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The girl blinked at her, her mouth a perfect circle. “You must be joking.”
Merry answered that. “Frederica, a pineapple here in Britain costs as much as a two-year-old steer.”
“No!”
“Indeed. I created a horrendous scandal by eating one,” Merry said. “My gauche manners were discussed far and wide.” She waved her spoon. “Please, everyone, eat your pineapple. Thanks to our pineapple stoves, the estate produces enough so that I could open my own store.”
Cleo spooned up a segment. Frederica was still staring in shock. As Cleo watched, she whispered, “A two-year-old steer!”
“The experience gave me a profound dislike of scandal,” Merry said, smiling around the circle of ladies.
For the first time, Cleo saw a steely glint in Merry’s eye. Suddenly they were being addressed by a duchess, a lady at the very pinnacle of society.
“Given my unfortunate experience, I would be very sorry if I discovered that any unpleasant gossip ever arose from a dinner party of mine,” Her Grace said softly. “Naturally, those who blathered would never be invited to my house for any occasion, ever again.”
Her eyes swept the circle and landed on Cleo. “My dear Miss Lewis,” she called gaily, transforming with the flick of an eyelash into a charming, friendly lady, “what do you think of pineapple?”
Cleo smiled at her. “I am so grateful to eat it . . . My mother loved pineapple, and it is a joy to remember her pleasure in the fruit.”
“My aunt, who was as dear to me as a mother, loved hot chocolate drinks!” cried one of the very matrons who had sneered at Cleo five minutes earlier.
After that the conversation turned to mothers and their preferences.
“You must be very tired,” Miss Cabot said sometime later, rising and moving solicitously toward Mrs. Astor.
“Darling Frederica is such a mother hen,” Mrs. Astor exclaimed. “The captain of the ship and I had fascinating discussions that could have gone on all night, except that she was forever forcing me to rest.”
“We must all get our beauty sleep,” Yasmin said brightly, bounding to her feet and reaching out her hand to Cleo. “Come along, dear.”
As the ladies spilled into the reception area from the drawing room, the gentlemen rose from the dining table and came to meet them.
A footman stepped forward with Cleo’s cape, but before she could take it, Jake’s large hands took it away and wrapped it around her shoulders. She fastened its pearl buttons slowly, aware of all the eyes on them.
With an effort, she curled her mouth into a smile. “The Earl of Lilford has offered to escort me home, Mr. Addison. I know you’ll want to spend time with your mother.”
“Miss Lewis,” the earl said from behind her shoulder. Lilford’s eyes were piercing cold when he looked at Jake.
“I will—” Jake said.
Cleo lifted a gloved hand. “No.”
He caught her arm. “I’m not marrying her, you goose!” His voice was low enough to escape the earshot of most of the guests except for her and Lilford.
Cleo raised an eyebrow. “I believe the lady may be surprised to hear that.”
“You’re jealous,” he said slowly. A smile spread across his face.
Cleo looked daggers at the man. If she’d had an actual dagger, she might have . . . might have damaged his waistcoat, just to make a point. Instead, she turned up her nose and swept down the corridor, deliberately wrapping her hand around Lilford’s arm and snuggling close to him.
Chapter Thirty
Watching Cleo, his Cleo, get into a carriage with another man was a terrible feeling. Jake felt an enraged howl rise in his chest.
He’d been such an utter fool.
Damn the engagement ring he commissioned—and damn Rundell & Bridges as well. How long did it take to fashion a ring? He should have bought a diamond the size of a turnip weeks ago, fallen to his knees, and begged Cleo to marry him—nay, insisted that she elope with him.
The days had passed like pearls on a string, each one invaluable, bookended with breakfast and evening with the woman he loved. In the night they turned toward each other and made love half asleep, murmuring, groaning . . . loving. Time passed without notice.
