Page 37 of Miss Wylde and the Wynd

“It is good.”

“Yes, of course. I know that it is. What do you taste? What is it like?”

Again, she frowned. “Sweet and velvety over the tongue, not as sharp nor acidic as we have at home. Why?”

He smiled and handed her the bottle. She took it and read the label. “Wynd Wine. Your family makes wine?”

“We do not only import marble.” He chuckled. “This bottle is from our vineyard in the Cape Colony, Wyndview Farm. We own another in Madeira.”

She blinked at him. “I had no idea.”

“Our ships were not as successful in competing against the East India Company, though they tried, and when one of our ships attempted to sail around the Cape of Good Hope, it received severe damage and had to return to the closest port, which was Cape Town. Many of the crew had been killed or injured and the ship was beyond repair. The story told was that it was a miracle that the ship hadn’t sunk before arriving in port.”

He’d been fascinated when he’d first been told about how his family had arrived at the Cape Colony and established themselves there.

“My great-grandfather, Simon Wynd, was captaining the ship and while he recovered in the Cape Colony, he fell in love and married a woman whose father owned a vineyard. She was the only child and when his father-in-law died, Simon inherited the estate. A Trade Wynd ship never tried to sail around the Cape again, and we became wine merchants, and increased our import and exports on the Continent and by crossing the Atlantic, but no further.” He took a sip. “Wine is in our blood.”

*

There had been pride in Damian’s voice when he told her of his ancestors. His entire persona changed when he spoke of the wine and family history and was not at all like the unpleasant man she’d met in Southampton.

It was also the first wine that she had ever drunk that was not Italian, and she rather liked it.

Wine was in their blood.

She smiled at his claim and took another sip just before the footman announced dinner.

In the dining room they were greeted by a plump older woman, deep wrinkles about her eyes, and with gray hair who clutched her hands before her, a worried frown above her brow.

“Is something amiss, Cook?” Damian inquired.

“I do apologize, Mr. Wynd. This is not a meal that should be served to you, your family or guests but suited for someone more common. Unfortunately, there is not much in the larder as we were to visit the market tomorrow, and with the hour so late, I feared that you would not want to wait so long for us to purchase meat, and proper vegetables.”

Damian chuckled as a footman came forward to hold Georgie’s chair. “I am certain that whatever you have prepared will be delicious, as your meals always are.”

“I promise that you will have a proper breakfast and supper tomorrow, if you are to remain in Town.”

“I have no doubt that you will provide what you promise,” Damian assured her as he took his seat.

Only then did footmen place large bowls of white soup before them, along with a platter of bread with pats of butter and a dish of various fruits and cheeses. Whatever the soup was, it smelled delicious as the aroma of celery and onions drifted toward her and caused her stomach to grumble with hunger before she brought a spoonful to her lips.

Georgie nearly moaned as the creamy goodness of butter, milk, potatoes, pork, and onions caressed over her tongue. Rich, warm, and perfect after the day they had. It was comfort. Warm, filling, and relaxing her in a way the wine hadn’t been.

She wasn’t certain if it was because they were both tired or simply hungry, but not a word was spoken between her and Damian as they finished their soup, ate bread, and enjoyed the cheese and fruit.

Oh, she wanted to ask more about his family, but she should also not become too close to him.

They had grown close enough already. Physically at least and more than she had shared with anyone, yet she couldn’t deny the comfort of sleeping against his shoulder, his fragrance…

Georgie would not allow her thoughts to continue because they were dangerous. She was exhausted, had spent the entire day by his side, often pressed together. It was no wonder that she had a heightened awareness of him in a way that she’d not experienced with any other male who was still nearly a stranger. Further, their forced physical proximity to the other was indicative of an intimacy they did not share, even if she had traveled as his wife. Further, she was certain that he did not care for her and entertaining such thoughts about Damian made her no different than those two women who had shared the coach with them. They had openly studied him with appreciation, as if they would like to see Damian without any of his clothing, as would she.

She nearly choked on her wine. Where had that thought come from?

“Would you please ask cook to see me?” Damian requested the footman who had hovered near the entry.

Why would he want her now? Had he been displeased? The woman had explained why the meal was simple, not that Georgie minded because she thought it perfect.

The door between the dining room and likely kitchens slowly opened as Cook entered, her head down.