“Hey, Duke,” Syd said, rising to his feet, “I was just tellin’ Emma how you could make a bucket rentin’ this joint to the right people.”
“How enterprising you are, Syd,” the duke said easily.
“I got a card—”
“I believe we’ve accumulated quite a collection of your cards, Syd,” the duke broke in. “So generous ... Not one member of the staff has been overlooked. Emma, my dear, would you allow me the honor?”
With a shy smile, Emma placed her sherry glass on the table at her knee and crossed the room to take the duke’s arm. Syd offered his to Kate, Susannah latched on to Derek’s, and the three couples made their way up the hall to the dining room, Syd’s voice booming, Susannah murmuring, and Emma raising a hand to rub her temple. It was shaping up to be an exceptionally long evening.
7
A candle-filled chandelier lit the dining room, and the silver-and-green velvet drapes had been drawn to reveal the rainswept façade of the ruined castle, dramatically lit by concealed floodlights. “It’s better on a clear night,” the duke murmured, as he took his place at the head of the table.
Emma sat on the duke’s right, Susannah on his left; Kate was at the foot of the table. Syd sat between Kate and Emma, tucking his napkin into his shirt collar and beckoning to Crowley to fill his wineglass. Derek, who had yet to acknowledge Emma’s presence, sat across the table from Syd, beside Susannah.
Shadows danced across the molded ceiling, and the table was a fairyland of twinkling crystal and gleaming silver. Quite a lot of silver, Emma noted. Aware of Susannah’s coolly amused gaze on her worried face, Emma resolved to follow the duke’s lead and hope for the best.
“Speaking of higher powers, Susannah,” the duke was saying, “I’m almost willing to believe in one, now that Emma’s here. She’s an answer to my prayers, sent by a pair of angels in human form, who—Ah, Madama, what culinary magic have you worked for us tonight?”
A door had opened in the wall behind Emma, admitting a tiny old woman in a plain black dress, followed by Crowley, bearing a silver soup tureen, and Hallard, carrying a ladle. The old woman led the two manservants to the sideboard, where she carefully filled a soup bowl, then stood back. Hallard placed the bowl on a silver tray, and Crowley presented it to the duke. “Wild mushroom, Your Grace, with a touch of port wine.”
The duke tasted the soup, then bowed his head. “Perfection,” he declared.
The old woman’s wrinkled face was instantly wreathed in smiles, and she departed the room in triumph, leaving Hallard and Crowley to serve the duke’s guests.
“She does it every night,” Susannah commented to Emma. “I find it positively medieval.” She turned her gaze to the foot of the table. “But, then, so much about Penford Hall has a feudal air. It must be a special treat for you to dine with your betters, Kate.”
Emma flinched, but Kate Cole merely nodded complacently.
“It is,” Kate agreed. “I feel quite privileged whenever the Reverend and Mrs. Shuttleworth invite me to dine with them at the rectory in Penford Harbor. Mrs. Shuttleworth sets a shining example for us all.”
Outmaneuvered, Susannah subsided.
“Now, where was I?” said the duke. “Ah, yes, my guardian angels. You would adore them, Derek. They live in a tiny Cotswolds village called Finch and they’re the most incredibly identical—”
“You don’t mean Ruth and Louise Pym by any chance, do you?” Derek interrupted.
“Derek, you astound me,” said the duke. “Don’t tell me you know them.”
“I do, as a matter of fact. Worked on the church in Finch last winter, uncovering some whitewashed frescoes. Twelfth-century. Interesting.” Favoring Emma with a brief glance, he asked politely, “How are the ladies?”
Candlelight glittered in sapphire eyes, and Emma’s soup spoon slipped from her fingers, clattering loudly on the leg of her chair as it made its way to the carpet. She started to retrieve it, but the duke put out a restraining hand to keep her from knocking heads with Hallard, who was already bending to remove the offending utensil, while Crowley replaced it with a clean one, which Emma promptly swept from the table with her elbow.
Hallard and Crowley went into action again, Susannah tittered, and Emma blushed a shade of pink that made her grateful for the dim lighting. The duke came to her rescue, signaling Crowley to serve the next course, and continuing as if there’d been no interruption.
“But how else would they be, dear boy? There are few things in this world one can rely upon absolutely, and the Pym sisters—and I say this advisedly—are one of them.”
“Tell them how you met,” said Kate.
The duke obliged. “Front right tire went pop directly in front of their cottage. The road turned and I didn’t. Came to a rest atop their birdbath, if memory serves. They were perfectly charming, of course. Took me in, fed me soup, gave me a kitten to play with—like being back in the nursery with Nanny Cole. Been thick as thieves ever since. Never go to London without looking in on them.”
“And you, Miss Porter?” Derek asked.
“A m-maze,” Emma stammered, still shaken by her mishap with the spoon.
“Know what you mean,” agreed the duke, helping himself to the marbled salmon and sole Hallard offered from a silver serving dish. “But who wouldn’t be? The first time I saw them, side by side, peering through my windscreen, I thought I’d bunged my head on the steering column.”
“I don’t suppose you’d care to tell me who you’re talking about,” Susannah put in, looking peevishly at the duke.
“Ruth and Louise Pym, my dear Susannah, are antique, inestimable, and identical twin sisters.”
“I knew a pair of twins once,” said Syd. The duke waited for him to go on, but Syd simply stared into the middle distance, a reminiscent smile playing on his lips.
“Identical twins?” Susannah grimaced. “How ghastly. I would dread having a twin.”
“The thought is an unsettling one,” the duke agreed smoothly. “I would venture to say—”
“In a maze,” Emma said abruptly. The dinner party froze as all heads, including Crowley’s, turned in her direction.
“I beg your pardon?” said the duke. “I didn’t quite catch—”
“I met them in a maze. The Pyms. A hedge maze. At Mansley Bran——” Emma cleared her throat. “At Bransley Manor.”
“Ah, Bransley Manor.” The duke nodded. “Kate and I visited there as children, with my grandmother, when the Saint Johns were still in residence. That was many years ago, of course. It is a National Trust property now, I believe?” With infinite patience, the duke guided Emma through a description of the gardens at Bransley Manor, then gracefully changed the subject, giving her a chance to recover her composure. His solicitude reminded Emma that she had a confession to make, and as Crowley served the noisettes of lamb, she turned to the duke.
“Grayson?” she said softly. “I’m afraid there’s been a slight misunderstanding.”
“I knew it!” the duke exclaimed. “I knew the rose suite wouldn’t do. Crowley, would you please—”
“Oh, no,” Emma broke in. “It’s not the rose suite. It’s me.” She riveted her eyes on the rim of his wineglass as the words came spilling out. “I’m not who you think I am. I’m just a tourist, and I met the Pyms by accident, and I came to Penford Hall to look at the gardens, not work on them.”
There was a moment of heavy silence as the duke stared at her, uncomprehending. “Do you mean to say that you have to get back to your proper job by next week or something? If that’s the problem, I’m sure Kate can arrange—”