Part 7 (1/2)
If Venetia was simmering before, she was boiling now. ”Mrs. Bloom, you are the most-”
”Ah! I hear someone in the pa.s.sage outside,” Gregor said, placing a hand under Venetia's elbow and literally strong-arming her away from Mrs. Bloom and toward the table. ”Dinner must be coming.”
Venetia glared at him, but before she could answer, the door opened, and Mrs. Treadwell entered carrying a large tray, followed closely by a large-boned girl with a ruddy. freckled face, an upturned nose, and flaxen curls. ” 'Tis dinner!” the landlady called, setting the platter on the table set for five.
The girl placed a large soup tureen near the head of the table and grinned broadly. ”They's thick-sliced ham hock, a dish of pickled eggs, a small platter of quail b.r.e.a.s.t.s, kippers, some candied pears, and a basket of warm bread. Oh, and there's soup, too. Parsnip soup, which me mam told me was good fer keepin' the digestion.”
Mrs. Bloom peered at the tureen. ”I have never heard of parsnip soup.”
Mrs. Treadwell's smile faded, a wary look in her eyes. ”Elsie made it. Mr. Treadwell says it's the best he ever ate.”
Elsie beamed. ”Me mam taught me how t' make it when I was but knee high to a flea!”
Venetia took her place at the table. ”I am quite looking forward to the soup. Nothing could be better in this weather.”
”Exactly!” Ravenscroft said, rallying to Venetia's aid.
She rewarded him with a bright smile, which made Ravenscroft beam at her. Gregor caught this exchange and his gaze narrowed. For a long moment he held Venetia's gaze, then deliberately turned away. He spoke very little for the rest of the meal and Venetia felt doubly alone. What was wrong with the man? As soon as the meal was over, she was going to find out.
Dinner was a horrid affair. Mrs. Bloom seemed determined to discover more about Mr. and Miss West, despite Venetia's best efforts to steer the conversation to safer topics. Though Ravenscroft tried to help, he was simply overwhelmed and far too tired to be of a.s.sistance, which left Venetia on her own.
As the hour progressed, Venetia's temper grew thinner, especially when Mrs. Bloom began to remind Miss Platt in an arch tone of ”the sewing” that waited to be done in their room. Every time Mrs. Bloom mentioned the sewing, some of Miss Platt's glow faded. Venetia began to imagine baskets and baskets of neat work waiting for Miss Platt, who was forced to slave away by the light of a single candle late into the night.
When dinner was finally finished, Mrs. Bloom stood, announcing in a loud voice that she and Miss Platt would be retiring forthwith. Miss Platt did not look happy but obediently put down her fork and rose.
The moment the door closed behind them, Ravenscroft stretched his arms over his head and yawned. ”Thank G.o.d they're gone! I've never met such a prosy bore in my life.”
”Oh, I have,” Gregor said, looking directly at Ravenscroft.
The youth didn't notice. ”Lord, I was about to fall on the floor in a stupor!” He yawned again, even more mightily. ”Excuse me, but the day has caught up with me. I should go to bed.”
”An excellent idea,” Gregor said. ”I will be along in a few moments. I want to check on the horses one last time.”
Ravenscroft turned to Venetia. He lifted her hand to his lips and placed a gentle kiss on her fingers, smiling at her rather shyly. ”I dare not hope that you'll dream of me.”
She pulled back her hand, thinking he looked absurdly youthful, far younger than his twenty-two years. Venetia's heart softened a bit. He was young and very naive. And he looked at her with such hope in his eyes that she couldn't help but be affected. She smiled. ”I'm so tired that if I dream at all, it will be of sleeping.”
His smile faded, and he added, ”I am sorry about this morning. I should have told you what was occurring. I am afraid I didn't think things through as I should have.”
She shrugged. ”It's over now. There's nothing more to be said.”
Ravenscroft's eyes darkened. He took an impetuous step toward her, catching her hand once more. ”Venetia, I-”
”That's Miss Oglivie when the other guests are not present.” Gregor's voice chilled the room despite the fire blazing in the fireplace.
Ravenscroft turned a bright red, releasing her hand. He ignored Gregor to say in a stiff voice, ”Miss Oglivie, I will speak to you of this later. Meanwhile, I bid you a good night.” With a deep bow to Venetia, followed by a chilly nod in Gregor's direction, he turned on his heel and left.
Venetia sent a hard glance to Gregor, who now stood beside the fireplace, one arm resting across the mantel, one hand deep in his pocket. ”There was no need for that.”
He shrugged, his eyes hooded. ”The puppy was mauling you.”
”He was not.” Venetia sighed. ”You really should stop teasing Ravenscroft so.”
”I treat him as he deserves to be treated.” Gregor turned to the fireplace, grabbing the poker and stirring the fire. ”Have you forgotten that just this morning he absconded with you?”
”He is aware that he made an error.”
”In getting caught.”
”In thinking I cared about him enough to agree to such a harebrained scheme. Italy indeed.”
”That got your goat, I noticed.”
”Especially the part about was.h.i.+ng clothes. Oddly enough, I might not mind doing it, provided I
wasn't expected to do it.” She smiled tiredly. ”If that makes any sense.”
”I suppose it does.” He replaced the poker. ”You'd do it for love but not for duty.”
She gave him a wondering look. ”Exactly! I can't believe you understand that.”
”Why? It's not so unusual a thought.”
”Because in all the years I've known you, I've never once heard you mention love except to say you didn't believe in it.”
”I believe in it. For other people.”
She crossed to the fireplace and held out her hands to the warmth. ”But not for you?”
He gave her a lopsided smile. ”One day, perhaps. But I see no use for it now, while I'm young enough to wipe soup from my own chin.”
She shook her head, laughing a little. ”So, to you, love is for the infirm.”
”And those who are too lazy to make their own happiness.”
”I don't know that I agree with you.” She shrugged. ”But it won't be the first time we've disagreed.”
His eyes crinkled with laughter. ”And I hope it won't be the last.”
”You enjoy arguing?”
”With you. You have more sense than most.” He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the mantel. ”Usually.”
She smiled, and a warm, comfortable silence fell. The flames crackled merrily, the scent of woodsmoke mingled with the savory aroma of their dinner. It was delightful, standing there with Gregor. After that moment this afternoon of painful...should she call it awkwardness? Or awareness? Whatever it was, it was nice to have things return to normal.
”I wonder if Ravenscroft will ever write his book,” Gregor said in a musing tone.