Earl's Well That Ends Well (The Way to a Lord's Heart #5) - Jane Ashford Page 0,8
she never returned, but she came back with a wedge of blue-veined cheese and a handful of olives in oiled paper. She cast these onto the table as if they were a challenge to a duel and sat down with the same defiant air.
Arthur took an olive and bit down with pleasure. “Ah.”
“You like olives?” she asked.
“Very much.” Her turned-down lips caused him to add, “Does that offend you somehow?” He could not help asking in a tone that implied whyever should it?
She shrugged. “Many Englishmen do not.”
“I am not ‘many Englishmen.’”
“No, you are an earl. We all know this.”
Before Arthur could respond to this unwarranted remark, Tom uncorked the jug with a loud pop. Arthur turned at the sudden sound to find that Tom was grinning as he poured cups of cider. What he found to smile about, Arthur did not know, but that was often true of Tom. They portioned out the food and began to eat.
One made polite conversation over a meal, Arthur thought. But neither of his companions seemed inclined to try. He racked his brain for a likely subject. “Were you fond of the theater in Spain?” he asked the señora. “Er, Lope de Vega? Cervantes?”
She looked at him as if he’d said something very odd. “No, I never saw plays until I came to England.” She sipped her cider as if it was the finest champagne. Her posture suggested that she wished he would disappear from her potential field of vision.
Arthur felt aggrieved. What the deuce was this? People did not treat him this way. Some disliked him, of course, as was their right. His life was not all ease and deference. But he could usually discover a reason for their aversion, and often amend it. Señora Alvarez had no reason. “When did you come to England?” he asked her.
“Some time ago.”
Her tone said she didn’t wish to talk about her life. Not to him, at least. That was very clear. “Are you enjoying London?”
“I have not been in London long.”
Arthur wondered where in England she’d been before, and what she’d done before that. But she clearly didn’t intend to tell him anything at all. Not one small fact about herself. Which was making this conversation ridiculous. Well, let it be then. “Did you ever meet Joseph Bonaparte?” he asked.
She stared at him, incredulous. “Of course not. Why would I?”
Her face was very expressive, Arthur thought, happy to have provoked a reaction at last. “I just thought you might have,” he answered. “Living in Spain.” And clearly among the nobility, he added silently.
“Joseph?” said Tom. “Is that another name for Napoleon?”
“Joseph was his brother,” Arthur replied. “He was made King of Spain.” And had been very unpopular with his subjects, he recalled then.
“A false king imposed on the country by a supposed ‘emperor,’” said Señora Alvarez.
There was fire, Arthur thought. Her dark eyes burned. Her lovely lips were pressed tight. He found himself wanting a real talk with her, to learn her history, her opinions, what inspired her prickly facade. “True,” he said.
“He has fled to America, where he lives off the jewels he stole from Spain.” She made a sound like pfft, coldly derisive. A flutter of fingers accompanied it.
“I didn’t know that,” he replied.
“It is said.” She bit into one of Tom’s sandwiches with elegant ferocity.
Silence returned to their group. Arthur searched for a topic to keep the conversation flowing. “You speak English very well,” he said to her.
She shrugged. “One must learn, since the English do not.”
It was true. Few of his countrymen bothered to acquire other tongues. But Tom said, “No es verdad.”
Señora Alvarez smiled at him. The effect was glorious, stunning. Arthur was reduced to wordless admiration.
“Most English people,” she corrected. “You are unusual.”
“I am that,” replied the lad with a grin. “Tendrás una tarta?” He offered her a pastry, and she accepted it with regal grace.
How in heaven’s name had she ended up here? Arthur marveled and sipped from his cup and reassembled his aplomb. “Good cider,” he said to Tom.
“Friend of mine brings it in from Kent to sell,” the lad replied.
“Everyone you meet is a friend,” said Señora Alvarez. “You should take more care.”
Arthur thought she looked sidelong at him as she said it. But that made no sense.
Tom shook his head. “Not everyone. I’ve met some bad ’uns. But not too many.”
“You can tell the difference?” Teresa asked. She did worry about that.
“Long’s I can remember,” Tom answered with a grin.