Page 33 of Unending Joy
Conversation proved predictably dreary as a delicate poached salmon garnished with fresh dill and a tangy lemon sauce was set before him. At least his palate had nothing to complain about.
“The weather is exceptionally fine tonight, is it not?” Freddy remarked mildly, prodding his fish with disinterest.
“Oh, yes, exceptionally fine,” Letty Partridge echoed enthusiastically, eyes brightening as though he had spoken profound wisdom.
“And Lady Constance always sets a handsome table,” he continued, mildly desperate.
“Oh, most handsome indeed,” she agreed fervently.
Freddy bit back an exasperated sigh. Was this what his breakfasts would sound like, day after day, year after year? Endless agreements and parroted affirmations? Servants silently removed the fish, swiftly replacing it with tender roastduck, glazed and served with delicate vegetables, each plate arranged as though for a painting.
To his other side sat a young lady fresh from Scotland, Miss Flora MacKenzie, whose girlish enthusiasm manifested itself in frequent blushes and giggles. Yet, her conversation held at least a faint charm of unpredictability.
“Ye’re a very bonny lad, Mr. Cunningham,” Flora informed him with a blush and a shy giggle. “Aye, quite bonny.”
Freddy laughed despite himself, pleasantly relieved by her candid compliment. “Why, thank you, Miss MacKenzie. I assure you, your compliment is gratefully received.”
A burst of laughter from Joy and Colonel St. John drew their attention. Freddy found himself glaring instinctively, the humour suddenly distant and mocking. He ought to be the one making her laugh, sitting at her side, teasing and exchanging wit—not Colonel St. John, however handsome his uniform.
Freddy felt his spirits sink even lower as dinner progressed. Each course seemed to drag interminably, punctuated by more banalities from Letty and giggling nonsense from Flora. His thoughts wandered gloomily over his limited prospects, his parents’ edict, and his inexplicable dissatisfaction with every eligible lady he encountered.
Another laugh from Joy had Freddy straining to hear a snippet of her conversation with Colonel St. John. “You cannot be serious, Colonel!” She laughed. “You actually mistook your commanding officer’s prized hunting dog for a fox?”
St. John’s eyes twinkled merrily. “Quite so, Miss Joy. In my defence, it was an exceedingly misty morning and the hound had a terribly fox-like tail. You may imagine the general’s fury when he discovered my error.”
Joy giggled, delighted. “Oh, I can indeed! Did he banish you from future hunts entirely?”
“Worse,” St. John confessed dramatically, “he put me in charge of polishing every pair of boots in the regiment for an entire fortnight.”
Their laughter mingled, light and easy, sparking Freddy’s envy afresh. The dessert course arrived—delicate fruit tarts and spun sugar confections glittering enticingly.
“Ah, the Whitford sisters. They are all sae verra beautiful,” Flora whispered, eyes wide with sincere admiration as she saw where his gaze had landed. “Miss Joy especially. The sight of her makes me wish for me own spectacles!”
Freddy again glanced down the table towards Joy, his heart momentarily catching at the picture she presented. Flora was correct. Joy’s spectacles did nothing to diminish her attractiveness. Rather, they enhanced the intelligent sparkle in her eyes—the warmth of her engaging expression. She had truly blossomed into a lovely young woman, and pride mingled unexpectedly with Freddy’s irritation.
He considered, with rueful amusement, that perhaps his parents were right. His peers were all married, with their offspring already romping about nurseries. He felt rather elderly himself tonight, especially when paired with such youthful dinner companions. Perhaps it truly was time to settle before he reached a stage too decrepit to father children.
His morose thoughts were interrupted by the ladies withdrawing, leaving the gentlemen to their port and quiet conversation. Freddy’s glumness lingered until Sir Reginald Ashton leaned closer, pouring port generously.
“Troubled, Cunningham?” Ashton asked shrewdly, eyes twinkling kindly.
“Nothing of consequence,” Freddy murmured evasively.
“Ah, young fellow, I know the look. Women are troubling, are they not?” Ashton smiled knowingly. “Allow an old man a wordof advice? Beauty fades, charm dulls. Marry a woman who is your friend first. Friendship outlasts all else.”
Freddy regarded Ashton thoughtfully. The older man’s words resonated more deeply than expected, touching a truth Freddy had been reluctant to admit. Friendship—perhaps it was precisely what he was overlooking. He nodded slowly, thoughtful silence settling upon him. Could he be friends with Letty Partridge?
CHAPTER 11
Through her spectacles, Joy watched Freddy over the rim of the glass as she sipped some wine. Her head was beginning to throb, and despite her spectacles, her vision in her right eye was waning.
Across the table, Miss Letty Partridge leaned towards Freddy. The movement required a perilous tilt of her chair, and more than once Joy expected to see the feathered confection of Letty’s headpiece swept ignominiously into the sauceboat. Freddy, ever good-natured, inclined his head to catch the lady’s softly uttered witticisms, smiling with attentive courtesy.
Letty Partridge was shamelessly flirting with Freddy and Joy felt a pain of irritation in her chest at the sight. Perhaps the sensation was jealousy, but surely that was only because Freddy was her best friend? Joy observed it all with a queer tightening in her chest, so foreign a sensation she pressed a palm against her ribcage as though her stays had suddenly shrunk.
She tried to look at the situation objectively, knowing she was not a typical female and capable of such behaviour herself.
St. John had been paying Joy marked attention, that was obvious even to her, but she did not think he was seriouslycourting her. Men never thought of her in a romantic fashion, hoyden that she was.
