Page 43 of Beyond the Grave
One side of his mouth lifted. "I thought you knew."
"Perhaps I should have, but I've just put all the pieces of the puzzle together. It never occurred to me thatyouwere a lord. Nobody treats you like one."
"I prefer not to use the title among friends. Besides, it only serves to remind me of how far I've sunk." He held up the plate and cloth with a shrug.
"Oh, Seth, I'm sorry."
"Don't be. It is what it is.
"What's your rank?"
"Just a baron, like Harcourt."
"So you are Lord Vickers, and you outrank us all here at Lichfield."
He snorted. "Not in this household. It's the most egalitarian in England, I'd wager. Where else does a housekeeper call her employer by his first name?"
I blushed. He'd heard that? "And where else does a baron do the dishes?" Or, for that matter, where else would an illegitimate son of a gypsy have more power than the three lords and one lady on the committee of a secret organization?
Lincoln didn't invitethe dowager Lady Harcourt to dinner. At first I thought his manners poor, until I remembered that she'd invited Mrs. and Miss Overton to dine with her in the hope that Lincoln would join them. He'd refused, but she could only get out of it now if she pleaded ill.
Which, as it turned out, she did. "My stepmother postponed her dinner, claiming a headache," Lord Harcourt said, as Gus took his cloak and I accepted his wife's. "Otherwise Marguerite and I wouldn't have been able to come tonight. We were expected to dine with her guests."
"Please pass on my best wishes for a speedy recovery," Lincoln said. "And are you feeling better, madam?"
"Call me Marguerite." Lady Harcourt fluttered her fan against her pink cheek and eyed him over the top of it. On most women, it would have been flirtatious, but Marguerite seemed to be genuinely taking his measure. I wondered what she thought of him tonight, dressed in his dinner suit.
"Only if you call me Lincoln." He bowed graciously, and once again I admired how this man, who seemed to abhor formality and pomp, could perform as adequately as any gentleman in the appropriate setting.
She giggled. Perhaps she was flirting after all. I scrunched her red and black velvet cloak in my fingers and stood meekly by the wall, where I had no trouble disappearing; not because it was dark—an impossibility with all the candles in the chandelier blazing—but because Lord and Lady Harcourt took no notice of me. To them, I was invisible. That was as it ought to be, but it galled nevertheless, particularly when Lincoln and the others at Lichfield never treated me that way.
From there I could watch them. Both gentlemen looked dashing in their dinner suits, although Lincoln was by far the more handsome man, his mysterious and serious air enhancing his looks in a way that most women would find intriguing without being able to explain why. Lady Harcourt—Marguerite—looked very pretty in a red wine silk dress with black beading at the cuffs, collar and down the front skirt panels. The bustle was large, compared to the neat one her mother-in-law wore, but it suited her figure. It was quite high at the throat so she wore no necklaces, but her ruby earrings commanded enough attention that no other jewelry seemed necessary. She'd added black beads to her hair, but they got a little lost in the brown locks that were once again arranged in ringlets that framed her face.
She took Lincoln's offered arm and together they walked ahead of her husband into the parlor. I followed discreetly behind and remained outside the door. It was at times like these when I wished the drawing room on the first floor was in use. Using the parlor for such illustrious guests seemed inappropriate. I didn't care what they thought of me, but Lichfield Towers was an important manor house on the edge of London, and Lincoln ought to socialize with people of rank more. Perhaps it was time to discuss furnishing it properly.
I waited only a few moments then departed, but not before I heard Lady Harcourt lament how difficult it was to find good footmen these days and her husband respond with: "I'm surprised you have the same difficulty here in London, Fitzroy. I would have thought the unemployment problem would insure a steady supply of good staff."
"Oh, Donald," his wife chided. "Let's not discuss such vulgar things."
I wondered what else she considered too vulgar and how Lincoln would navigate through the minefield of inappropriate topics. He wasn't very adept at small talk.
I retreated to the kitchen and helped Cook and the others with dinner. He rarely got to show off his culinary skill, so he liked to turn even a small dinner party into a marvelous dining experience for the guests. Tonight he'd prepared no less than five courses.
Lincoln had left it to Cook to decide on a menu, something that would ordinarily be a hostess's duty. He claimed not to care what was served. Cook had shaken his head in disgust then taken preparations in hand.
"This be Lichfield's first dinner that ain't a committee one," he'd said. "We be doin' it proper."
This pronouncement was followed by a mad flurry of activity, since the day grew late. Seth and Gus had been dispatched to butchers, grocers and other shops, while Cook instructed me on the dishes he would serve. Involving me in the planning had seemed odd at first, when Cook had done it for the few committee dinner parties held at Lichfield, but now I was used to it. I didn't dare offer suggestions, however. My knowledge of fine cookery was very slim, and Cook was a master, as good as any French chef, according to Cook himself.
"There is going to be an awful lot of food left over, even after we take our share," I said, as I carefully poured soup from the pot into the silver tureen.
Seth placed the lid on and picked up the tureen. "Maybe your orphan friends can have it."
I wouldn't call Stringer and the other gang members I'd lived with, prior to being kidnapped by Lincoln, my friends, but they would certainly be grateful for the food. "You can deliver it to them tomorrow." I would not join them. I'd left that life behind and had no desire to go back. Besides, they'd known me as a boy, not a woman, and if they recognized me, we would all feel awkward.
Gus had already announced that dinner was ready, so the three of them were seated when Seth and I entered. Seth deposited the tureen on the sideboard, and I ladled soup into the bowls. We placed them in front of the guests and Lincoln.
Lord Harcourt eyed Seth as if he was trying to work out where he'd seen him before. I couldn't be certain if he'd remembered by the time Seth left, but the frown never quite disappeared from his lordship's brow.
