Page 9 of Moaning Under the Mistletoe
“Everyone does.” He might not have been picky in the last month, but that was about fun in the moment. This was about an understanding, something he’d never embarked on before, and he knew he needed to ensure his adoration for the Earl’s natural dominance didn’t override his own sense of self. He didn’t want to risk his new life, and The King’s Book Club, by doing something silly like fall in love with an unavailable surly Earl.
The Earl nodded. “What are your terms?”
“What is your name?” He knew it from his code book research, but he wanted to know what the Earl wanted to be called. “I can’t keep calling you the Earl in my head, or that man.”
The Earl’s mouth flickered, almost a smile. “Most people call me Bennington.”
“Isn’t that your formal title?”
“Yes.” Bennington’s eyebrows rose and his eyes sparkled as if to say, why ask if he already knew? But Oscar wanted more than Bennington’s title—he wanted his first name—which was a dangerous thought, so he filed that away for another time.
“Perhaps keeping it formal is for the best ... Bennington.” He poured a little syrup into the way he said Bennington’s name and was rewarded with a touch of colour on Bennington’s cheeks.
“Excuse me.” A footman efficiently placed empty plates in front of them, then stepped back. Even the plates here were proper bone china, not the cheaper creamware he had grown up with.
“The cressy soup.” Another footman slid a bowl of orange coloured soup onto the table between them, and then served it into their individual bowls. He moved back and another footman added a dish that looked like thickly sliced bacon swimming in a white sauce, again serving them onto their individual plates that had been placed beside the soup bowls.
“Your veal collops in white sauce, my lord.” The three footmen walked away from their table and Oscar was impressed with the way they melted away in the most unobtrusive way possible. Their training was impeccable.
“Cressy soup?”
“It’s basically carrots and butter, although I heard a rumour they pad it with turnips.”
“The horror.” Oscar mocked Bennington’s expression. “I can’t imagine why a club like this would need to make cost cutting measures like that.”
Bennington shrugged again. “If no one notices, then it’s just extra profit.”
“Is that the lesson you brought me here to learn?” Oscar knew it wasn’t because they had nothing like this at The King’s Book Club. It was obvious from the books that his uncle had spent too much on entertainments and not enough on getting members to spend more money while they were there. They did well running the card tables, with a cut for the house, and he appreciated how the tables were set up at different minimum bet amounts so their less fortunate members could afford to play too.
“Eat the soup.”
“Gosh. Someone is bossy today.” He fluttered his eyelashes in what he hoped was a suggestive fashion and was pleased when Bennington’s spoon paused on the way to his mouth.
“You liked it before.” Was that a note of annoyance or confusion or hurt?
“Bennington.” Oscar pretended to be as stern as Bennington did naturally. “It’s one thing to like it in one realm, and quite another to accept it here, or in everyday life.”
“This is everyday life.”
“Perhaps for you.” He would never be accepted as a member for a club like this, he didn’t have the right parents for that. With a gasp he understood why Uncle Ismail had started The King’s Book Club. It wasn’t just a safe space for people who ... loved like them, it was welcoming to people who didn’t have the right family background too. He waved his hands in the air.
“Should I open on Mondays for working class families?”
“No.”
It was a good idea, wasn’t it? His family could come, although—his hopes dashed on a resigned sigh—they probably wouldn’t. “Why not?”
Bennington rolled his eyes. “They have every other tavern in London.”
“So they do. I forgot.” He tapped his fingers on the table. “But perhaps I could open one day a fortnight for people who aren’t members?”
“As a recruitment drive? It’s not the worst idea, but you’d need to be careful.”
“We are always careful.”
“Yes, that type of careful too. And be careful to represent the offerings of the club. Show people what they get—”
“Without really showing them.” He winked. He understood. “It’s why we need food, so people want to stay longer and tell their friends to come along too.”
