had loved Philippe. She had known passion with him, desperate, glorious, wild passion, such as only young people in the throes of their first love affair can know.
“Philippe who?” Meli said, raising her chin. “My recollection of the various Frenchmen we encountered grows increasingly vague. I trust his path and mine will not cross, and I would appreciate it if you would aid me in that objective.”
Horace half rose to kiss her cheek. “No more need be said. Why don’t you bring your place setting down to my end of the table, and you can tell me all the latest gossip. I heard Mrs. Bainbridge played a little too deeply at faro last week.”
Meli complied, relieved to have the subject of Philippe closed. What was he doing in London, and how should she react if she did see him? London had only so many parks, and Philippe loved to be out of doors. He was from quite good family and would likely be socializing beyond the émigré community.
She collected her cutlery and joined Horace at the sunnier end of the table, keeping the conversation to tattle and household matters. Daniella’s progress with her letters and the head maid’s chronic sore knee. Horace reciprocated with the gossip from Horse Guards, and another meal passed without incident.
Horace rose to take his leave with another kiss to Meli’s cheek. “I’m off to lecture the solicitors. The investments aren’t performing quite to standards, and the lawyers need to know that I’m well aware of the problem.”
“You are ambushing them?”
“A surprise inspection. Have no fear, though. Unless you take to gambling in Emily Bainbridge’s fashion, we are still quite comfortably well fixed and can afford every indulgence where the regimental dinners are concerned.”
Horace was a good husband and a good provider. Meli truly did esteem him and always had. “Would it be too great an imposition to ask for more of your company, Horace? I grow a bit lonely late in the evening.”
He smiled, exhibiting a soupçon of the old dash. “Never let it be said I allowed my lady wife to languish for lack of my attentions. You will have my company tonight, if that suits.”
“That suits wonderfully.”
He bowed and withdrew, leaving Meli to pour herself another glass of wine and wonder how exactly Horace had heard of Emily Bainbridge’s gambling problem.
Sycamore Dorning valued family above all else, but precisely how to value Orion Goddard, reluctant brother-in-law and grouch at large, remained a mystery. Even Jeanette was short on ideas when it came to coaxing Goddard closer to the familial hearth.
“I’m having lunch sent over from the club,” Sycamore said. “You will join me, or good food will go to waste.”
“No,” Goddard replied, passing along his hat, gloves, and walking stick, “it will not. Your kitchen staff will ensure the food is consumed, and I’d like to discuss that staff with you.”
“I am in great good health, thank you, and yourself?” Sycamore led his guest to the family parlor. One of Jeanette’s embroidery projects lay on a sofa cushion, a pair of new throwing knives graced a side table, and a pile of smutty political prints Sycamore was sorting for a bound volume sat on the low table.
The humble side of domestic bliss was on display, and Sycamore hoped Goddard would perceive it as such.
“Apologies for my lack of small talk,” Goddard said, pausing on the threshold of the parlor and glancing around the room. “My sister thrives?” His tone suggested only an affirmative answer would spare Sycamore a slow, painful death.
“We thrive in each other’s care. With the right woman, marriage is a consummation devoutly to be wished. You might consider it. Please do have a seat, and tell me what about my kitchen staff interests you.”
Goddard chose the wing chair facing the door, while Sycamore took up one of the throwing knives.
“I have a problem,” the colonel said, “in the person of one Benevolence Hannah Goddard. She is of an age to apprentice to a cook, and Miss Ann Pearson has agreed to see to her instruction, if you allow it.”
Sycamore tossed the knife at the cork target situated between framed prints of nightshade and jasmine. The blade obligingly struck in the center, but then, the distance—unlike present company— was no challenge at all.
“Is your problem child an illegitimate daughter?” Jeanette would have something to say about a niece toiling away in the club’s kitchens.
“Hannah is no blood relation to me, but she is my responsibility. She will work hard, she already