Page 14 of Mistress of Misfortune

Thorne tucked her arm more securely in his. “You may wish to reserve your judgment on my suitability as such until after the meal.”

Once downstairs Thorne guided her across the reception room to where a pair of turbaned footmen stood waiting in front of a faded chinoiserie painting of a gated garden. Beyond the white-painted whorls of iron grew a bewildering variety of flowers and plants, yet as they drew closer Meredith saw no door. The footmen bowed to her and Thorne before they took hold of concealed handles and open the wall outward, revealing it was not a wall at all but a pair of doors.

“It is called trompe l'oeil,” Thorne told her. “It means 'to deceive the eye' in French.”

“It certainly does.” Meredith recovered from her surprise over the doors only to gape again at the interior dining room.

Here Mr. Thorne had taken a turn for the fanciful, outfitting the room panels of dark woods painted with tall, narrow murals, framed by faded inlaid mosaics of shell, brass and moss-colored stone. Although cracks and black streaks left by damp marred all of the portraits, Meredith marveled at their designs. They depicted various temples, settings and figures from ancient mythology such as Herakles, Pandora, and Theseus. Between each panel marble columns stretched from floor to ceiling, their pedestals crowned with tarnished braziers, some still containing the brown, withered remains of plants.

“I have never beheld a room like this,” Meredith said, turning around slowly to take in each panel. “I feel as if I have stepped into another time.”

“It seems my ancestor had some fondness for the Greeks as well as the French,” Thorne said drily. “I fear I possess simpler tastes.” He ushered her to the end of the table, where obviously new china and crystal of simple design had been placed. “As you might guess from the settings.”

“I share your sentiments, sir.” Ever challenged by the alarming delicacy of her mother’s heirloom eggshell porcelain and lead crystal, Meredith found the colonel’s table arrangements much more attractive and practical. “In time you will leave your stamp on Dredthorne Hall. Mr. Emerson Thorne certainly did. I believe my guest chamber to be a tribute to his late wife, who was very fond of gardening.”

Thorne's brows arched. “You know my ancestor exceedingly well.”

“One hears old stories about every family in the country,” Meredith said, feeling awkward over recounting her own dream as fact.

After the footmen seated them at one end of the table another servant entered with the first course, a savory soup.

As she ate Meredith wondered how much the colonel would have been obliged to purchase for his household. The local gossips maintained that Emerson Thorne had become fabulously rich, and the heirs that followed him even more so. Of course, no one knew for certain, and it would be beyond the pale to directly inquire. Among the more prosperous gentry those whispers of abundant wealth offended as much as Dredthorne Hall’s .

“You are very quiet again, Miss Starling,” he said. “Is the food so bad?”

“On the contrary, it is exceptionally delicious.” Meredith grimaced. “Forgive me, sir. I'm afraid when I dine with my parents they do most of the talking, and I the listening.”

“I did not mean to be critical,” he told her. “I am rather glad you are more interested in the food. You look as if you could stand another stone or two.”

“You are very kind.” Meredith had never minded her narrowness until this very moment. “I have always been thin. The price of too much time in the sickroom, I daresay.”

Thorne nodded to the footmen to clear and serve the next course. “You suffered illness as a child?”

“No, my mother insists I was exceedingly healthy as an infant, before my bad luck commenced.” She took a sip of water from her glass, and shook her head when the footmen offered her wine. “Keeping to my room to recover from my latest mishap seemed dreadfully dull. I do so love to be out in the sunlight and fresh air.”

“As do I,” Thorne said. “Although that may be more an occupational habit than actual preference. Do you ride, Miss Starling?”

“My parents forbade my learning.” Meredith wondered if he would force her to reveal every inadequacy she possessed. “Doubtless they envisioned me being trampled or thrown off a cliff or something of that nature.”

He gave her a measuring look. “Yet they allow you to drive.”

“I must, on occasion,” she admitted. “The jolting of the carriage gives my mother the headache, so she rarely goes anywhere. My father is not overly fond of the village, or calling on our neighbors, so he also stays at home. Our manservant sees to the errands, but Mama depends on me to attend to her charitable deliveries.”

“It seems you are a doer of good works as well as a spinster in the making.” The colonel sat back and made a show of studying her. “I should set you as my example.”

The way he looked all over her made Meredith feel oddly heated and breathless, as if all the air in the room had fled. “Only if you wish to be bored and lonely.”

Thorne’s eyes narrowed. “Perhaps that will soon change. Have you made any plans for your future, Miss Starling?”

She nodded briskly. “Once my father's estate passes to Percival and his future wife, I will inherit a modest income. I hope to acquire a small cottage.”

Her yearning for independence didn’t seem to please him, for his brows drew together. “You have no other family to invite you to join their household?”

“Mr. Branwen, our vicar, is a distant cousin of my mother’s,” she admitted. “But I could not impose on him and his wife. I fear he is the last of my relatives.”

“I beg to differ.” A tall figure entered the dining hall, and regarded them both with her sharp gaze. “Since we are also distant cousins I shall impose on you for introductions, Miss Starling.”

Thorne rose along with Meredith and peered at the Indian man hovering a discreet distance behind the new arrival, who showed his master his hands in a helpless gesture.