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In Carlton House, mealtime was not unlike those he’d experienced in the beast wagon. A well-placed snarl ensured he was not required to dine with his betters. He suspected his sustenance would have been flung over the threshold of his rooms if not for the preservation of the royal porcelain.
It had allowed him the privacy to remaster utensils. The spoon was easy enough, but the fork still eluded him; even the knife presented less difficulty. He would not reveal how his hand trembled when he attempted the fork. He refused to struggle and fail before all.
For as polite and well-intentioned as they were, the coterie under this roof were highfliers. The Lowell chef produced a meal that would not shame the hosts should some lupine deity descend from the heavens to join them. Alfred was as fussy as Georgie when it came to his attire, and the entire company was kitted out in their finest. As was now customary, Alwyn took great pleasure in achieving new heights of sartorial idiosyncrasy. Alfred’s thunderous brow was a sight to see, and the explosion was quashed only because his mate would not like it.
Alwyn had once wanted a mate and yet deferred seeking out the bond in his flirtatious youth. Had he met hisvera amoris, would his absence have been discovered straightaway? Or would his beloved, seeking him, have fallen prey to the same foe, two souls rather than one caged? After all was said and done, perhaps it was for the best he hadn’t found his true mate after all.
“Your Grace.” The butler approached the table, and three came to attention. He saw the lady apothecary exchange a cheeky glance with her brother. They were alike enough to be twins, similar in coloring and build, with the brother more at ease in company than the sister. Mr. Barrington seemed better blessed in his looks, but the slightest spark of interest, of humor or mischief, and Miss Barrington was lit from within as if the sun rose not by degrees but in an instant.
Although Alwyn noticed her hesitancy to talk about her time abroad. She was vibrant and passionate when she began an anecdote and then snuffed it out as easily as she would a candle flame.
Everyone was looking at him. Why? Oh. He was the Grace queried. He grunted, and the butler said something about disliking the course and if he would prefer it replaced, the chef would be happy to do so. While the butler nattered away and everyone carried on staring, his fingers spasmed over the dratted fork, and the familiar frustration reared up within, as his essential creature once had, without thought, effortless. Now, no thought could reach his lion, no emotion, nothing. He was alone, alone with his body and his thoughts and—no, he could not think on this now, not in front of all these people looking at him. As he was one breath away from fleeing the room—
—thatladypicked up a slice of lamb with her fingers and ate it.
***
Tabitha kicked Timothy in the shin, two short and one long, and picked up another slice of lamb. He glanced over at her and followed suit.
She smiled, closemouthed, at the variety of expressions that greeted her action. Lowell looked like a scalded cat; Felicity, bless her, attempted to betray no expression at all and failed; O’Mara was her usual sphinxlike self, and Mr. Bates, as was his wont, appeared to be parsing her action in his mind, teasing out her motive.
Timothy took his cue without faltering. He dabbed his lips with his serviette and reached for another piece of the delicious meat. “I suspect my sister is reminded of our time in Crete, where we often enjoyed a lamb dish seasoned very like this one. It was eaten quite casually with the fingers.”
“Quite so, Timothy,” she chimed in, “and without thinking, I fell into the traditional manner of consuming it.”
“Is this the Greek way in all things? To use one’s hands?” Felicity inquired.
Timothy, who was barely suppressing a guffaw, got an admonitory bash to his ankle.Do not regale the party with your tales of Greek handiwork, Brother. She glared and then had to stop herself from giggling. She quickly ate another piece of lamb.
“A dish such aspaidakia, for example, would be too hot to do so, Your Grace, but much of Greek cuisine is eaten without ceremony. It is quite liberating, like a picnic at the dinner table. Although that may be a poor comparison, as it must be said that many an English picnic is conducted with as much ceremony as a royal banquet. After Crete, we spent several weeks on the island of Ios, where we…”
And bless him, as only one used to commanding attention could, Timothy drew all eyes and ears to his discourse on Grecian cooking as was found specifically in the islands north of the mainland.
Tabitha reached for the platter and was not equal to Mr. Coburn’s eagle eye; he directed a footman to serve her. O’Mara went so far as to convey her reaction by the twitch of an eyelid and joined in. Mr. Bates looked to resist but was no match for Tabitha’s stare. He considered her, noted where everyone’s attention wasnot, and realization dawned. He, too, joined in.
The Welsh duke hesitated…hesitated…and proceeded to clear his plate. With a gesture from Felicity, Mr. Coburn himself retrieved the platter of lamb to replenish His Grace’s serving.
Tabitha caught Llewellyn’s eye, and his expression betrayed the usual reaction her innovations inspired in others: annoyance, reluctant interest, relief the issue was addressed, but irritation that the unique process was needed in the first place.
Timothy was concluding his thesis on Greek cuisine. “…and of course, as a result, there is a greater than usual need to wash one’s hands, which results in two lucrative industries. Pottery, for the finger bowls, and rose otto oil.”
“The latter restores the naturally occurring moisture lost in said handwashing,” Tabitha said. She smiled at Lowell, who slid another slice of lamb into his mouth. “It is also effective as an emetic.” Had she not been an old hand at embarrassing herself in public, she might have blushed, but the desired effect was achieved: the Duke of Llewellyn continued to eat in peace.
With any luck, this was the last course. Good Lord, how it dragged on. And yet it had served its purpose, and she had more than one question to put to theversipellesabout their reluctant ducal guest.
Coburn, who was an absolute treasure, oversaw the addition of finger bowls to their place settings. Conversation carried on, orchestrated by Timothy, who drew out Lowell and Mr. Bates on their own travels abroad. O’Mara remained stoic, and Felicity finally asked for the sweet course to be brought in; amongst the offerings was a trifle easily eaten with a spoon.
Five
After-dinner tea drinking was a step too far for the Welsh duke: one moment he was walking down the corridor with the rest, and the next, not.
“That was ingenious.” Felicity had taken Tabitha’s arm as they processed down the hall. “I had not noticed His Grace was in difficulty.”
“Fresh eyes.” Tabitha patted her friend’s arm. “And I am used to watching and listening from a detached perspective.”
“But is it wise to reinforce uncivilized activity?” O’Mara stood aside and allowed the company to precede her into the drawing room.
“Would allowing His Grace’s struggle to continue not have been worse?” As chummy as Timothy had become with the chamberlain before the meal, Tabitha and she had not properly spoken, despite having been introduced on the Barringtons’ arrival. Was the Omega avoiding her?
