Bringing his eyes back to her, he answered, “Yes.”
“Unfortunately, you will be disappointed. I choose not to work with you,” she said, and he could have ground his teeth in frustration.
“You are so foolish,” he said almost under his breath, but of course she heard it.
For a second, Thea appeared ready to breathe fire—
“Mother, I’m hungry,” the youngest boy said.
“Christopher, one moment,” his mother answered.
“No,” Neal countermanded her, seizing upon an idea. “I’m hungry as well. Why don’t we discuss this over dinner?” He’d be moving the lioness from her lair, and then she’d have to listen to him with a reasonable state of mind, all past grudges set aside. “Let me take all of you to dinner.”
“That isn’t necessary—,” she started, ready to refuse his invitation.
“Have you lads been to the Clarendon Hotel?” he interrupted her, brazenly taking the argument straight to her children.
“The what?” Christopher asked. His older brother looked to their mother, not answering Neal without her approval.
Neal lowered himself to their level. “They have a French chef at the Clarendon who truly is a marvel. And there is nothing more fun than a small outing.”
Jonny had placed his arm around his younger brother as if holding him back. Neal pressed his case. “Jacques makes apoulet en croutethat is food of the gods.” His mouth was watering just thinking of it.
Thea laughed, the sound bitter. “They don’t know what you are talking about, my lord. They’ve been raised on my meager cooking. Talk to them of a rarebit and they’ll understand.”
“You cook?” Neal repeated in surprise and then realized it was a ridiculous question. All of this—the boys, the squalor, the married name Mrs. Martin—was a surprise. The girl he’d known had been raised in luxury.
It was Christopher who saved him. “Do you have a horse?”
“Chris, stop talking,” Jonny said, giving his younger brother’s shoulder a jerk.
Neal put out his hand to steady the boy and said, “I have many.”
Now he had Jonny’s attention as well.
“How many horses do you have?” Christopher asked.
“More than I can ride by myself,” Neal assured him. “And my brother is in the Horse Guard.”
“Horse Guard?” Jonny repeated with the same awe that pilgrims reserved for a religious shrine.
“He’s one of the barracks officers,” Neal said.
“What color is his horse?” Christopher demanded.
“A bay,” Neal said. “His name is Ajax.”
Christopher broke free of his brother’s hold and ran to the cupboard for his horse. He held it up. “This is my horse. His name is Regal. My mother had a horse named Regal.”
“Yes,” Neal said. “I remember Regal. He was a good pony.”
“Mother says he was very fast.”
“She and Regal beat me and my pony in every race,” Neal confirmed.
Jonny glanced at his mother as if trying to picture her flying along the ground in a race.
Thea came over to her sons. “Please, boys, we need to let Lord Lyon leave—”
