Page 73 of Waiting for a Scot Like You
The footman hesitated, but Duncan was already walking with Beatrice down the corridor that seemed to lead toward the dining room.
Behind him, the servant muttered, “Please, follow me,” before hurrying ahead of him.
As they trailed after the footman, Beatrice whispered to Duncan, “A cheerful fellow, this Major Frye of Dundee.”
“Mrs. Frye can’t help but be captivated by her husband,” he whispered back, which made her chuckle.
After the slog of this afternoon, hearing her low laugh shot his spirits straight up into the ether.
They approached the dining room, pausing just outside as the footman rushed in and approached the gray-haired gentleman at the head of the table. Conversation continued as the servant spoke lowly into his master’s ear. The lord of the manor frowned in confusion.
“Lost travelers?”
The footman nodded.
“Show them in.”
The dull drone of voices quieted as Duncan entered the dining room with Beatrice. Everyone stared at the scruffy condition of their persons, but he strutted forward, wearing his cockiest grin. On his arm, Beatrice had never looked more effervescent, smiling and nodding like a celebrated guest, despite the fact that half of her hair hung around her shoulders and she sported a long tear in the fabric of her sleeve. The gentlemen slowly got to their feet.
Duncan gave a raffish bow to the man at the head of the table. “Sir, what a delight, an absolutedelightto make your acquaintance. You’re as striking and elegant as I expected from the master of this house. Didn’t I say so?” he asked Beatrice.
“Oh, you did,” she said with a charming smile.
“Major Frye?” the gentleman asked, looking just as puzzled as his servant. “Mrs. Frye?”
“At your service.” Duncan bowed again, and Beatrice sank to the floor in an elaborate curtsy. “My wife and I were en route north when our vehicle and servants suffered a series of calamities, dash it. We were forced to continue on foot and wound up at your door, and what a door it is. Like the entrance to a cathedral of taste and sophistication.” He kissed his fingertips.
“That is... most extraordinary.”
“Your home is truly soimpressive,” Beatrice bubbled. She shot a wink at the guests staring at them from around the table. “And thesepeople.To a one,the most distinguished and handsome individuals I’ve ever beheld. Oh, but you’re dining, and we have interrupted you.”
“Please, join us,” the master of the house said. As servants came forward to set two more places at the table, he continued, glancing at the other guests, “I am Mr. Atherton. My wife, Mrs. Atherton. And our friends, who are joining us for the week.”
Duncan beamed as Atherton introduced him and Beatrice to half a dozen couples whom Duncan had not heard of—likely they were country gentry who seldom came to London. He gave an approving nod as the servants edged aside the man seated beside the hostess to make room for his chair, just as another footman positioned Beatrice next to Atherton. These were places of honor for the highest-ranking guests.
Once everyone had taken their seats, the meal resumed. The guests kept throwing him and Beatrice curious, abashed glances. But he couldn’t let the meal descend into dull silence.
“Confound it, Atherton,” he said after taking a bite of roast, “I haven’t eaten such delectable food since dining with the tsar in Saint Petersburg.” Turning to Beatrice, he said, “Do you remember, my dear?”
“I do, my love!” She pressed her hand to her bosom and heaved an impressive sigh. “That parade of dishes was simply divine, each one more delicious than the last. He has the best cooks in the world, you know,” she added for the rapt company’s benefit. “And thetsar is inordinately fond of good food. But this is even better—without a doubt.”
“Too kind,” Atherton blustered as the guests made sounds of appreciation.
“What took you to Saint Petersburg, Major?” one man with ruddy cheeks asked.
“A matter of the greatest importance for international diplomacy,” Duncan answered, dropping his voice into a stage whisper. “The tsar and I... Well, I cannot say precisely what we discussed. Security purposes, you know, but suffice it to say it involved intense negotiations and more than a few late-night meetings fueled by vodka and a fervent need to serve my country. It was a terrific hardship, but I persevered.”
“The major was even forced into fighting a duel,” Beatrice threw in, her words hushed but riveting. “Sabers,on horseback, in the dead of a Russian winter. I can see it now—the black horses, the white snow, the crimson blood.”
Gasps sounded around the table, and Duncan had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from chuckling.
“Did you survive, Major?” a lady in gray asked, eyes wide.
“Clearly, madam, I did,” he answered. “Else I wouldn’t be here tonight with you gracious, dazzling people.”
“But it was a close call,” Beatrice added. “Alas thatwe are not on more intimate terms, else he might be persuaded to show you his scar. A very dashing scar, at that, in a very dashing place.”
“My goodness!” someone exclaimed.
