Page 19 of Moaning Under the Mistletoe
Chapter Nine
For the first timein the past two weeks, Ambrose sat down to break his fast alone. He’d quickly become accustomed to having Oscar wake beside him, often with kisses until they both came, and then Oscar would partake of a quick piece of toast and coffee before heading back to his club. Last night, he had sent an apology, needing to stay at the club for some undisclosed reason. Ambrose hadn’t been at all pleased with the sudden change to his schedule and had ended up taking his sister Jane out to some boring society party. It was nearly Christmas, and the season was in full force, so parties were a-plenty. The only good thing about the social evening out was that the Duke of Frinton-Travers and Lady Lavinia weren’t in attendance. He hadn’t needed the reminder that he still needed to find a Countess. Ambrose didn’t understand why Jane had been so excited about attending, since she’d ignored the marriage mart, hadn’t danced, and had spent the entire evening sitting against the wall with some of the other young Ladies.
“Bennington?” Crowther asked.
“Yes.”
“There is a note for you.” Crowther handed it over, and he opened it. His heart quickened at Oscar’s neat handwriting. It didn’t say much, only that he’d dealt with the issue and was available for the rest of the day. Obviously, he wasn’t going to put any feelings in writing; neither of them were Byron and it wasn’t precisely prudent to draw attention to their understanding in the current legal climate.
“Crowther, please write back to Mr Mardin and inform him we will meet at White’s for lunch today.” They’d never finished their lunch and Oscar’s note reminded him that he was supposed to be helping Oscar with improving the food offerings at the King’s Book Club. He finished breaking his fast, then went to get dressed for lunch.
Three hours later, he flicked the snow off his great coat and handed it to a footman at White’s. “Has my guest arrived yet?”
“Yes. I put him in the yellow dining room.”
“Thank you. Please inform the kitchen that we will have the remainder of the menu.” If the staff were worth their wages, they’d know what he meant. It was only a few weeks ago when they’d eaten the soup, veal collops, and game pie.
“Yes, my lord.” The footman scurried off and Ambrose wandered through White’s, greeting a few of his peers, before settling in the yellow dining room. He hadn’t wanted to seem too keen, but as soon as he saw Oscar, head down scribbling in a notebook, he wondered why he hadn’t just gone directly to him.
“Mr Mardin.”
“Bennington.” Oscar put his notebook away, and to avoid asking him what he was recording, Ambrose sat down and made a show of fussing with his napkin.
“I took the liberty of ordering.”
“Oh, did you now?” Oscar grinned, and Ambrose shook his head indulgently.
“I didn’t want you to be intimidated by the staff.”
“I see. You were thinking of my feelings when you made a decision on my behalf.” Oscar’s tone was somewhere between sarcasm and teasing, and Ambrose wasn’t quite sure if Oscar was annoyed with him or not. Life would be easier if people didn’t play these games.
“It’s done now.” The next course ought to be arriving soon. He barely had time to think that when two footmen arrived with various plates and cutlery and quickly set the table between them. A footman poured a glass of madeira for each of them, then they stepped away.
“The service here is so smooth, and the plates are excellent quality.”
“They are probably Wedgewood.” He picked one up and had a look for the maker’s mark on the bottom. Yes, Wedgewood.
“The King’s Book Club can’t afford Wedgewood.” Oscar’s usually happy countenance drooped a little.
Ambrose agreed, however... “You don’t need it. You aren’t trying to compete with White’s. This is merely an example of the possibilities. Something more middle range would be perfectly adequate.”
Oscar raised his eyebrows. “Perhaps I don’t wish to be perfectly adequate.” How did he make it sound like an insult?
“If you add your own flair, no one will notice the plates.”
Oscar tilted his head. “Good service and excellent fare trumps the quality of the crockery?”
“I would think so.”
“My lord. The Sea Cale and Roast Woodcocks.” Footmen placed the two dishes in the middle of the table and served portions onto their plates. After they’d retreated, Ambrose realised that showing Oscar the food here was a terrible idea.
“You’ll never be able to afford to have either of these on the menu.”
“I suspect you are correct about the woodcocks, however, I could easily substitute for chicken or partridge depending on what is in season in the markets.” Oscar poked at the blanched sprouts of sea cale that were drizzled with a buttery sauce. “I’m not even sure what this is.”
