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The duke picked up a fork Tabitha had just laid down. “I see we shall not enjoy Grecian fare this evening.”
“You may use it or not, as you please.” Tabitha fetched down some wineglasses as a bottle was cooling in a bucket of icy cold water from the nearby stream. “I have no idea what to expect of the meal, as that is my brother’s domain.”
“You would not be faulted for assuming, Your Grace, that if one should spend much of her time over bubbling pots, it would translate to sustenance,” Timothy said. “Alas.”
“You make me sound like one of those Macbeth witches.” Tabitha snapped out a serviette and refolded it, it had to be said, with little flair.
“They were not explicitly called such in the play,” said Llewellyn.
“Do you enjoy the theater?” Timothy strained the pasta and billows of steam gusted around him.
“I have been exposed to it.” The duke cleared his throat, voice gone guttural as it had in weeks past. “And reluctantly played a part, in the menagerie.”
Timothy put aside the pot and faced the duke. “I did not think before I spoke. I regret mentioning something you must find painful.”
“The ills begin to fade the longer I am in my manskin.” The duke held the fork with ease and went so far as to flip it around his knuckles. “I may have practiced that.” He placed the fork on the table. “I must speak of my time in Drake’s, or else it will fester in my mind. So: the very fact of my existence required I be shown to all. I figured largely and inexplicably inMuch Ado About Nothing.”
“Oh, Sicily!” Tabitha cried. “I—well, yes, a lovely place. Your Grace, please sit.” She received a look of ducal approbation wedded with a pair of muscular arms crossed on a chest that looked larger than it had last week. “Sicily was warm and bright. We found the place to be most congenial.”
“Congenial but bereft of lions,” Timothy said. Several chops spit in a pan; while they seared, her brother popped a sliced loaf into the oven to warm. Tabitha was handed the caster, which contained the seasonings her brother deemed necessary at every meal: salt and white pepper, powdered mustard seed, and garlic. Vinegar and oil in cruets joined the everyday butter crock, so no standing on ceremony, despite their exalted guest.
The wine, chilling in a bucket, smelled like citrusy stones. Tabitha knew as much about wine as she did about languages and left its choice to Timothy’s superior grasp of these matters.
The duke took a small sip. “Despite the lack of my kind, what might one find to enjoy in Sicily?”
“A lifestyle so relaxed, it was rather decadent.” Timothy set to work with mortar and pestle. “We found Englishmen and women there, as we did everywhere we went. We also became acquainted with Sicilians who soon came to trust my sister, and she learned from them. I was quite busy in work and made many friends.” He glanced at the duke over his shoulder. “Home of macaroni, after all.”
“Bonaroo!” Llewellyn exclaimed. “Toda bona, mona omie?”
Timothy lit up like a chandelier at a ball. “Mais oui, ducky, dinna nishthe chat!”
The duke leaned forward, elbows on the table. “It’s beendonkssince I’ve had acackle, savvy?”
Her brother took a breath to respond and bless him, looked at her with tragedy writ all over his face, for what reason she did not know. Due to being left out by yet another foreign language, perhaps? “Was that Italian? Mine never came up to scratch.”
“It is not quite that language, or not solely Italian,” Timothy said. “It is calledParlyaree, a lingo often used amongst…myself and my dear friends.”
“It is common parlance for many classes,” the duke said, “including the roustabouts at Drake’s. It is indeed well-known amongst the mollies”—Timothy hooted with laughter—“but I am not attracted to my own gender.”
“Plain speaking. How refreshing.” Timothy set the toasted bread on the table. “I, for one, am attracted to my own gender.”
“As I explained to Lowell, lions in particular, and felines in general, do not put limitations upon with whom one may or may not bond.”
Timothy mixed the pesto into the pasta. “Did Lowell require the explanation?”
“His Gamma required the reassurance.”
“Oh, Mr. Gambon.” Her brother spooned the pasta into a large shallow dish. “He is a lovely man,” he said lightly. “So helpful about the place.”
Tabitha and Llewellyn winced in concert. “Just as well he holds out no hopes for you,” the duke said.
“Oh, but Timothy, he is truly lovely,” Tabitha said.
“We all have our preferences, and those preferences, in turn, involve criteria. What might yours be, Your Grace?”
“I expect His Grace prefers to be fed as promised.” Tabitha whipped her serviette open and placed it on her lap.
Timothy handed out serving dishes, and Tabitha arranged them on the tabletop. “My sister’s preferences include travel,” he said, “and happily this coincided with a need to broaden my horizons.”
