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Chapter Seventeen
Augustus blew out a long but silent breath and placed his large, calloused hand on the dining table. “I have never enjoyed a meal more, either the food or the company. I thank you both.” He looked from William to Beatrice. “Lady Candleton, were you not already married, I would be proposing this instant.”
Bea laughed readily. “You’re a shameless flatterer, Captain Dalfour. But I do promise to convey your sincere compliments to Cook, along with my own.”
“Do indeed.” Augustus transferred his hand to rest over the gold braid on the front of his dashing dark-navy Hussars dress uniform. “As I bow to you for selecting such a fine menu, so too am I in awe of what Cook has produced for your table.”
“Yes,” Bea said, her smile replete with secret knowledge. “Cook applies herself most passionately to her every undertaking.”
“Then perhaps I ought to propose to her,” Augustus replied with an arched eyebrow.
“You’re a week too late,” said William, chuckling. “Cook has just married the stablemaster.”
“Ah. Mr. Moore did seem in remarkably good spirits, come to think of it.” Augustus spoke with remarkable blandness given the sparkle in his eyes. He rubbed his hands together. “Forgive my greed, my lady, but what dessert shall I be devouring?”
In selecting this evening’s menu, Bea had taken pains to include her brother-in-law’s most-loved delights. Despite his privileges, military fare couldn’t compare to a meal prepared at home. But when it had come time to decide upon this final course…
She glanced at her husband, unable to refrain from sharing a warm look with him, hoping he would be pleased. “William’s favorite.”
“Sponge cake with strawberries,” said Augustus with hearty approval.
“Trifle,” Bea said at the same time.
As silence extended, she examined her husband’s gaze, seeking the truth. Yes, certainly he enjoyed sponge cake; that came as no surprise. How many times over the years had she quelled the frissons that shot through her at the sight of William’s mouth closing politely over a forkful of it, oozing with cream and berry essence?
But she had believed trifle to be his most beloved dessert, just as it was hers. Oh, he hadn’t said as much…and perhaps her own zeal had seeped into her memories. She stared at her sterling silver dessert fork until it blurred.I no longer know which way is up and which is down. What is true and what is not.
“When I was a boy, I enjoyed sponge cake with strawberries more than any other treat,” William said quietly.
Bea tried not to look up, but she couldn’t help it. His admission stung to an irrational degree—until she realized the fondness in his expression wasn’t inspired by their discussion of food.
He smiled with more satisfaction than he ever had for sponge cake. “But as a man, nothing compares to trifle. Becauseyou, my lady, delight in it so. And nothing—nothing—will ever bring me as much happiness as seeing you happy.”
Gripped as she was by a rush of emotion, she barely noticed the dramatic choking sounds Augustus effected, tugging at the high collar of his uniform. A cavalry officer he might be, but a younger brother he was first, and he ceased his theatrical reaction only when a servant delivered their last course of the evening.
“I shall ask Cook to make sponge cake soon,” Bea said to William with a shy smile as the layered dessert was set upon the table.
An unusually stern air overtook him. “As Marquess, I shall countermand your order and insist that trifle be served daily.”
The warmth in her cheeks for the rest of the evening had nothing to do with the wine she had sipped, nor the sweetness of the trifle, which she consumed with an enhanced awareness of William’s vicarious pleasure.
After dinner, Augustus bowed to her as soon as they ambled out of the dining room. “I beg your pardon, my lady, but this old man has been sorely fatigued running after his nieces and nephews all day, glorious as they may be. Forgive me if I take my leave early tonight.”
William eyed him knowingly. “A full day with my children has been more tiring than a day in the saddle atop your war horse, commanding Her Majesty’s forces, eh?”
They all laughed, but once Bea and William were alone, once more sitting across from his locked stationery case in the drawing room, a serious mood overtook her. Last night and again this morning after breakfast, William had shared his writings with her, and more awaited. As beautiful as his revelations were, they were heart-wrenching, and she held part of herself back still, wondering if one of the letters contained a secret that would wound her.
After he unlocked the box, he searched through it, smiling sheepishly as he handed her the sheet of parchment he’d selected. “Its contents will come as no surprise, but it’s a timely subject.”
Trifle, it was titled simply. Her eyes glazed with moisture, she returned it to him and asked him to read it. By the end, she was not only touched, but riveted by the sensuality. The next letter, however, made her cross. Dated three weeks after her departure from London, it began with the explanation that William had risen, sleepless once more, wondering what she was doing at the same moment.
“The silence in the house is unbearable,” he continued. “Our children’s laughter is no longer echoing through the stairwell. Not a single shout or cry. But the greatest absence, one that leaves not just this house but me feeling empty, is yours, Beatrice. By day I listen for your musical voice. Now at night, I lie awake in bed pining for your soft snores.”
“Snores!” She clucked her tongue, and her normally agreeable countenance glowered. “I never—”
“You do,” he interjected matter-of-factly.
She shifted in her seat, taking in his growing smile. “I—I, no…perhaps a small purr, like a cat.”
