Authors: Shirl Henke
She extended her hand to the earl in a businesslike gesture.
But before he could shake it, the troglodyte reached across the table and seized it, practically wrenching her off balance as he raised it to his lips for a mocking kiss.
“Now you're talking my lingo, ma'am,” Josh said, inhaling the delicate scent of wildflowers at her wrist.
She refused to meet his eyes, knowing he would wink again. Instead, she smoothly pulled away and nodded to the earl. “I shall report tomorrow morning at nine promptly. Please see that your nephew is ready to begin his lessons. I suspect it will require a great deal of time to civilize this...student.”
Hambleton chuckled. “I could not agree more, dear lady.”
Josh reached down for another pastry as she spun and walked stiffly toward the door. The natural sway of her slim hips held him spellbound as he bit into a crumpet heaped with clotted cream, which dribbled down his chin.
As his nephew wiped his mouth on a napkin, the earl smiled slyly. Joshua detested clotted cream...but this little mishap was only the beginning of his troubles. Only the beginning…
* * * *
“We shall commence with the rudiments of table etiquette,” Sabrina said as they walked into the dining room, where two places had been set at the earl's imposing table. She was utterly exhausted after spending the morning explaining the order of precedence and address to the lout. Why was it so taxing for any person with average intelligence to grasp that a duke preceded a marquess, an earl a viscount? Or that an earl's wife was not an “earless” but a countess? She shuddered at the memory of that blunder. The rotter must be making mistakes just to fluster her. Well, he would not get away with it.
Josh had enjoyed teasing her and loved the way she blushed whenever he made her go over the boring lists of which titles outranked which, and who was to be paired up with whom, and in what order they would progress into a dining room. He'd memorized everything the first time she'd explained it to him, but letting her off that easy would not have been any fun at all.
The same bothersome array of crystal, china and flatware he'd used at his first dinner with his uncle were once again laid out. “There are enough fixings here to serve a couple of dozen folks. Seems a pure waste of dishwater if you ask me,” he groused, genuinely disgusted by all the dirty dishes some poor cook's helpers would have to wash.
“This is the manner in which people of consequence dine. You are now a viscount and must appear conversant with such details.”
“Miss Edgewater, do you just naturally talk like ole Bertie's mama lecturing a stable boy?”
“Our late and present sovereigns should never be spoken of with such irreverence.”
Josh shrugged. “Oh, I like ole Bertie well enough, but his mama didn't do right by him. Too much high-falutin' fault-finding.”
“Her Majesty was a woman of the greatest moral rectitude.”
“Did you learn all those ten-dollar words reading Mr. Webster’s whole dictionary?”
Sabrina stiffened. “I most certainly did no such thing.”
“Sounds ta me like you chewed up and swallowed down every last page.”
‘‘Ten-dollar words, as you so quaintly call them, are the mark of an educated person, my lord.”
Stroking his jaw and staring down at his boots, he appeared to digest this for a moment as they stood in the doorway of the dining room. “Here I thought an educated man was supposed to be able to make himself clear to anybody he met...and make them feel comfortable talking with him.”
“What a quaintly American idea. But might I remind you that you are no longer in America? Here you are Viscount Wesley, one day to be the tenth Earl of Hambleton. Colloquial speech, among other things, is simply not acceptable.”
“No, ma'am, I reckon I learned that on my first trip to New York...to talk to some banker fellows about investing my money.”
He was flaunting his wealth. This lout was not only a peer of the realm by the accident of a very indirect succession; but filthy rich in his own right, while she had been born into a good family and labored diligently all her life with very little to show for it, Suddenly Sabrina felt shabby in her one remaining decent day dress. Life was simply not fair, but that was that and she had a job to do, she scolded herself. “Discussing money during social occasions is considered déclassé. ”
“Oh, what should we discuss, then?” he asked.
“That would depend upon those present at a dinner. Social events, the weather, music and the arts are always suitable topics. Literature is an excellent choice. If you are engaged in conversation with an M.P., you might discuss issues pending in Parliament. But, of course, first you must begin reading so that you may grasp the complexities of modern society.”
“You have a reading list in mind?” he asked innocently.
Sabrina nodded. “Certainly. For history, I would suggest Thomas Carlyle and Sir George Trevelyan.”
Josh nodded. “Seems like I've heard a thing or two about them.”
“I would also suggest a few of Mr. Shakespeare's plays. Perhaps
The Merchant of Venice
might be to your liking.”
“I got more of a boot out of
Macbeth
. Now, his wife was a woman after your own heart. Portia's too tame.”
Sabrina blinked, too startled by his revelation to acknowledge the implied insult in his remarks. “You've read Shakespeare?” she managed to ask.
“I liked
Lear
and ole
Julius Caesar
, but
Hamlet
, he was a little wishy-washy to my way of thinking. Carlyle would approve of the general but not the prince.” He positively loved the way she stood with that delectable little mouth rounded in a small ”O” of amazement. Only by exercising the greatest restraint was he able to keep from planting a kiss right on it.
“It would seem, my lord, that you are concealing a surprising amount of erudition behind a crude unlettered facade,” she finally managed tartly. “It was my understanding that you never attended university.”
“Shucks, ma'am, I never attended grade school. But one of Gertie's girls...er, employees, Miss Cynthia, had a fair amount of book learning. She taught me to read and do sums and such. After that, well, it sorta came natural to start picking up books here and there. Sam Bixby was a traveling peddler who came through Pecos every few months. He'd always bring me some books he took in trade. Not much call for history and playwritings in west Texas. ‘Sides, I'd always sneak him a bottle of whiskey from Gertie's liquor cabinet in return. She knew I did it but she didn't care.”
Sabrina digested what he was telling her, noting the faraway expression on his face as he spoke of what must have been a ghastly childhood. Yet he smiled fondly at the memories. Those green eyes were not mocking. Wistful, perhaps?
What kind of man are you, Joshua Cantrell?
For the first time since she had met him, she sensed an intelligence and a vulnerability she would never before have imagined.
“Then the newspaper accounts of your childhood are accurate?” she blurted out.
“You mean, was I raised in a bordello?” A harsh scowl replaced his softened smile. “Yes. I never knew my ma or pa. Gert and her girls were all the family I had, but they were good enough for me.”
“I didn't mean to imply—”
“Let's just get on with dining like ‘people of consequence,’ ” he interrupted, striding into the dining room and plopping down on the chair at the side of the table.
He looked for all the world like a petulant little boy who'd just been spanked for saying a bad word. She was not certain whether to be charmed by his protectiveness toward the unfortunates who'd raised him or chagrined at her own gaffe in asking about them. Sabrina couldn't believe she was having such unprofessional thoughts.
You are the tutor and he is your pupil, nothing more
, she reminded herself. “We can only have our dinner lesson if you first act like a gentleman and seat me. And remember,” she added in her most pedagogical tone, “since you are the viscount and I your guest, you will sit at the head of the table.”
Grudgingly he scooted back his chair, stood up and held it for her, muttering something about wishing for Aphrodite and getting stuck with Athena.
“My, even Greek mythology. I am impressed, Lord Wesley. Now let us proceed with dinner. First the soup course...”
Josh had learned enough by watching his uncle and the other men at his club to know how this exercise in dirtying dishes went. It was, after all, simple enough to watch which utensil and glass everyone else picked up and follow suit. But her curiosity about his childhood with Gertie and the girls bothered him in ways he did not want to admit. He was lucky Gert had taken him in, and he'd never be ashamed of the madam. What gave so-called “good women” like Miss Sabrina Edgewater the right to look down their noses at as fine a human being as Gertie Greer? And why the hell should he care what Miss Edgewater thought of his upbringing anyway?
When the young dark-haired maid Sally ladled out two servings of consommé, he couldn't resist. He'd act just the way Miss High 'n Mighty Sabrina expected him to. After all, he hated to disappoint a lady.
Sabrina watched in utter stupefaction while he picked up the bowl in both hands, pinkie fingers carefully raised as if he were holding a Sevres teacup, and swallowed a giant gulp of clear broth!
“Now, that's tasty.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “But you might mention to the cook that adding a few beans and a chili pepper or two might give a little body to it. Know what I mean?” he said conversationally to the maid, who stood rooted like a sapling to the floor.
The young woman nodded dumbly, sending a pleading look in Sabrina's direction.
“Lord Wesley,” Sabrina said in her most teacher-stern voice, “one never drinks one's soup!” She raised the soup spoon and dipped it carefully in the liquid, waiting for him to do the same.
“Aw, that way I'll drip on my shirt. Oh, well,” he added in resignation, plucking his napkin from the table and tucking one corner into his cravat. “Uncle Ab told me not to do this, but if you insist on the spoon—”
“Please place your napkin on your lap. A man approaching three decades should have better dexterity than a boy of three years,” she said in a dulcet tone.
Innocently he shrugged and complied.
After the remove, an aspic of salmon was brought out. Josh eyed it suspiciously. “This is one fancy notion I'll never cotton to,” he said, shoving the jiggling platter back toward the maid, who again looked helplessly at Sabrina.
“Don't you care for salmon?” Sabrina asked, perplexed. Did Texans eat nothing but those horned cows?
“It isn't the fish, it's the jelly stuff it's smothered in. Where I come from, folks make it a practice never to eat anything that moves faster than they do.”
“This isn't where you came from. This is England. And you will learn to appreciate aspic.” By this time her toe was tapping beneath the table.
Josh could sense her agitation and fought the grin that was itching to break out like sunrise. Lordy, he was starting to get a real kick out of deviling this female. Manfully he used the right fork and took a few bites, after scraping away as much of the gelatinous coating as he could.
He was disappointed when the vegetable course did not contain peas, but in luck when he glanced at the glass Sally was filling with yet another variety of wine—red wine. Then she carried in the meat course, a crown roast of lamb with chop frills covering each rib bone. Carefully the maid placed the crown roast at the side of his plate for him to carve.
“I never much cared for red wine,” he said, scooting back his chair. “That's why I keep something that goes better with a hunk of meat.”
Sabrina watched as he stepped over to the sideboard and opened a polished door, taking out a half-empty bottle with a cork shoved into it. After using his strong white teeth as an opener, he walked back to the table and sat down with the bottle by his side.