Dinner
. Good God, how he dreaded it. Lord Delacourt would be there, of course. He was more often than not in attendance. Since coming to Mercer House, Cole had seized every opportunity to dine out. But tonight, he had exhausted his excuses. Tonight, there would be no avoiding Jonet’s haunting beauty and her vain young lover. And there would be no avoiding the spectacle Delacourt would undoubtedly make by fawning over her.
Abruptly, Cole jerked to a halt at the top of the steps, swearing violently under his breath.
Good God
,
what was wrong with him?
What the devil did he care whom Jonet Rowland dined with? Or bedded? It was her home. And clearly, she intended to do pretty much as she pleased in it, too. Cole had come to Mercer House for the sole purpose of educating her children. It was time he stopped acting like a jealous young swain where Jonet was concerned. The woman might be a tad unpredictable, but she was more than capable of defending herself. Indeed, at times she could be quite vicious—perhaps more vicious than Cole wished to acknowledge.
On impulse, he spun about and headed for the schoolroom, deciding that he had no need to join the household in taking wine in the drawing room before dinner. Better that he should spend that hour with the boys, and then go down just a few minutes before the meal was served.
Cole found Stuart and Robin on the verge of enjoying their own dinner, which was always served by a footman under the auspices of the stern but capable Nanna. As the boys greeted him warmly, the dogs leapt up from their positions beneath the table to eagerly wag their tails. Cole responded by drawing up one of the larger chairs to the table just as Cox set down steaming plates of kidney pie and an assortment of stewed vegetables.
Immediately, Robert pulled a face. “Oh, yuck! I
hate
kidney pie,” he groused.
“Och! Hate it do ye?” asked Nanna archly as she set down two brimming mugs of milk. “Well, that’s all there’s tae be, and eat every bite ye surely will, or go tae bed w’naught else. And that means no pudding, mind!”
Robert scowled, but after a long hesitation, he began to pick at his vegetables. Cole turned his attention to Stuart. For a few moments, Cole engaged the young marquis in casual conversation, watching to be sure that he ate, and that he seemed settled enough for sleep. Last night, Stuart had been terribly restless. Cole knew it, because he too had lain awake. Three or four times, he had found himself crawling from the warmth of his bed to prowl up and down the lamp-lit corridors of Mercer House. And for no good reason that he could determine. Indeed, there was nothing that he could identify or explain in even the vaguest of words. It was just that feeling, that ominous sensation of a malevolent presence, which was all too familiar to a battle-scarred soldier.
Once last night, Cole had met Cox coming up the back staircase. The man had nodded silently, then gone on about his business. And in the wee hours of the morning, he had seen Charles Donaldson lightly dozing in a ladderback chair in the rear hallway. The big Scotsman had bolted instantly awake at the sound of Cole’s bare foot on the top step, and his chair, which had been tipped back against the wall on its rear legs, had flown forward with a clatter. Through the balustrade their eyes had met, and in the dim lamplight, a knowing glance had passed between them. Slowly, Cole had gone back up the stairs, knowing that all of them watched for the same thing.
Nothing.
Everything
.
It was then, at the top of the stairs, that Cole had seen the shaft of weak light shining beneath young Lord Mercer’s door. Cracking the door ever so slightly, Cole had peeked in, just to be sure that the boy was all right. The hinges had been perfectly silent. Stuart, his back to the door, his open book turned toward the lamplight, had not known that he was being watched. This morning, Cole had asked Donaldson to have every door hinge in the house tightened down until it squalled, and if that did not work, the hinges were to be replaced with new. Again, the knowing look had passed.
Tonight, however, Stuart looked marginally less worried, but like his brother, he ate little. Nudging his pie to one side, the boy picked at his vegetables and nibbled at a thick slab of bread, then pushed the plate disdainfully away. It had become painfully apparent that his young lordship shared some of his mother’s fears. Cole was very much afraid that a little vigilance was necessary. He wished only that he knew why. For a long moment, Cole merely studied Stuart’s face, but gradually, he became uncomfortably aware of Robert, no matter how hard he tried to ignore the boy.
And try he did, for the truth was, Robert was busy shoveling his dinner beneath the table, and allowing Rogue to lick the spoon. Inwardly, Cole could not help but chuckle at Robert’s antics, not to mention his composure. Oh, the lad might look like the very image of Delacourt, but Cole was very much afraid that Robert had inherited his mother’s shrewd ways.
Nanna, however, was not so admiring. It did not take long before the keen old Scotswoman caught young Robert in the act. She launched into a swift reprisal, which included dire threats of near starvation and no sweets for weeks to come. Bravely, Robert owned up to his crime. “But I’m not eating any more of that kidney pie,” he warned with a shrug, “if I’ve already lost my pudding.”
Undaunted, Nanna surveyed their plates. “Aye, weel suit yourself, my fine laddies,” she announced grimly. “I daresay you’ll be earning the privilege to turn up yer nose at perfectly gude food when yer stomach grinds all night.” Plaintively, both Stuart and Robert looked up at Cole.
He immediately jerked out of his chair. It would soon be time for dinner downstairs, and Cole knew better than to interfere with Nanna and her methods. Cole had recently learned that Nanna had nursed both Jonet and Ellen, and had half-raised Charles Donaldson, as well as most of the other servants. She was a battleaxe in wool worsted, but Nanna loved the boys. And so Cole patted the boy firmly on the back. “Sorry, Robin! You must take your punishment like a man.”
Dinner was indeed a miserable affair. Ellen Cameron babbled on aimlessly, but Jonet was surprisingly quiet, almost sullen. To his utter consternation, Cole could not keep his eyes from her face, despite his constant efforts to do so. Delacourt, too, seemed absorbed by their hostess.
As if he sensed her mood, the young man kept touching her gently on the arm, leaning solicitously toward her, and inquiring as to the taste of her food. As if it were his own home, Delacourt ordered the footmen to fetch first one thing, then another—more sauce for the fish, more pepper for the beef, a dozen little things—in an attempt to encourage Jonet to eat. And yet, she did not.
Twice, Delacourt caught Cole’s gaze as Cole tried to drag his eyes away from Jonet. Boldly, Delacourt stared across the table, a look of dark challenge etched upon his handsome visage. And then, just as quickly, he dropped his chin and turned away, arrogantly snapping his fingers for the footman to refresh Jonet’s empty glass. Wine was the one thing she seemed to be consuming at a prodigious rate.
Cole soon became grateful for Miss Cameron’s incessant chatter. Under normal circumstances, he would have found her lighthearted inanity grating, but tonight, with tension thrumming through the room, her banter maintained at least the semblance of civility. At some point, the subject turned from the depressed economy to the London stage, a subject Cole had little interest in. Delacourt remarked upon the current schedule, and dimly, Cole half listened as Miss Cameron mentioned some particular play which was set to open at the Theatre Royal toward the season’s end.
“What do you think, Captain Amherst?” Miss Cameron inquired, leaning eagerly forward. “Does that not sound delightful? Have you ever seen him perform? I vow, he is my favorite actor.”
“Oh . . . delightful indeed,” murmured Cole, rousing himself to attention. With no notion of whose talent was in question, he tried to look inquiringly at her. “But I am afraid I have not had that pleasure, Miss Cameron. No doubt he is most excellent.”
Her gaze dreamy, Ellen Cameron paused with her empty fork held aloft and rolled her eyes heavenward. “Oh, yes!” she exclaimed, her voice rich with awe. “I saw him last year in
Titus Andronicus
—I do so love a good tragedy, don’t you know—and he was inspiring.”
Delacourt pulled a sour face. “Ugh! What a violent piece, Miss Cameron. I cannot think how it lasted the fortnight it did before closing.”
Miss Cameron’s dreamy expression vanished abruptly. “Yes, it is rather appalling, is it not? I daresay
Measure for Measure
will be even better.” She turned her eyes upon Cole. “What do you think, Captain Amherst? Would you care to go when it opens?”
“Ellen!” interjected Jonet harshly, her wineglass again empty. “Might I remind you that we are a house in mourning? Upon my word, I cannot think what has come over you.”
Ellen put down her fork with a clatter. “
I
am not in mourning!” she hotly insisted. “No one expects me to put on my black for a year!”
“But good heavens, Ellen!” insisted Jonet, her voice strident, her face flaming. “You are an unmarried woman! It is entirely inappropriate for you to suggest—”
Ellen coolly cut across her. “I merely meant that perhaps Captain Amherst would give his escort to Aunt and me when she returns from Kent.” She lifted her chin a little stubbornly. “I daresay that there is nothing so terribly wrong about that.”
Cole tried to intercede. “I should be most pleased to accompany you and your aunt, Miss Cameron.” In truth, he had no desire to escort Jonet’s cousin any further than the front door, but at that moment, he’d have gladly agreed to drive her to hell and back, merely to put an end to the conversation.
Though addressing Ellen, Jonet turned her gaze on Cole, carelessly setting down her wineglass and striking the rim of her dinner plate. “I am sure Captain Amherst is merely being polite, Ellen,” she remarked, her eyes narrow and cold. “Indeed, he is a man of very
discerning
taste and high principles. I daresay he considers the frivolity of the theater beneath him—perhaps even morally corrupting.”
Delacourt promptly choked on a mouthful of food.
Cole jerked himself upright in his chair. “How kind you are, my lady, to think so well of me,” he replied, allowing a hint of sarcasm to lace his words. “Be assured I am hardly worthy of such praise.”
“Praise?” echoed Jonet stridently. She drew another deep breath, but Delacourt interrupted, speaking directly to Cole for the first time since the meal had commenced.
“Do tell us, Amherst,” the viscount quickly interjected.
“How does a scholar come to leave his vocation and go into the army? I must say, I have often wondered at that.”
“There was a war, my lord,” Cole coolly answered. “I believed it my duty.”
Duty be damned
thought Jonet irritably as Cole and David continued to discuss the army and the postwar economy. Oh, yes! Cole Amherst was very assiduous in
doing his duty
. Though the plight of unemployed soldiers was a subject which normally stirred deep concern in Jonet’s breast, tonight she really did not give a fig about them. But then, she had consumed more wine than was prudent. Well! She didn’t give a fig about that either. Lightly, she tapped the rim of her wineglass, and Cox quickly filled it. David paused in mid-sentence to shoot her a disapproving look. Jonet ignored him and let her mind return to her discussion with Pearson.
As with the conversation she’d overheard between Cole and James, the results had been either disappointing or reassuring, depending upon the light in which one viewed them. Had Pearson’s last report uncovered something, Jonet would finally have felt justified in throwing Cole out of her house, and thereby out of her life. But the truth was, she was coming to depend upon him. To
want
him.
How dangerous!
Slowly, she lifted her eyes from the glass and let them drift over his golden hair, his high, striking brow, and his full, sensual mouth. How truly brilliant the man was in choosing his wardrobe. The starkly elegant clothing and high, simple cravat would have set him apart from the crowd had the room been filled by London’s handsomest bucks and beaus. A less refined gentleman might have overdressed, but Cole knew how to set off his golden good looks with flawless elegance.
So tempting
.
So tormenting
. And so
morally discerning
, as James had said. In her confusion and anger, Jonet wanted to strike out at him for it. Instead, she emptied half her wineglass. It seemed the surest way to dull the pain of knowing how different they were. It was, perhaps, a pity Pearson had uncovered nothing. It seemed Cole Amherst was a man of mystery—or at least a man of discretion. But as she had suspected, he suffered no financial difficulties. In fact, it appeared he had extensive landholdings which were unencumbered and unentailed—and in which he seemed inexplicably disinterested. Following his marriage, Cole had left his university post with high recommendations and would now be welcomed back in a trice.
Within the ranks of the army, he was considered a valiant officer and strategist, whose easy manner made him a favorite with the enlisted men. Pearson confirmed that Cole was childless, a widower, and that his late wife’s reputation was also above reproach. He kept no mistress, and courted no one. There was nothing that might leave him open to bribery or blackmail, nothing that would even require him to earn his keep. In short, Cole was considered a brilliant if somewhat reticent gentleman who was disposed to intellectual pursuits and athletics such as riding and cricket. Just as he had said.
Oh, yes.
A paragon of manly virtue
. Damn him straight to hell. She forced her gaze from him and stared blindly down the table, across the wealth of silver, crystal, and porcelain, all of which meant nothing to her. Cole was everything she had once admired and wanted in a man. He was perfect for her—or would have been ten years ago. Before she had changed so inexorably. Before her father’s scheming had thrust her into a world she had been ill prepared to deal with.