She had placed her fingers on the stem of her goblet but did not lift it. Instead, she stared into the distance, seemingly at a torch on the far wall, her utterly beautiful blue-violet eyes filled with secrets.
"Will you raise your glass with me, mademoiselle?" he queried softly.
"Oh! Of course, m'sieur!" Hastily Micheline turned to meet his smile. "You will pardon me, I hope, if I seemed rude. I... haven't felt quite myself lately."
"Then let us drink to the rebirth of your high spirits."
She nodded and they lifted their goblets and sipped together. High spirits, she thought ironically. How long had it been since she had been acquainted with such pleasure?
"And now," Sandhurst continued, "I would like to make a more selfish toast—for luck."
This time she didn't have to remember to smile. "By all means, m'sieur."
"Will you drink with me to France?" Micheline had already raised her goblet, but he held up his hand. "Wait, there's more!"
"I didn't think that sounded particularly selfish," she heard herself remark lightly.
"That was just the preface!" Andrew laughed. "We must drink to a happy sojourn for me in France."
"Excellent," she approved.
The goblet had almost touched her lips when he added, "And to new friendships... for both of us."
She watched him drink then, raising his eyebrows at her over the rim of his goblet. Unaccountably her cheeks were warm again, but somehow she managed to sip her own wine.
Before Micheline could wonder if she was ill, distraction appeared, in the form of a peacock that was arriving at the table in full plumage. It was set down amid a flourish of trumpets and the applause of all present. The bird's beak was gilt, its tailfeathers spread brilliantly, and it rested on a mass of brown pastry painted green to represent a field. Eight banners of silk were arranged around the peacock, which towered above the other appointments of the table.
"Very impressive," Sandhurst murmured.
Detecting a note of satire in his voice, Micheline glanced over in surprise. A funny, unfamiliar bubble of delight rose inside her and Andrew gave her a fleeting wink. Truly flustered now, Micheline turned her attention to the food. Suddenly she felt as if she'd been dropped into some foreign place and filled with completely unknown sensations. Was she ill? It couldn't be Andrew Selkirk's fault; he'd done nothing except smile at her, converse in a friendly manner—and look at her in a way that made her suspect he could see into her very soul. The latter was a product of her imagination, Micheline decided now as she tasted the peacock. The man simply had quite magical eyes. Probably the old woman he bought his eggs from blushed when he smile at her. Charm could be a dangerous gift, especially for its recipients.
There was much more to eat besides the peacock. Micheline nibbled at sturgeon that had been cooked in parsley and vinegar then covered with powdered ginger, boar that had been grilled and larded with foie gras, tiny ortolans, and juicy breast of heron. The next course was a salad that consisted of raw greens mixed with vegetables and red poultry crests.
Conscious of the silence between her and Andrew Selkirk, Micheline inquired politely, "Does our food compare favorably with that in England, m'sieur?"
He drew his brows together in mock seriousness and replied, "Oh, yes, mademoiselle. Most favorably." Andrew leaned toward her conspiratorially. "Can you keep a secret?"
She nodded. Her heart was pounding, and she was certain he had noticed the rapid rise and fall of her breasts. Why should this man's proximity affect her so?
Apparently oblivious to Micheline's inner turmoil, Andrew whispered, "I've never eaten peacock. You'll think me a peasant but the truth is that I normally dine on only three courses." His eyes sparkled as he leaned closer. "Are you shocked?"
Micheline heard helpless feminine laughter. Was it hers? "No, m'sieur! And I will tell you a secret in return." The way he inclined his head in anticipation was so captivating that her heart seemed to skip a beat before she continued. "I am not accustomed to peacock either. I grew up near Angouleme, and though my father is seigneur of our village, we lived simply. After I married, my life was simpler still, and to be honest, I prefer it that way. I am only here at all because my dearest friend, Madame de St, Briac, thought that the excitement of court life would help to dispel..."
Sandhurst sensed that she'd never meant to reveal so much, but he wasn't about