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“Surely you do not mean to insult the preferences of Baron Rockwell? He is quite a selective man and of exceptional taste.”
Lord Devon had clearly partaken of an aperitif or two for he exclaimed with a broad smile, “And you mean to praise yourself by such a statement, Isabella, for he courted your favors not so long ago!”
Her ladyship frowned for a second but regained her composure. “I assure you, Miss Sherwood, I am old news. The Baron clearly favors companions of an entirely different flavor.”
Before Deana could respond, Madame Follet intervened, “I forbid talk of old lovers. ‘Tis tres tiresome. Let us have a toast instead.”
“Indeed!” seconded the army officer. “To our lovely mistress of Chateau Follet. Our unequivocal gratitude for your hospitality.”
They all raised a glass to her. Deana took a hearty gulp. At another time, she would have savored the quality burgundy, but she barely tasted it. She was, at least, relieved from the attentions of Lady Isabella during the first and second courses. Rockwell looked at her often, but she could not discern his thoughts.
The wine flowed freely throughout dinner, and Deana noticed Lady Isabella laughing with greater frequency and volume, leaning in often toward Rockwell, close enough to touch him. Deana reminded herself she had no cause to be jealous. She had no claims upon the Baron, not even for the time that they were to be at the Chateau. But rather than bear witness to Lady Isabella fawning over Lord Rockwell, Deana turned to Lord Devon.
“Are you new to Chateau Follet?” Deana asked of Lord Devon.
“Au contraire. I am a frequent guest,” Lord Devon responded proudly. “Perhaps with as much occurrence as you patronize your gaming hells. I confess I am not that lucky in cards or dice. Perhaps you could teach me a thing or two. Which card game do you favor?”
She named the game that had led to her encounter with Rockwell, “Vingt-et-un.”
“Simple and straightforward.”
Glancing across the table, she saw Rockwell eyeing her with a frown. She dismissed his look and turned her attentions back to Lord Devon. “Yes and no. I have established certain rubrics depending on which cards I hold, but they have permutations depending on what cards are visible among others.”
“This is why I have no talent with cards. The very word ‘permutation’ puts to mind a dull and dreary science. My penchants tend toward a more active persuasion.”
“Sports?” she offered, though she knew full well what he meant by the salacious gleam in his eyes.
“Of a kind, I suppose.”
He grinned at her and leaned toward her. She could smell the wine upon his breath. A server came by to fill her glass. She saw Rockwell shake his head. Lady Isabella chose that moment to put her hand upon his shoulder and whisper into his ear. Deana decided to ignore him and allowed her glass to be filled.
“Have you enjoyed your stay here thus far?” Lord Devon asked her.
She wondered if she ought to encourage the drunken attentions of the man, but he had an affable demeanor to him and the redhe
ad sitting on the other side of her showed no interest in conversation as the woman had her head in the lap of her companion.
“The grounds are beautiful and the dinner impressive,” she replied to Lord Devon.
“And the company? Has our friend the Baron been a skilled host?”
Deana took a sip of wine to avoid answering. She was also saved by the dessert service.
Distracted, Lord Devon forgot his question and instead asked, “Are you staying in the West or the East Wing, Miss Sherwood?”
“The West Wing.”
Her answer attracted the attention of Lady Isabella. She raised a brow at Rockwell. “Only the West Wing? Have you no courage to attempt the East Wing?”
“Are you in the East Wing?” he returned with surprise.
“Of course,” Lord Devon answered. “I never bother with the West Wing anymore.”
Rockwell looked upon Lady Isabella with greater surprise. She blushed.
Lord Devon turned to Deana, “Perhaps you would wish to pay us a visit there?”
“We are not staying overlong,” Rockwell said with a tightness that confirmed he was not too keen upon Lord Devon.
