Miss Delectable (Mischief in Mayfair #1) - Grace Burrowes Page 0,95

woman at the Coventry is calling you uncle, and we would become objects of speculation.”

“Ann has more sense than to… to… acknowledge me in her place of work.”

“Ann,” Melisande said, leaning closer, “while still very much a girl, found herself a post as a London apprentice, saved years of quarterly allowances with nobody the wiser, ran off to London from one of the most exclusive boarding schools in the Midlands, and completed a lengthy apprenticeship you were certain she’d abandon in the first three months.”

That recitation would be enough to inspire admiration, were Ann not also such a source of vexation.

“She’s headstrong. She’s not stupid.”

“Fine,” Melisande said, straightening. “She is not stupid. Her discretion would never falter at the Coventry, though of all the clubs in London, I have no idea why you’d want to frequent that one… Unless the choice of which venue to visit wasn’t yours.”

Horace was so rarely flustered that to see him at a loss was curious. He cleared his throat, he looked out the window. He reached for his pocket watch, but must have realized that he was betraying guilt.

“Emily Bainbridge gambles,” Horace said. “Her husband has asked in confidence that those of us in a position to do so help her moderate her impulses. As his former commanding officer, I felt a duty to…”

Melisande cocked her head.

“There’s nothing between me and Emily Bainbridge, Melisande. She’s vain and silly, but I came across her on the walkway as I returned home from my club, and she inveigled me into joining her party.”

That much was probably true. Emily did not care for Horace’s excessive dignity and would have delighted in dragging him into a fashionable gaming hell.

“Back to Ann,” Melisande said. “Over the years, between here and Spain, you have asked me to coordinate perhaps forty of these regimental dinners. Assume the average number of courses is eight, though some have ranged as high as twelve, and assume each course requires a wine pairing. That is more than three hundred recipes, Horace, all chosen to create a memorable menu, not simply an edible dish. That is dozens and dozens of wine selections, dozens of different centerpieces and flower selections.”

“I know it’s not as simple as telling Cook to put on a roast, Melisande.”

“You don’t know, and I have made it my business to spare you the effort of knowing, Horace. In all the years of our marriage, my pin money has never been increased.” To bring this up was very nearly to pick a fight, but when Horace was larking about a gaming hell with one of the biggest gossips in London, some plain speaking was long overdue.

Horace rose, perhaps because a gentleman did when a lady was on her feet, perhaps because he sensed Melisande was circling around to his exposed flank, and he needed to take evasive maneuvers.

“Your pin money was spelled out in the settlements, Melisande, and what this has to do with the great awkwardness of entertaining Orion Goddard under my own roof, I do not know.”

Melisande went to the window, rather than allow Horace to appropriate the vantage point. “The settlements, sir, spell out that the quarterly sum will be adjusted annually to allow for increased prices as may be encountered from time to time. Prices have done nothing but increase, even more so since the peace, and you tell me our investments are not performing to standards. And yet, you want these impressive dinners four times a year, parade dress, cannon at the ready.”

“Four dinners a year doesn’t seem like much, Melisande.”

Melisande could not exactly rail against Horace’s high-handedness when his ignorance of household matters had afforded her much latitude in the domestic domain.

“You insist on maintaining a coach and four when we seldom go any distance,” Melisande said. “We keep this grand house, for three people, Horace, one of whom is a child. You employ a valet when I am more than capable of looking after you, and… If you think these dinners are a mere incidental expense, I can tell you they easily cost as much as an entire quarter’s budget to feed the whole household.”

Horace braced a hand on the mantel and stared into the fire. “An entire quarter’s budget… for one meal?”

A formal dinner generally contemplated thirty guests. Had Horace thought thirty could dine in style with full regalia as cheaply as one couple, a little girl, and some staff dined on mundane fare?

Apparently, he had. “I will show you my budgets and show you how