The Gift of Love (The Book of Love #8) - Meara Platt Page 0,13

Dahlia. “We had a quiet day at home,” she said. “Dahlia did not want to go out.”

He turned to Dahlia. “Why is that?”

She glanced out the window. “It was too cold.”

“I see. Well, perhaps tomorrow then. I’ll come around in the morning and take you for a walk in the park. Do you think you will feel up to it?”

She took a deep breath. “Of course. I am perfectly fine. Tomorrow will be perfect. Just perfect.”

He turned to Violet and Heather. “Will you join us?”

They gave enthusiastic nods. Dahlia’s maid would have served as chaperone otherwise, but these two were not about to pass up the opportunity to watch him and Dahlia together.

Despite Dahlia’s protestations that she was fine, perfectly fine, he did not believe her at all. In truth, she looked quite sad. He had not expected her to be chirpy, but it rankled that she was still torn up about her old beau. “Then, it is settled.”

He rose to leave, knowing he’d interrupted the family’s evening and did not wish to impose on them further.

“Captain Brayden, do stay for supper,” Sophie said. “You are most welcome.”

He glanced at Dahlia, not wishing to impose if she was not yet ready to accept his company.

But Heather and Violet took the matter out of her hands with an echoing chorus of “Yes, please do.”

He nodded. “Thank you, I will.”

It would also give him the chance to quietly plan their next meetings. Since most of his days were taken up with work, and often his evenings were occupied with social engagements, they would not have many opportunities to get together to read the book.

He would have gladly refused the social engagements if it were possible. But most of them were important for his work. A large part of his role as liaison was to make the connections necessary to secure funds needed for the navy.

Dahlia was not likely to attend many of those affairs, so he had to set some time apart for her.

They sauntered over to the dining room, and Ronan was surprised to note only eight of them sat for supper. In addition to the six of them was John’s brother, Rupert, and a maiden aunt.

Hortensia Farthingale, the aunt, was a permanent fixture in their home. She was a bit of a curmudgeon and had no sooner taken her seat at the table than she began to eye him warily. “Another Brayden,” she muttered with a grunt and said nothing further.

“A pleasure to see you again, Hortensia. You are looking quite lovely this evening.” He cast her a rakish grin, knowing he probably should not goad her, but the woman was a bit of a dragon, and he knew she would give back twice as good as she got. Her glance alone could cut any man down to size.

In any event, if he teased her, it would only be gentle teasing.

She believed all Brayden men were depraved, lusting hounds - thank you Romulus, Finn, and Joshua - but still enjoyed a clever wit and good conversation. He wanted her on his side as he courted Dahlia. Surely, his intentions had to be obvious to everyone, except for Dahlia, who had been kicked too hard to believe anyone would ever want her again.

Rupert, he learned, often joined them for supper. His travels around the world to find new fabrics and bring them back to the Farthingale mills in England made it difficult for him to maintain a proper household of his own, he explained. “Besides, there is no hostess better than Sophie. I know I shall always find a good meal and the best company right here.”

The soup course was served by the footmen, a hearty onion soup. They next dug into the main course, an excellent repast consisting of smoked trout, quail stuffed with apricots, roasted potatoes, leeks, and turnips.

Ronan enjoyed hearing of Rupert’s travels, listening intently as he spoke of his more dangerous jaunts.

“I often venture along the ancient Silk Road, or so it has been named, but it is too dangerous in certain spots to ever bring family or friends along. The mountains are quite rugged, bandits abound, and not all tribes are friendly to the merchant caravans that make their way along the road.”

“Indeed,” John said with a shake of his head. “Our nephew, William, got caught in the crossfire between two warring tribes and was quite badly injured during their battle. Fortunately, he survived. But his wounds were quite serious. He’s George’s son. I believe you