Leslie Lafoy (11 page)

Honoria arched a silver brow. “You were also in the Transvaal, Mr. Terrell?”

“No,” he admitted, grinning from ear to ear, “but I’ve heard the stories at least a thousand times. There are moments when I certainly feel as though I’d been there.”

Barrett made a snorting sound around his smile. “Every day was a challenge of one sort or another. But we got them built and built correctly. They’ll last into the next century and well beyond.”

“It sounds as though you were not only very good at it, but also enjoyed the work. Why did you choose to abandon it?”

Cocking a brow, Barrett asked, “Didn’t I mention that Harry is a pox on all of mankind?”

Carden cleared his throat and pointedly met Honoria’s gaze. “Let’s say that a conflict of interest developed and leave it at that, shall we?”

“It must have been a significant one.”

Again Barrett snorted. “You don’t know the half of it.”

“And shouldn’t,” Carden declared crisply, finishing off his drink and setting the empty glass on the side table. He glanced toward the doorway and then stepped toward the settee. No trace of his earlier irritation remained as he smiled down at the elderly woman, offered his arm, and said, “Sawyer is about to announce dinner. Honoria, if you’d do me the honor.”

Barrett Stanbridge was at Sera’s side in the next instant. “May I?”

She took his offered arm. “Thank you, Mr. Stanbridge.”

“Formality has a way of impeding the development of friendships. I’d prefer if you’d call me Barrett. And Seraphina is such a beautiful name it would be a shame to be denied the privilege of saying it.”

She’d known the request was coming and acceded with a nod. She didn’t miss the quick look Carden threw over his shoulder at her and knew that there was going to be a reckoning with him over the issue the next time they found themselves alone.

How she’d feel about it at that point she couldn’t be certain. There was something to be said for maintaining the bounds of their employer–employee relationship. It was by far the safest course. She did have to admit, though, that something had decidedly shifted between them as they’d stood together in the upstairs hallway. Had the girls not been there, the entire matter might already be a moot one. Whether it was proper or not—or even wise—thinking about kissing a man generally moved a relationship to a first-name basis.

“And if you wouldn’t mind too terribly sharing me, Seraphina,” she heard Barrett say. Abandoning her musing, she smiled appreciatively as he extended his other arm. “Miss Amanda, if you would do me the distinct honor?”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Ha! Fools!” Aiden chuckled, extending his crooked arms to Beatrice and Camille. “They’ve left the prettiest two of the bunch for me to escort. Shall we, ladies?”

Seraphina allowed Barrett to escort her into the dining room, listening to the girls chattering and laughing as Aiden brought them along behind, and knowing with absolute certainty that bringing them to England had been the right thing to do.

*   *   *

Carden might well have delayed hiring a housekeeping staff, but he hadn’t compromised the part of his lifestyle that came from the kitchen. It was the grandest, most decadently delicious meal she’d had in a very, very long time. The girls had never in their relatively short lives seen such a feast at all and their eyes had grown larger with every course that had appeared. They’d made do with so little for so long in Belize. And the food aboard ship had barely been edible most days. Now, watching them struggle to practice the good manners of restraint in the face of such a bounty …

“Beatrice,” Carden said, interrupting Sera’s observations, “you look like a young lady who would like another helping of potatoes. And maybe another slice of roast to go with it, too. Monroe, if you would, please.”

The foot man smiled and silently moved forward with the platter of meat, holding it as Beatrice carefully selected a dainty piece.

“Take another, Bea,” Carden pressed, smiling at her around the rim of his wine glass. “A big one. No one leaves my table hungry. Food’s meant to be eaten and enjoyed. Monroe, please see that Miss Amanda and Camille have additional portions of everything, as well. Seraphina?”

“Thank you, but I couldn’t possibly eat another bite. My sincerest compliments to your cook, Mr. Reeves. Everything was heavenly.”

Barrett lifted his glass. “And compliments to you, Carden—yet again—for having the foresight to bring Cook and Monroe with us out of the Transvaal. A stroke of pure genius.”

“No, it was pure selfishness and you know it.”

Honoria looked between the two of them, blinking. “You absconded with soldiers from Her Majesty’s Army?”

“I didn’t kidnap them, Honoria,” Carden laughingly explained. “Their enlistments were up and I offered them passage home, steady employment, and the deep and everlasting appreciation of myself and my friends.”

“And your family,” Amanda added happily, taking another helping of the offered roast.

“Yes,” Carden amended, lifting his glass in his niece’s direction, “and that of my family.”

“Amanda, my sweeting,” Honoria said crisply, her tone instantly snapping Amanda’s gaze to hers. “A small but important point of manners. Children, when invited to the table to dine with their elders, are not to speak unless directly spoken to.”

Amanda was crushed, but valiant in her effort to conceal it. She nodded and smiled tightly even as she silently replaced the empty meat tongs on the tray Monroe held at her side. Honoria dipped her chin in acceptance and then smiled as she resumed pushing the food around on her own plate. Amanda stared glumly at her roast. Beatrice squirmed and Camille looked at Sera, wordlessly pleading for an explanation. Sera counted to five before she felt she had sufficient control of her anger.

“It’s all right, Amanda,” Sera said breezily, drawing everyone’s attention her way. “No one is going to die at a small lapse in manners. We have much to learn about living in this new world and it will take some time. We’re all going to make mistakes in the process. What’s important is that we profit from them in the end.”

Honoria blinked several times. “Are you saying that children speaking freely at the table is customary in Belize?”

The question had been asked on an incredulous note and yet … there was something of a challenge in it, too. Sera could feel it even though she couldn’t say where in the words or what—precisely—it was. She knew with absolute certainty, however, that she didn’t like it and that she couldn’t afford to pretend it wasn’t there. The girls were so very vulnerable now and needed her to stand up for them.

“Yes, Lady Lansdown, in the Reeveses’ home, the girls are allowed to speak freely,” she answered. “But their home is unusual. Theirs is one of the very few in Belize that actually has a table.”

There was a flash of steel in Honoria’s hazel eyes and then it was gone. What replaced it, Sera couldn’t tell. The rapid blinking served to mask it remarkably well. “I had already concluded that the standards in general must be very different there,” Honoria said, her manner light and conversational. “Otherwise there is simply no explanation for Arthur’s having sent his daughters home with such wardrobes. I’ve never in my life seen such pitifully attired children.”

Heat flooded Sera’s cheeks. She clenched her teeth, knowing that if she retorted in anger, she’d only make matters worse. Honoria, despite her outward appearance and manner—and Carden Reeves’s assurances—was no harmless bit of feminine fluff.

“You haven’t been out of Mayfair recently, have you, Honoria?” Carden asked coolly.

Honoria blinked some more and in the lull Sera stepped in to make explanations for the sake of the girls’ feelings.

“It was an unavoidable situation, the specifics of which I won’t bore you, Lady Lansdown. But rest assured that Mr. Reeves is taking us to the dressmaker’s tomorrow. He intends for the girls to have entirely new wardrobes as soon as is humanly possible.”

“Oh really, Carden,” Honoria gushed, waving her hand dismissively. “What would you know of selecting proper clothing for young ladies?”

“And just how is it that you would know more?” he countered.

“I was once a little girl myself. And although small details tend to slip my mind these days, my memories of childhood are quite intact and available for recall. As I’m sure you have much more productive ways in which to spend your time, I shall accompany Seraphina and the girls to the dressmaker’s tomorrow.”

Sera’s heart sank into her stomach. An entire day with Honoria, always watching for barbs, deflecting criticisms, having to ever be on their very best behavior …

“I think Miss Camille should choose in the pinks, don’t you, Seraphina?”

There had to be a way out of this. But until she found it, Sera didn’t see any choice but to appear to be politely amenable. “Pink is always a good color for her. The darker shades being the best.”

“I agree. And light blues for Miss Beatrice. For Miss Amanda … I see the palest, springiest greens.”

And never mind what the girls see or want for themselves,
Sera angrily added.

“And what do you see for Seraphina?” Carden asked from his seat at the end of the table.

“Jewel tones, I should think,” Honoria supplied, squinting at her. “Very deep and rich colors. She would be simply stunning in jades and sapphires.”

Carden slowly shook his head. Softly, he smiled and said, “Rubies.”

Barrett Stanbridge leaned forward in his chair to meet her gaze and say, “I think she’s quite stunning just as she is at present.”

“Hardly,” Sera protested, “but thank you nonetheless, Barrett. You’re most gallant.” She turned to Honoria, determined to establish herself as an independent mind. “As for the matter of my wardrobe, I really don’t think a new one is all that necessary. What I have—”

“Nonsense, my dear,” Honoria declared with another wave of her hand. “Carden can well afford it and every woman should, at least once in her life, have a wardrobe befitting her beauty.”

“Very true,” he concurred. “All of it. And I insist on seeing that you have one.”

Seraphina opened her mouth to protest but Camille chose that moment to reach over and tug on her Uncle Carden’s coat sleeve. He grinned and looked down at her. “Yes, Camille? What is it?”

“Uncle Carden, would be it all right if Mrs. Miller has a new dress, too?”

One corner of his mouth quirked up. “And who is Mrs. Miller?”

“Her doll,” Amanda supplied with a quick but openly defiant glance at Honoria. “Mrs. Miller, Miss Sera’s mama, gave her to me a long time ago. When I outgrew such things, I gave her to Beatrice.”

“And I gave her to Camille,” Beatrice added. “She has a china face and hands.”

“And jet-black hair,” Amanda contributed. “Just like Miss Sera’s mama had. That’s why I named her as I did.”

Camille nodded earnestly and in childish awe whispered, “She’s very beautiful, Uncle Carden.”

Sera watched, her heart melting, as Carden Reeves grinned at his youngest niece, chucked her chin, and said, “It certainly sounds as though she is, Camille. Of course Mrs. Miller can have a new wardrobe, too. Perhaps we could get her dresses to match your own. Would you like that?”

“That would be lovely, Uncle Carden. Thank you.”

“It will be my pleasure, Camille. Just remember to take Mrs. Miller with you tomorrow. They’ll need to take her measurements when they take yours.”

Camille nodded, adoration brimming in her dark eyes. And Sera watched as Carden Reeves drank from the well and let her take his heart prisoner. Smiling, Seraphina eased back into her chair, happier than she could ever remember being. Everything was going to be fine. Carden was well on his way to being the perfect uncle, the perfect hero. She couldn’t have asked for more.

“We’ve never been to a dressmaker’s before,” Beatrice blurted.

“Never?” Honoria repeated, clearly stunned.

Amanda nodded. “Mama always made—”

“Oh, dear,” Sera gasped, bolting forward in her chair, all too aware of where the sudden turn in conversation could take them. Any reference to their parents in the past tense would invite another of Honoria’s rapid-fire inquisitions.

“I had no idea it was so late,” Sera quickly went on, tucking her napkin beneath the edge of her plate. “My darlings, I’m afraid we must put an end to our day. If we don’t retire in the next few moments, we’ll be too exhausted to properly enjoy our adventure tomorrow.” She smiled and glanced around the table even as she began to rise. “If you all will accept our thanks for the excellent meal and the pleasant company, we will bid you a good evening.”

All three of the men politely bolted to their feet with murmured acceptances but it was Barrett Stanbridge who stepped to the back of her seat to assist her. John Aiden moved to assist Beatrice, and since Camille vaulted out of the chair on her own, Carden was left to help Amanda.

“I won’t accept,” Honoria said flatly, firmly.

Carden froze and stared down at his sister-in-law. “I beg your pardon?”

“And with whom will I have after-dinner conversation and sherry if Seraphina retires with our delightful nieces?” Honoria asked imperiously. “Am I supposed to remain with you gentlemen for port and cigars?”

Sera’s stomach turned to lead. There was no polite way out of it; she had to stay. And she would have to formally atone for what had been a significant social gaffe. But humbling herself was all the sacrifice she was willing to make for social protocol and Honoria Reeves.

“My sincere apologies for not having thought of that, Lady Lansdown,” she said softly, easing herself back into her chair. “Of course I’ll remain with you. But I must insist that the girls retire. Amanda is perfectly capable of seeing herself and her sisters tucked in for the night. She’s very grown-up.”

Amanda momentarily sagged with obvious relief and then predictably stiffened her back and squared her shoulders.

“What about my stocking?” Beatrice whispered. “I’ll need to wear it tomorrow.”

“I’ll darn it before I retire for the night,” Sera promised.

“I’ll see to it, Miss Sera,” Amanda offered, taking Camille’s hand in hers. “I’m very good with a needle.”