Word of the various guests canceling, and the hysterical state of the mistress had, of course, reached below stairs. Cook and Bemmy had conspired in a corner over it and then Cook had convinced Lady Easton that this current habit of renting a pineapple nobody ate was small and undignified. He advised it be purchased, sliced, and served with a syllabub.
Of course, Lady Easton was at first dubious at the suggestion, it had not even been clear whether they could locate a pineapple torent. One had arrived for examination but had been clearly rotten and the merchant had been sent packing.
However, it seemed that Bemmy had her own sources. She knew of an old baron not a half hour outside of town who successfully cultivated them in his hothouse.
By way of Mrs. Gunn, who seemed to know quite a lot about the Marine Pavilion’s kitchens, Bemmy had been informed that he regularly sold the kingly fruit to the Regent. This was a hushed affair, as the baron did not care to be bothered by people banging on his door and the Regentdidcare to always have pineapples on hand that had not rotted on a boat on the way to England.
With the help of Mrs. Gunn, who appeared to be a great favorite of the baron, a pineapple might be had for sixty pounds.
It was an enormous sum of money. Lady Easton had trembled over it. It seemed it could not be done. And yet, she so wished it to be done. She had a look of almost vengeance in her eyes and Bramley knew well enough that she desperately wanted a pineapple more for those who wouldnotcome, rather than those who would.
Finding his aunt in a state over it and agreeing that it might prick some regrets in some who had stung his aunt with their refusal to dine, Lord Bertridge had stepped in and took over the cost. This was comfortable to everybody, as he was the one person in the house who could well afford such a luxury. Everybody knew he was rich beyond measure and as he rarely gambled, he stayed rich. He was not usually careless with his fortune, but he did have rather a soft spot for his aunt. Further, though he was not a gambler by nature, he’d given Lord Easton fifty pounds to bet on himself and taken home eighty pounds for his trouble.
Lord Easton had been informed of the plan to purchase the pineapple, lest he faint dead away to see it cut on his table and imagine that he’d paid for it himself.
In the late afternoon, Cook, an armed coachman, and the two footmen had barreled off in the carriage with Mrs. Gunn to see the baron about his pineapples. When the old gentleman was apprised of the reasons for wanting a pineapple—that it was a matter of vengeance over a snub and that they planned on actually eating it, rather than passing it from house to house as decoration—he was fully invested in the idea.
He was downright enthusiastic about it when he was informed that Sir Matthew had been one of the people claiming they could not come for dinner. According to the baron, the fellow was rather highhanded for a mere baronet and his wife was irritating with her lofty airs. He selected the most flawless pineapple in his hothouse—it was just perfectly ripe and must be served within three days to assure its finest flavor.
This magnificent fruit, which was under secure lock and key and guarded by a watchman, was to be the pièce de résistance of the evening. He and Lady Easton had conspired between them for over an hour on how it might be carried off.
A large round silver platter would form the base, the glorious crown of the fruit placed in the center. The core and tough outer skin would be carefully removed and then the delicate yellow flesh sliced in rings. Each ring would be placed on a vibrant green butterhead lettuce leaf cut to the shape of the ring with just a quarter inch edge showing all round. These would be artfully placed in concentric circles round the crown. Each ring’s hollow center would be filled with a syllabub in which a fourth of the sweet wine was replaced with juice from the pineapple. It would be served by himself using a gold-plated spatula with an ebony handle.
The platter would be brought in and served with the rest of the dessert course, as if nothing unusual was being presented. No special mention of it would be made, no fanfare at all. That would give the moment its elegance and savoir faire and it would also teach those who had failed to attend precisely what they had missed. Everybody would know that Lady Easton had served a pineapple as if it were no more trouble than a bowl of blueberries.
Bramley nearly quivered over the triumph of the scheme.
Now, if only he could be assured that neither Miss Upton and her alarming habits nor Lord Easton and his alarming ideas and opinions would ruin what was to be the most talked-off dinner of the summer.
It might just be the most talked of menu of the decade. It might just be the pinnacle of his career. When he encountered some other butlers in London that he was acquainted with, it would be his pleasure to offhandedly say, Indeed, we served the pineapple. We feel there is something small about having it only as a decoration. But then, our household does keep to its own high standards.
He would go mad if anybody failed to cooperate. Nobody had better put a foot out of place.
*
Lady Easton lookedover her dining table. She could not be dissatisfied—there may have been those who had very mistakenly declined to honor her invitation, but she had managed to fill her table with the most illustrious people just now staying in Brighton.
She may have briefly allowed hysteria to overtake her earlier in the day, but with the help of laudanum, the duchess’ good sense, and the pineapple that had been acquired, she was very much recovered. Let those fearful fools who had stayed away consider that a duke, a duchess, a marchioness, and a marquess had no such qualms about gracing the table of Clara Godwin, Countess of Easton.
And then, everything was going so well! Though Caroline seemed just a bit pale, she could not look more lovely and it was clear enough that she’d entirely enchanted the party. Even her lord was on his best behavior this night, almost seeming like the old Easton she’d grown so comfortable with. And, of course, there was the pineapple to arrive shortly. She had not even told Theodosia about the pineapple.
The duke was placed on her right and he now said, “Lady Easton, though I suppose you do not follow the boxing sport, you must be exceedingly proud of Lord Bertridge carrying the day today.”
Clara nodded, though that had been the last thing on her mind. She only ever remembered it when she looked toward Richard and saw his black eye. She did hope it would go away soon, it was quite disturbing to think of her nephew using his fists. Attempting to hit another person did not seem entirely rational, regardless of people calling it a sport.
“Well,” the duke went on, “I suppose with Bertridge’s triumph at the exhibition, this dinner, and perhaps further happy news to come, nobody will bother to remember if some nonsensical talk ever went round.”
While Clara was assured that the dinner would answer any questions society might have about the lack of veracity in the story that had gone round about Caroline, she had not considered that Richard’s boxing success would help at all. And what further news did the duke hint at?
She must have looked very confused, as the duke said, “Of course, I know nothing, I have only presumed.”
“May I ask, duke,” Clara said, “to what you refer?”
The duke’s eyes drifted first to Caroline, who was very prettily entertaining Lord Maldock, and then across the table to Richard. Her nephew was entirely ignoring Lady Smithson, who looked about her with a vague smile. What was he doing? Why was he staring at Caroline rather than talking to Lady Smithson? Certainly, Caroline could not be saying anything untoward, Lord Maldock appeared entirely charmed.
“I imagined an engagement was in the works,” the duke said. “My wife tells me I am rather good with those sorts of predictions. She says I am skilled at picking up that which is not said but only lingers in the air. Even so, I would not have mentioned it had there not been such long acquaintance between us.”
“An engagement?” Lady Easton said. What did he mean? Did he mean between Caroline and Richard? Why on earth would he think it? There could not be a worse match ever conceived! It was quite absurd.
