“Shall we go downstairs for dinner?” His mother asked softly. “I believe one of the courses is a souffle, and our cook would be most upset if it were to flop.”
“I like souffle,” Clarissa commented as she and Marcia hurried to the door.
“And there’s milk pudding for dessert,” Marcia informedMiss Rowland as they all went into the hallway. Nicholas walked with Mama and Henry.
“She’s lovely,” Mama whispered as they went down the stairs. “Interesting and pretty.”
“Thank you, Mama,” Nicholas whispered back, heart glowing with warmth. “Thank you.”
They drifted down the stairs. Miss Rowland, Marcia, and Clarissa were already in the dining room. When Nicholas walked in, they were standing together before a painting. Nicholas felt his heart soar, hearing them giggle as they looked up at the horse shown in it.
“It’s too big,” Marcia said. “The horse, that is.”
“The rider’s tiny,” Clarissa added. “All you see is this enormous horse, whenever you look at it. The proportions are all wrong.” She giggled.
Miss Rowland smiled. “I think the artist was more interested in the horse than the person on it,” she said softly.
Clarissa laughed. “It is called “the prize racehorse” so I suppose so,” she admitted with a smile.
“I think our great-grandfather commissioned it,” Marcia explained softly. “He was very supportive of the local horse-breeders.”
“Girls?” Mama called them. “Should we sit down for dinner?”
They all settled down at the dinner table. Mama and Henry were at the ends of the table, Miss Rowland across from Nicholas and Clarissa beside him. Marcia sat next to Miss Rowland. Nicholas beamed at both his sisters as they engaged her in conversation—he was grateful to them for accepting her so instantly, but he also wasn’t really surprised. Miss Rowland was a warm, kind person and so were they. It was no wonder they liked one another without hesitation.
“Please bring the first course, Mr. Haldon,” Mama swiftly instructed the butler where he waited in the doorway.
The first course appeared. The soup was excellent, a fine one of carrots and fennel, and Nicholas glanced across the table, watching Miss Rowland as she ate. She was neat and delicate, but he could see she was enjoying the food and he smiled to himself. Perhaps his guesses for the menu were right.
Course followed course as a souffle made its appearance, then several dishes accompanied the roast fish. The dishes were all placed in the center of the table in the French style for the guests to help themselves.
“This fish is excellent,” Henry commented.
“I will tell the cook,” Mama said with a smile.
“It’s all very good; thank you,” Miss Rowland murmured. Nicholas gazed over at her, feeling a sudden ache in his heart. She was eating heartily, her hair glowing in the candlelight. She looked much more at ease here, listening as Mama told an amusing anecdote about going shopping with the girls. She was relaxed and direct and funny and he gazed at her, feelingamazed.
Dessert was delicious, the rice pudding thick, creamy and flavorful as he’d hoped it would be, and it was followed by cheese and fruit and coffee. Nicholas leaned back in his chair, feeling rather full. At home, he dined more simply, and he wasn’t used to a full dinner of many courses anymore.
“Let’s play something,” Clarissa asked as they made their way to the drawing room.
“Whist?” Henry offered, going over to a cupboard to fetch cards. Clarissa shook her head.
“No! Let’s play charades,” she begged. “Miss Rowland is here! We don’t often have someone to play charades with.”
Mama glanced at Nicholas uncomfortably. He hated any sort of game where he might be the center of attention. He was sure Miss Rowland would be the same. To his surprise, though, she answered.
“I’d be glad to join in,” she told Clarissa warmly. “But mayhap first let’s play the pianoforte. We did promise Lord Aldford, after all.”
Nicholas felt tenderness flood him. She must have noticed Marcia longed to play the piano and was making sure they all had a pleasant evening. He beamed at Miss Rowland, but she was already going to the piano.
“I’ll turn the pages,” she offered.
“Will you go first?” Marcia asked shyly. “We’d love to hear you play.”
“Very well,” Miss Rowland replied gently. She settled down at the piano, a book of Mozart sonatas propped up before her.
Nicholas watched with interest as she steadied herself, focusing on the music. Her back was straight, her face tense with intense concentration and a small frown between her brows. Then, placing her hands on the keys, she started to play.
