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Caroline turned to see Blake's sister gliding into the room. “Lady Fairwich, you have been too kind to invite me.”
“Nonsense, and I believe that yesterday I insisted you call me Penelope.”
“Very well…Penelope,” Caroline said, then motioned to her surroundings with her hand. “This is a lovely room.”
“Yes, isn't the view breathtaking? I am ever jealous of Blake, living out here by the sea. And now I suppose I must be jealous of you as well.” She smiled. “Would you care for some tea?”
If food had been sent up to Caroline's erstwhile room, Blake had somehow managed to intercept it, and her stomach had been screaming at her all day. “Yes,” she said, “I would adore some tea.”
“Excellent.” I would ask for biscuits as well, but”—Penelope leaned in as if to tell a secret—“Blake's cook is really dreadful. I think we had better just stick with tea, to be on the safe side.”
While Caroline was busy trying to think of a polite way to tell the countess that she would perish from hunger if she didn't let Mrs. Mickle send up some biscuits, Blake entered the room.
“Ah, Miss Dent,” he said, “welcome. I trust your drive here was comfortable.”
“Indeed it was, Mr. Ravenscroft. Your carriage is exceptionally well-sprung.”
He nodded at her distractedly and glanced around the room.
“I say, Blake,” Penelope said, “are you looking for something?”
“I was just wondering if perhaps Mrs. Mickle had sent up some tea. And,” he added forcefully, “biscuits.”
“I was just about to ring for some, although I'm not certain about the biscuits. After last night's meal…”
“Mrs. Mickle makes excellent biscuits,” Blake said. “I shall have her send up a double batch.”
Caroline sighed in relief.
“I suppose,” Penelope conceded. “After all, I did have a lovely breakfast this morning.”
“You had breakfast?” Blake and Caroline said in unison.
If Penelope thought it was strange that her guest was questioning her about her eating habits she did not say so, or perhaps she just didn't hear. She shrugged and said, “Yes, it was the oddest thing, actually. I found it on a tray near my room this morning.”
“Really?” Caroline said, trying to sound like she was asking just out of polite interest. She'd bet her life that food had been meant for her.
“Well, to be truthful it wasn't exactly near my room. It was actually closer to your room, Blake, except I knew that you were already up and about. I thought the servants must have not wanted to come so close to my door for fear of waking me up.”
Blake shot her a look of such disbelief that Penelope was forced to lift her hands in an accommodating gesture and say, “I didn't know what else to think.”
“I think that perhaps my breakfast was on that tray, as well,” he said.
“Oh. Yes, that would make sense. I thought there was rather a lot of food there, but I was so hungry after last night's meal, I truly didn't stop to think.”
“No harm done,” Blake said. Then his stomach proved him a liar by grumbling quite loudly. He winced. “I'll just see to that tea. And…ah…the extra biscuits.”
Caroline coughed.
Blake halted in his tracks and turned around. “Miss Dent, are you also hungry?”
She smiled prettily. “Famished. We had a bit of a mishap in our kitchen at home and I have had nothing at all today.”
“Oh dear!” Penelope cried out, clasping her hands over Caroline's. “How awful for you. Blake, why don't you see if your cook can prepare something a bit more substantial than biscuits? If you think she's up to it, that is.”
Caroline thought she ought to say something polite like, “You shouldn't go to the trouble,” but she was terrified that Penelope might actually take her seriously.
“Oh, and Blake!” Penelope called out.
