“Consider before you partake,” Fiona warned in a whisper. “Sending choice tidbits is a sign of a man’s favor. If you accept … well …”
Eleanor hesitated. What would Jane Austen do? Then Eleanor realized she was too hungry to care about the consequences. How bad could it be? She smiled her thanks to Shermont before taking a generous portion. Then she thanked the footman.
“For future reference,” Fiona said, her voice dripping with scorn, “one does not talk to the servants during dinner.”
“Isn’t that rather silly? What if one needs something?”
Fiona shrugged. “Good service anticipates a guest’s needs. Bad service means you’re stuck. You can always ask your dinner partner to serve you something.”
Eleanor glanced over her shoulder at Fleckart, still cramming food into his mouth as fast as he could chew.
“You will be glad to know,” Fiona whispered, “no hostess worth her crystal salt cellars would repeat partners within a fortnight of dinners.”
While the servants removed dishes for the second time, Teddy practically dragged Beatrix to where Eleanor stood with Fleckart. Mrs. Holcum followed her daughter by mere steps, and Uncle Huxley, the dutiful dinner partner, trailed along in her wake.
“I hope you are enjoying the evening,” Teddy said to Eleanor.
“Of course, I am,” she said, stretching the truth just a little.
Fleckart launched into an ingratiatingly appreciative speech that commanded Teddy’s sole attention.
“So … educational to dine in the society of your betters,” Beatrix said in a low, meant-to-be-overheard voice.
Mrs. Holcum supported her daughter with a nod and a smug smile.
“True. Many of your customs are dissimilar to mine,” Eleanor admitted. The majority of her recent dinners had come from the freezer and had been heated in the microwave. “But different is not automatically superior.” She pasted a sweet smile on her face.
Beatrix opened and closed her mouth like a surprised fish. Apparently, she was not used to those she considered beneath her status standing up to her.
Mrs. Holcum, however, did not let the comment pass. “Are you disparaging your host’s excellent repast?”
Eleanor forced a questioning look and blinked a few times. “What an odd leap of illogical reasoning. I thought we were discussing cultural differences.” She allowed her smile to show a hint of condescension. “Aren’t new experiences one of the joys of travel?”
“Bravo! When in Rome, eh?” Huxley said as he slapped Mrs. Holcum on the back.
Eleanor could almost see the steam coming from Mrs. Holcum’s nostrils as she rounded on Huxley. He grinned, and she visibly struggled to get herself under control. The exchange told Eleanor two things: Huxley outranked Mrs. Holcum’s husband, and he was a bit of an eccentric, which was, of course, tolerated if one’s rank was sufficient.
“Fortunately, I have not had to endure the deprivations of travel beyond this country’s borders,” Mrs. Holcum said. “But if the necessity to do so should ever arise, I’m certain I would uphold the high standards of an English gentlewoman, regardless of native customs.”
“I’m sure you would,” Huxley said.
Mrs. Holcum nodded, pacified by what she deemed a compliment. Although by the twinkle in Huxley’s eyes, Eleanor doubted he meant it as such.
The older woman turned her attack back to Eleanor. “I’ve heard Colonials have adopted many customs of foreign immigrants as well as the native Indians.”
“We are the great melting pot,” Eleanor answered proudly.
“I developed a fondness for the American sensibility after making the acquaintance of Benjamin Franklin some years ago. We had good times when he lived in London. That man loved to sing.” Huxley chuckled at his memories, leaned forward, and whispered, “Especially bawdy tavern ditties. I still miss him.”
“Consorting with the enemy,” Mrs. Holcum said with a disdainful sniff.
“Who’s consorting?” Teddy asked after extricating himself from Fleckart’s clutches. He rejoined the group, bringing Shermont and Deirdre with him.
“We were just discussing an American friend of mine,” Huxley said. “Franklin taught me to take an air bath every day for my health.” The elderly gentleman thumped his chest Tarzan style. “Solid as a strapping youth.”
“What’s an air bath?” Eleanor asked.
Mrs. Holcum grabbed her daughter’s elbow and dragged her to the other end of the room.
Deirdre leaned close to whisper in Eleanor’s ear.
“Uncle Huxley is infamous for sitting on the balcony of his bedchamber without a stitch of clothes on. Avoid the north lawn from two until three o’clock.”
“Thank you for the warning.”
“I believe it’s time to resume our seats,” Deirdre said in a normal voice. She shook a warning finger at her uncle and whispered, “No controversial talk.”
Everyone followed Deirdre’s lead and drifted toward their designated places at the table. Shermont had not needed the reminder that England was at war with the United States. And America was an ally of the French. Huxley went onto Shermont’s list of suspects with the same reluctance that he’d added Eleanor’s name.
By the third remove, Teddy, Alanbrooke, and the lieutenants had each sent Eleanor something from their area of the table. In order not to show favoritism, she accepted all the tidbits with gracious smiles, but she ate none of the sautéed gizzards, plovers’ eggs in aspic, calf’s foot jelly, or marrow pâté.
Finally, dessert was served. The table was cleared to the bare wood, and an assortment of fruit, cakes, tortes, pastries, and sugar candies was laid out. Footmen served champagne under the watchful eye of Tuttle the butler. Fiona pointed out the special silver fruit knife and fork. Eleanor chose a poached pear and enjoyed it nearly as much as Fleckart delighted in his apple turnover, chocolate mousse, berry tart, sugared walnuts, and gingerbread with lemon sauce.
Before she’d finished half her pear, Eleanor had to stifle a yawn. The time difference was catching up with her.
Deirdre nodded to Shermont, and he stood to hold her chair as she rose. The rest of the gentlemen scrambled to their feet.
“We will leave you gentlemen to your port and cigars,” Deirdre announced. All the women stood. After thanking their dinner partners, they followed the hostess into the parlor where coffee and tea were served.
Mina, Fiona, and Hazel headed straight for the pianoforte.
“Play something soothing, my dears,” Aunt Patience said as she settled on the settee and pulled out a bit of fancy needlework. The other chaperones clustered around her. They drew Deirdre into their circle to make plans for the picnic the following day, which left Beatrix and Eleanor to chat with each other. In a blatant ploy to avoid that inevitability, Beatrix retreated to the chair by the empty fireplace and picked up a book from the nearby table.
Eleanor recognized the cut, yet felt as if she’d received a reprieve. She wandered toward the window and sat in the chair she’d occupied earlier to listen to the music. The girls took turns playing. Eleanor recognized Beethoven’s Für Elise and the folk song Greensleeves among several unknown pieces. As she fought to keep her eyes open, she heard the melody from Neil Diamond’s Song Sung Blue, and the thought made her smile.
“I could wish that sweet expression was for me rather than Mozart.”
Eleanor opened her eyes and blinked at Teddy who had seated himself on a footstool near her. “What?”
“Piano Concerto No. Twenty-One? Mozart?”
“Oh. Is that what they were playing?”
“You know, it’s quite depressing when my attempts to display my wit fail so miserably.”
“Sorry. My fault. My mind was … elsewhere.”
“I appreciate your wit,” Beatrix said as she arrived to stand at his side. While Teddy stood, she shot her rival a venomous glare that disappeared as soon as he was in a position to see her face. “Mama wishes to speak to you about a letter she received from Father.”