Since the skin grafts, he could eat with much more ease, but still hadn’t much use for the behaviors and strictures of dining with the upper class.
He’d lived in a mansion not far from here for several odd years, but he took his meals alone in his chamber or in the library, and would have plucked the eyes out of anyone who dared disturb him.
How novel it was to use a dining room for its intended purpose. To appreciate centuries-old tapestries and priceless works of art illuminated by decorative lamps, crystal chandeliers no one bothered to light for such a small affair, and candelabras surrounded by fragrant garlands of fresh flowers.
Though he’d hesitated at the idea of sharing their meal, he found he enjoyed sitting at a long table across from the lively Mrs. Winterton as she chattered and exclaimed with Felicity over an abundance of swiftly altering subjects.
Their voices were a pleasant melody over the low hum of arousal vibrating through him, and while the women were distracted by their conversation, he could contemplate her.
He couldn’t tell exactly what he’d expected when she’d drifted close to examine his features. Recognition, maybe? Or worse, fear. Disgust. Regret. Dismissal.
He’d been surprised— delighted, even— to receive none of that.
But when the air had shifted around them. When her pupils had dilated, and her lips parted as she stared at his own mouth…
He could have been knocked over with a feather.
Her proximity inflamed him as nothing else ever had, but surely he imagined that flare of interest behind the innocence of her gaze.
It was difficult to decipher, as she hadn’t looked at him since.
When the soup course appeared in front of him, he plucked up what he knew to be the soup spoon, but didn’t allow himself to partake until he could make a study of how the ladies conducted themselves.
He was, at least, clever enough to mimic their manners.
Across from him, Mrs. Winterton, now dressed in lilac silk, sans honey, dipped her spoon into her bowl and brought it to her lips, just so.
He dipped his own spoon in the same fashion, surreptitiously glancing over at Felicity, who frowned down into the liquid. She waited until the footmen had disappeared before wrinkling her nose. “Oh dear… Mrs. Bullock has made her fish stew.”
Gabriel paused with a bite half to his mouth. “Is something wrong with it?”
“I cannot stomach it, I’m afraid.” She pushed it away from her.
“Really?” Mrs. Winterton regarded her as if she were mad. “It’s one of my favorite dishes. I mean, how could you hate anything that is half cream and salted with bacon?”
Felicity glanced around. “Here, have my portion,” she offered to her companion.
“No, I have my own, and I’m not about to get on Cook’s bad side.”
“Quickly,” Felicity pressed. “Before the footmen are back. Just pour it into your bowl. I don’t want it getting to her that I didn’t eat it, either. She’s so proud of the dish. But last time, I could hardly keep it down.”
“Very well. Quick, quick!” She slid her bowl closer to Felicity’s and let her combine their portions before tucking into it with relish.
“What will you eat?” Gabriel queried, with a frown of his own.
“Oh, there’s plenty of this fresh bread and a shank of braised lamb for the next course.”
“And a rum pudding,” said Mrs. Winterton after an appreciative swallow. “Do you enjoy the stew?”
He hated fish, but knew better than to say so. “I’ll eat mostly anything,” he answered, but returned the spoon to the bowl.
“I confess I’m glad you’re here, Mr. Severand.” Mrs. Winterton dabbed at the corner of her mouth. “We were all unspeakably distressed when poor Miss Felicity was accosted.”
“We needn’t speak of that,” Felicity said tightly, fiddling with the black ribbon at her throat. “Now that Mr. Severand is here, we have little to concern ourselves with on that regard.”
Before they dropped the conversation, he wanted to make one thing clear. “Miss Goode, I must insist you go nowhere without me, is that understood?”
“Are you in the habit of ordering all your employers about?” Mrs. Winterton gave a saucy toss of her hair as she tightened the grip on her knife. “Or just the females? Let us not forget you are speaking to a baron’s daughter.”
“Emmaline, really!” Felicity’s words conveyed less censure than mortification. Her cheeks were flaming the most adorable shade of peach. “I wasn’t planning on going anywhere without him.”
Winterton’s eyes were… well… wintry as she glared over