need another residence.”
“So Tweedsford will sit empty?”
“I may return now and again.” Lord Mark shrugged. “The house has been vacant for a decade. Another ten years would hardly matter.”
The men bade each other farewell without crossing swords—a miracle, to Jack’s way of thinking. If he never spoke with General Lord Mark Kerr again, so much the better.
Jack walked into his dining room at precisely eight o’ the clock and found his household staff standing quietly round the table as the candles shimmered and the sterling silver gleamed. Thirty well-scrubbed faces turned to greet him: thirty souls, entrusted to his care, who daily served him with gladness.
Jack swallowed until the tightness in his throat eased. “ ’Tis an honor to have you at my table. Grace be unto you, and peace.” He bowed his head, gave thanks for the meal, then invited them to sit, which they did in haste, their eyes as round as the china saucers beneath their teacups.
At the far end of the table sat Elisabeth Kerr, lovely as ever. The candlelight brought out the reddish gold strands in her hair and made her eyes shine like stars.
Jack leaned toward Mrs. Pringle on his left and asked in a low voice, “Why is Mrs. Kerr seated at such a distance?”
The housekeeper was quick to explain, “Because she is at Bell Hill by special appointment, milord, and not a servant. I thought it most appropriate she be seated at the foot of the table, usually reserved for the lady of the house.”
“Well done.” He gazed past the long row of candles. You are not mine, Bess. But you are indeed a lady.
Roberts, seated at his right hand, and Mrs. Pringle each looked down their sides of the table, then lifted their linen napkins and placed them across their laps, their movements slow and deliberate. Much elbowing and whispering ensued until all the servants had done the same.
Meanwhile, Gibson tarried at the door, anticipating his signal. When Jack nodded at him, his volunteer force went into action. Tureens of soup sailed through the door in the hands of people who’d never in their lives served at table. Not a drop was spilled, not a spoon forgotten. Jack was so engrossed he forgot to eat Mrs. Tudhope’s flavorful broth until his housekeeper shot him a stern look, and he swiftly emptied his plate.
The second course, a richly seasoned salmon, came and went smoothly, as did the third, an asparagus ragout, followed by a pig in jelly. Though the laughter was a bit loud and the conversation of a common nature, Jack was pleased to see all his guests enjoying themselves, and his unpaid staff even more so. Marjory Kerr was positively glowing, like a grand hostess in a Paris salon. No wonder Gibson never took his eyes off her. The Dalgliesh men moved rather slowly down the table but only because they were busily entertaining folk. Anne Kerr looked the prettiest he’d ever seen her, and the happiest as well, keeping a close eye on young Peter. And on his father.
Jack tasted everything so he might compliment the cook with all sincerity. But his attention was repeatedly drawn to the opposite end of the table. Elisabeth Kerr was simply too far away. Dessert was almost upon them. How might he bid her to come closer?
Ah. He smiled to himself. Just the thing.
Forty-Five
A good dinner sharpens wit,
while it softens the heart.
JOHN DORAN
s Elisabeth watched, Lord Buchanan rose from his chair, saying nothing yet commanding every eye. His servants put down their forks at once and turned in his direction. Did he see the admiration reflected on their faces, their genuine affection for him?
“I trust you’re enjoying the evening,” his lordship began. “While our plates are cleared by our able volunteers, I would invite our dressmaker, Mrs. Kerr, to join me at the head of the table.”
A smattering of applause brought Elisabeth to her feet. Uncertain of his intentions, Elisabeth moved past the long row of servants, exchanging glances with Mrs. Pringle. Did she know what her master had in mind? Apparently not, for the housekeeper shook her head. Elisabeth turned to Marjory and Anne, thinking her family might have some clue what was afoot, but their hands were full of plates, and their wide-eyed expressions offered no answers.
When Elisabeth reached the admiral’s side, he lifted his glass of claret and invited those gathered round his table to do likewise. She pressed her hands to her waist, if only to keep her stomach