Page 7 of A Stroke of Luck
“Suit yourself,” she mumbled while taking a large bite.
Perry stopped chewing long enough to make a face. “I guess he is used to being served with the family silver, fine china, and cut crystal.”
Prestwick bit at his lip.
Rapping his knife sharply against a stone, Nonny mimed the ringing of a bell. “I say, have the footmen bring in the next course. And decant another bottle of that fine claret.”
The other Greeleys dissolved into laughter at the uncanny imitation of the duke’s clipped tones.
Even Stump allowed a small smile, though he swallowed it quickly, along with the last of his rabbit. “A most delectable repast, Miss Greeley,” he remarked, seeking to deflect any further teasing of the duke. “How did you come by such finely honed culinary skills?”
“Out of necessity.” Zara deftly removed the remains of the first rabbit from the spit and slid the second one in place over the coals. Setting what was left of the cooked meat on a flat stone, she fell to dividing it up into equal portions.
“You sure you won’t try some of this, sir?” The valet offered a share to Prestwick. “It is really quite tasty. And besides, who knows when the next opportunity for a meal will present itself.”
He crossed his arms and shook his head, prompting Zara to mutter, “Oh, don’t be an ass. Your man Stump is right—would you rather starve rather than put aside your precious propriety long enough to enjoy a simple repast?”
“I assure you, it would not be enjoyable,” replied Prestwick with a haughtiness that set her teeth on edge.
Did the pompous prig have any idea of how insufferably ungrateful he sounded? she wondered. Well, his stomach could go and turn cartwheels across the strand for all she cared.
“Kind of prissy, aren’t you?” observed Perry, as if he had read her own thoughts. “Haven’t you ever been on an adventure before?”
“Oh, and I suppose you have a goodly number of them under your belt?” retorted Prestwick.
“Aye, quite a few,” answered her brother, standing up with laudable aplomb to someone more than twice his height and age. “My father was a great one for exploring, even if it meant eating meals without the proper utensils. We once had a picnic on the top of Mount Parnassus, and then there was the time we cooked squid on a beach on Delphi.”
“Oh, I remember that,” mused Nonny. “We had been chased by Corsican pirates from the harbor at Mykonos, and it took some tricky maneuvering between the islands to lose them.”
An animated recounting of some of their more harrowing travel experiences followed, along with fond remembrances of the more peaceful moments.
“Papa and his adventures.” A smile ghosted over Zara’s lips at the mention of camping out in an ancient temple on Delphi. “It was never dull, was it? And despite the dangers and discomforts, many of them were quite fun.”
“Fun? Only a complete Bedlamite would consider being cast up upon these ghastly rocks fun,” snapped Prestwick.
“And only a complete Bedlamite would think that I am enjoying the present predicament,” she shot back. “However, when you are tossed into deep water, sometimes the only way to keep your head above the churning waves is to maintain a sense of humor. I must be able to laugh, for the alternative is simply not an option. Not if I wish to survive.”
“I see.” His tone had a stiff formality that only provoked her to greater indignation.
“No, I doubt that you do. I doubt you have ever had to cope with a problem more distressing than saltwater stains on your fancy Hessians.” It was not a smile playing on her lips, but rather a quivering she was finding difficult to control. “Contrary to your supercilious sarcasm, sir, we did not embark on this journey as a lark. My parents perished in an epidemic of typhus that swept through Crete, leaving the three of us high and dry on distantshores. For the last six months, I have spent a goodly amount of effort and every last farthing in seeing to it that my brothers and I arrived safely back to England. Only to find that our relatives are trying to cheat us out of?—”
Zara bit off her words in mid sentence, angry that she had allowed his snide comment to goad her into revealing such personal details. “Not that it is any of your concern.”
He had the grace to color under the heat of her retort.
“Do you mean to say, you sailed that small boat all the way from the depths of the Mediterranean?” asked Stump.
“Good Lord, no. We only, er, acquired it recently.”
At the rather halting explanation, the duke’s brow shot up in sardonic skepticism. “A rather odd choice of terms. Do you, perchance, mean to say you neglected to pay for it?”
“Zara earned every penny’s worth of that boat!” exclaimed Nonny hotly, his hands curling into tight fists. “And I’ll punch the deadlights out of any man who implies otherwise.”
The youngest Greeley was also quick to pipe up in defense of his sister. “That’s naught but the truth. The smarmy tavern keeper in Falmouth saw his patronage double for the month that she cooked for him, and then refused to pay her the wages that were due.”
“Aye. So Zara came up with the idea to take the boat instead,” explained Nonny. “It was a corking good plan, too. It gave us a means of transportation north, and once we reached Lytham, we planned to sell it in order to have the funds to travel inland to our final destination.”
Zara knew the prudent course of action was to quiet her siblings and leave it at that, yet the dratted man and his condescending attitude had stirred her to such indignation, she found it impossible to stay silent herself.
