polite conversation, her voice smooth and measured, Beth responded to Anne’s remarks with the perfect balance of attentiveness and charm. Out of the corner of her eye, she felt Boyd’s gaze lingering on her.
“The estate is magnificent,” she said. “I imagine it takes a man of vision to create such a place.”
He shrugged, slouching into a chair beside her. “It takes money, not vision. I’m sorry to interrupt, but Miss Croft didn’t come to the Douro to enjoy tea. She promised me a walk about the vineyards, didn’t you, Miss Croft?”
Under his unflinching gaze, her pulse quickened, though she kept her expression placid. She glanced from the tempting Portuguese pastries to the terraces and vines, which looked more picturesque than welcoming.
Boyd leaned back, his grin slow. “Don’t be afraid, Miss Croft. Your reputation will be safe. I can’t ravish you in plain view of these ladies, now can I?”
Beth’s smile turned thin, but she kept her face impassive, refusing to take the bait.
Anne laughed. “Our Beth just arrived. Let her enjoy a refreshment before you drag her off.”
Boyd crossed his arms, his expression closing. “Fine. Be quick about it.”
To pour tea with flawless etiquette was the mark of a true lady, for in such small graces, elegance and refinement were revealed.Beth tipped the teapot with precision, the liquid streaming in a graceful arc—no splashes, no falters.
She glanced up through her lashes and caught Boyd’s gaze before offering him the cup with a demure smile.
He pushed it away. “I never drink tea. Tea’s for ladies and old men.”
Her cheeks heated, but she drew a deep breath. It was only tea. She would have other chances to prove her worth.
The babies began to howl and wail.
Anne picked up her daughter. “Someone needs a change of diaper. Julia, would you help me?” A subtle communication passed between the women.
Anne handed her son firmly into Beth’s lap. Julia winked as she followed Anne from the veranda. “Remember to keep tasting, Miss Croft.”
Beth stared at the boy in her lap, whose mouth turned into a sad bow.
“There now, no need to cry.”
She bounced him gently. He stared back at her with caramel-colored eyes so intelligent she half-expected him to start declaiming poetry—or worse, reprimanding her.
How did one hold a wiggling baby while showing herself in the best possible light?
“The weather is just perfect, don’t you think, Mr. Sandeman?” she asked, attempting small talk.
“If it doesn’t rain soon, the year’s vintage will suffer. Are you sure you know your way around lads, Miss Croft?”
