Page 20 of The Duke's Impetuous Darling
Spearing her soup, Bee fretted over the ripples she made. But oh, she must be practical.
Eliza Kent, the earl of Leith's daughter, with her bubbling charm and her noble blue blood was more a match for Alastair than she. The very probability, however, of the cheerful redhead in his arms churned Bee's stomach.
Lord Carlson leaned close. "You're not eating, Miss Belinda. Do you not care for white soup?"
Had she frightened him? She must wield her spoon more delicately—and take more care of her aunt's guests. "I love it."
Over the cod in mornay sauce and pike garnished in roe, she learned he preferred champagne with his fish course. "And you?"
"I like it too though it was difficult to get during the wars."
"Plentiful now. But expensive," he complained. "The French steal us blind. I prefer a less costly way to drink the best wine."
"Is there one?"
He picked up his glass and examined the liquid. "If one has friends who do one the favor of decent pricing."
"Ah. You have a friend perhaps who owns a French chateau?"
"I do. He is most kind and sends me casks of his fine product."
From Carlson's girth, Bee imagined the man's friend sent far too many casks his way.
Tiring of his focus, she brought up the greenery excursion for the guests on the morrow. He asked to be her partner. She accepted but wished she hadn't had to.
Over the next course, the spit-roasted woodcock and the Duck Luxembourg, he did not tickle or pinch her. For this, she was grateful. But then quite abruptly, he invited her to his home. "The New Year, shall we say? I shall invite your sisters, too. A party most proper."
"Thank you," she said with little gratitude for the offer. He appealed to her not at all with his enormous appetite for food and his penchant to talk while chewing. "I must first check with my aunt. She has many social obligations on her calendar."
One look at Alastair and Eliza had Bee hoping none of them included the vivacious young miss.
When the tables were turned and Bee smiled upon Lord Hallerton, he filled her ear with details of a new Parliamentary bill. Now she liked politics as much as any young woman, which was to say only if the discussion were of veterans' orphans or soldiers' pensions and prize money. Yet the man did drone on, insisting she care about taxes on spices imported by the Dutch. So when the footmen presented the marinated haunch of boar, she decided how fortunate the beast on the platter. He could not hear this patter, and better yet, did not have to comment upon it.
Down the table, a particular laugh caught her ear. Her gaze shot to Eliza, that happy young woman, atwitter with some subject that made Alastair chuckle.
"I say do you skate?" asked Hallerton, once more gaining her attention, over the Great Parisian meringue and profiteroles.
"I do. We'll have a party of it if the ice on the pond still holds for day after tomorrow. Will you go?"
"I will. May I ask you to be my partner?"
"For a turn, yes," she agreed, playing up to his interest with a laugh far too gay. She'd pay for that, she knew, when she would have to rebuff him, but for now it meant Alastair glowered at her. "My duties as hostess for my aunt mean I must skate with many, you see."'
"Of course. I understand. No pistols, I imagine!"
"I am sorry.What?"
He grinned and the expression made him more handsome than she'd first assumed. "I've heard the rumors of your skills with a weapon. Admirable."
"Is it?" She couldn't tell if he teased her or was complimenting her.
"If I'm a poor skater, I don't wish to be punished for my lack."
She was not amused. "I strike only those who look suspicious to me."
"So I have heard." He laughed and raised his glass in a toast. "To your skills."
She responded in kind and from down the table, Alastair's dark eyes hurled daggers toward Hallerton.
