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Lady Jardine had the babe in her arms again. Lord Jardine was perusing a news sheet, which had to be several weeks old. Jane could not remember the last time the staff had brought one in. Now that she was married and no longer needed information about the Season, she felt no need to read news sheets. A stricken pang shot through. The Baron would want updated news! Oh, what a silly mistake to not think of that! She would speak to Mister Foote about making sure fresh tidings continued to arrive in order to keep up appearances that her husband avidly kept track of… whatever it was men kept track of. Politics, most likely, although she could not discern much difference between… what were their names? Wigs and Ponies? No, that could not be right. Perhaps she should read them as well? She had heard whispers that Lord Byron had fled the country in disgrace, but Mama would never fully explain why. And she wasn’t permitted to read his work, lest it ruin her modesty. Surely now she was married she could?
The only news which had affected her life was that the war with Napoleon was won. It was cause for double celebrations: no more war and no more income tax. Mama was able to divert the money she would have sent to the exchequer to the modiste, for Jane’s Season.
The Baron’s butler entered the room and announced that supper was served. Viscount and Lady Jardine walked into the dining room first; Lady Jardine holding the infant boy in her arms, as was her habit.
The daughters looked at Jane and then the butler, to see who he would nominate next. It was merely a meal, not a state function. With a wave of her hand, Jane ushered the daughters ahead of her, because if they stood out here too long, she would become ravenous and begin eating her own hand. Who knew the marriage act made one so hungry after the fact?
And tired!
Thankfully, Mister Foote did not make eye contact with her either, as the Jardine’s took their seats. Nobody needed to know what she and the footman had done. She and he had secured everyone’s continuing employment, residency, and safety with this one act. Well, acts plural, if truth be told. Once they had begun, it had seemed prudent to complete it more times, if only to ensure that she could be with child in the very near future.
Jane took an empty plate from her husband’s setting, then moved about the table placing his favourite morsels on it.
“What are you doing?” Lady Jardine cried out. “His Lordship has not started!”
“Thank you, Lady Jardine, but my Lordship desires a meal, and he is unable to bring himself to the dining room.”
“And why is that? Are you poisoning him to keep him bedridden, so you can take over the Barony?”
Jane stopped ladling food and put the plate down.
“He is tired from his exertions, my Lady, and as his wife, it is my duty to make sure that he is sated in all matters.”
There, that should shock her into silence.
It did not.
Lady Jardine said, “How do I know you speak the truth?”
Jane had had enough of this.
“Lady Jardine, you already have an heir for the Viscount. I would have thought it would be in my interests to keep the Baron hale and hearty and full of… vigour… so that I may produce an heir for him. Otherwise, your son inherits it all anyway, as you have already indicated in the many ribbons and cards you have placed on so many items in the estate.”
With that, she left the spluttering Lady Jardine and took the plate to the sideboard. Then she called on the Butler and asked him to get the footman to take the meal to his Lordship.
She took a seat with her back to the sideboard, so that she would not be tempted to look up when Mister Foote did her bidding. She would not be able to school her features. If Mister Foote was anywhere near as hungry as she, he’d fall upon the meal the moment he was safely up the stairs.
Lord Jardine took four spoons full of broad beans and then reached for the duck. Lady Jardine followed with a smaller serving of the same dishes. The daughters chose other items, piling their plates high. Interesting. Jane adored broad beans, but there were only three shrivelled legumes remaining by the time she came to serve herself. She had to hand it to the Jardines to notice which foods she favoured, as the asparagus spears were not touched. Despite her aversion to them, she was indeed hungry after so much exertion earlier in the day, so she feasted on those, along with the celery.
As she ate, pretending to enjoy her meal, she noticed Lord Jardine wince as he swallowed each mouthful of beans with an accompanying belt of wine. It served him right to be so greedy and take her favourites, especially when he didn’t even like them. The daughters, despite taking so many, were not even touching theirs. What a waste! Lady Jardine, however, mashed hers with a fork and made a paste of it, then spooned some into the infant’s mouth. The babe’s eyes became round with delight as he swallowed the delicious new experience. His hand waved towards Lady Jardine’s plate, clearly indicating he wanted more.
Well, at least one of the Jardines wasn’t wasting the delicious beans!
For the rest of the meal, Lord Jardine pushed his vegetables around the plate, here a carrot, there some potato, but it was obvious to everyone that he could not disguise that hill of beans. Even when he accidentally pushed one and then three more off the plate, with a cry of ‘slippery coves!’ it was obvious he couldn’t stomach them. There were more growing in the kitchen garden, Jane was sure of it. She would visit the terraces in the morning and see to the crops personally.
After the meal, Lord Jardine did not wait for the ladies to withdraw. He took himself to another room, presumably to sit by himself and smoke a pipe or cheroot. Jane did not care which. She guessed he would, in ordinary times, have had a glass of brandy with Baron Ealing.
Would there be a way to facilitate that in some form?
“I must see to the Baron,” Jane said. Excusing herself, she went to his rooms. Every now and then, she would stop to admire a painting on the wall. Another relative - another ribbon attached as well. Another head of black hair. Goodness but the colour was strong. In each Ealing son, down the line, there was the coal black hair. Even the Baronesses appeared to have been chosen for their matching tresses. Nary a ginger to be seen. How very interesting.
In his rooms, she found Mister Foote finishing a mouthful of her husband’s meal. She shrugged internally. The Baron wouldn’t be needing it anymore, and Mister Foote would be hungry. As was she, and there was half a potato remaining.
She picked it up with her fingers and finished it.
Heat stole through her when Mister Foote acknowledged her presence with a silent nod.
“I’d best take this plate back to the kitchen,” he said.
