François added with a sarcasm impossible to ignore.
“Why must you constantly act like a spoiled little boy?” Clarissa chided. “Surely you have better things to do than make snide remarks to the brother who has done nothing but try to help you.”
François’s face turned red. “Oh, he helps me all right. Helps me to be a sniveling dependent.”
“François …” Alex began.
“Don’t humor him, Alex. You’re far too lenient as it is. If he were my brother, I should simply cut his purse strings. It’s amazing how quickly one’s ‘sniveling dependents’ fall back in line.”
“This isn’t the place, Clarissa,” Thomas Demming softly warned.
François cleared his throat. “Thomas is right,” he agreed in the first show of maturity Nicki had seen. “Please accept my apology, Alex.” A look of contrition replaced the hostility in François’s boyishly handsome face—as well as another emotion Nicole assessed as despair.
When François glanced at Alex, his features were schooled once more into indifference, but Nicki believed Alex had sensed his brother’s turbulent emotions even as François had tried to hide them. What was going on between the two? Did Alex understand his brother’s feelings, or was he just as baffled as Nicki was?
The conversation continued somewhat stiltedly through the main courses of the meal, a baked fillet offish, sweetbreads glazed with French peas, and a roast quail larded with jelly. As each sumptuous dish was served and cleared away by the servants, Nicole kept the water goblets filled. She had just reached Clarissa when the squat, middle-aged black man who was removing her plate overturned a half-full goblet of white wine, spilling several drops on Clarissa’s apricot satin skirt.
“You clumsy oaf—what is your name?” She dabbed furiously at the few damp spots with her white linen napkin.
“Joshua, ma’am. I’s awful sorry.”
“I daresay, Alex, your servants are much in need of discipline.”
“Need I remind you—”
“Joshua, you’ll work a full day on Saturday,” Clarissa interrupted. “Next time you’ll be more careful.”
“Saturday’s my little boy’s birf’ day,” Josh pleaded. “I promised him—”
“It’s all right, Josh,” Alex told him.
“It isn’t all right,” Clarissa cut in. “Your servants must learn proper behavior—and the sooner the better.”
For the love of God, who does she think she is?
Nicki could barely keep the words from sliding off her tongue. When Clarissa started ranting her displeasure again, it was more than Nicole could stand. With a grim smile of satisfaction, she lifted the water pitcher and dumped the contents in Clarissa Endicott’s lap.
The room fell silent.
“What … what …?” Clarissa leapt to her feet, the high-backed chair crashing to the floor behindher. “Who is this … this … ill-mannered child?”
The expression on Alex’s face was priceless. He seemed torn between laughter and fury. François and Thomas Demming both looked ready to explode.
“My name is Nicki Stockton.” How she’d love to tell the spiteful woman the truth.
“Your parents must have been ill-bred, ignorant boors.” Clarissa mopped furiously at her skirts. “You will apologize this minute.”
A moment ago Nicki would have. It seemed little price to pay for such a triumph. Now, with the slur against her family, that was impossible. “No” was all she said.
“What?”
Nicole glanced across at Alex, whose stunned expression now looked grim.
“Apologize, Nicki,” he warned, “then go to your room.”
“I won’t apologize. This odious woman has slandered my family. But I’ll be more than happy to leave.” With a swish of her too-short, childish-looking skirts, she headed toward the door.
Alex shoved back his chair and came to his feet. “Nicki!” he called after her.
“I’m not leaving without an apology,” Clarissa stated flatly.
“And you shall have it—that much I promise
“Why must you constantly act like a spoiled little boy?” Clarissa chided. “Surely you have better things to do than make snide remarks to the brother who has done nothing but try to help you.”
François’s face turned red. “Oh, he helps me all right. Helps me to be a sniveling dependent.”
“François …” Alex began.
“Don’t humor him, Alex. You’re far too lenient as it is. If he were my brother, I should simply cut his purse strings. It’s amazing how quickly one’s ‘sniveling dependents’ fall back in line.”
“This isn’t the place, Clarissa,” Thomas Demming softly warned.
François cleared his throat. “Thomas is right,” he agreed in the first show of maturity Nicki had seen. “Please accept my apology, Alex.” A look of contrition replaced the hostility in François’s boyishly handsome face—as well as another emotion Nicole assessed as despair.
When François glanced at Alex, his features were schooled once more into indifference, but Nicki believed Alex had sensed his brother’s turbulent emotions even as François had tried to hide them. What was going on between the two? Did Alex understand his brother’s feelings, or was he just as baffled as Nicki was?
The conversation continued somewhat stiltedly through the main courses of the meal, a baked fillet offish, sweetbreads glazed with French peas, and a roast quail larded with jelly. As each sumptuous dish was served and cleared away by the servants, Nicole kept the water goblets filled. She had just reached Clarissa when the squat, middle-aged black man who was removing her plate overturned a half-full goblet of white wine, spilling several drops on Clarissa’s apricot satin skirt.
“You clumsy oaf—what is your name?” She dabbed furiously at the few damp spots with her white linen napkin.
“Joshua, ma’am. I’s awful sorry.”
“I daresay, Alex, your servants are much in need of discipline.”
“Need I remind you—”
“Joshua, you’ll work a full day on Saturday,” Clarissa interrupted. “Next time you’ll be more careful.”
“Saturday’s my little boy’s birf’ day,” Josh pleaded. “I promised him—”
“It’s all right, Josh,” Alex told him.
“It isn’t all right,” Clarissa cut in. “Your servants must learn proper behavior—and the sooner the better.”
For the love of God, who does she think she is?
Nicki could barely keep the words from sliding off her tongue. When Clarissa started ranting her displeasure again, it was more than Nicole could stand. With a grim smile of satisfaction, she lifted the water pitcher and dumped the contents in Clarissa Endicott’s lap.
The room fell silent.
“What … what …?” Clarissa leapt to her feet, the high-backed chair crashing to the floor behindher. “Who is this … this … ill-mannered child?”
The expression on Alex’s face was priceless. He seemed torn between laughter and fury. François and Thomas Demming both looked ready to explode.
“My name is Nicki Stockton.” How she’d love to tell the spiteful woman the truth.
“Your parents must have been ill-bred, ignorant boors.” Clarissa mopped furiously at her skirts. “You will apologize this minute.”
A moment ago Nicki would have. It seemed little price to pay for such a triumph. Now, with the slur against her family, that was impossible. “No” was all she said.
“What?”
Nicole glanced across at Alex, whose stunned expression now looked grim.
“Apologize, Nicki,” he warned, “then go to your room.”
“I won’t apologize. This odious woman has slandered my family. But I’ll be more than happy to leave.” With a swish of her too-short, childish-looking skirts, she headed toward the door.
Alex shoved back his chair and came to his feet. “Nicki!” he called after her.
“I’m not leaving without an apology,” Clarissa stated flatly.
“And you shall have it—that much I promise
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