Daughter of the Sword by Jeanne Williams

handed it to her. “I especially recommend this truffled hare pâté, and the truffled woodcock is almost as good.”
    In spite of resenting Dane’s lordliness, Deborah couldn’t keep her mouth from watering as she saw the array of delicacies: salmon, oysters, French sardines, mutton stew, marmalade, figs, raisins, a reddish-orange cheese, parcels of sugar and coffee; and a packet which Dane tapped.
    â€œYou may want to save this Bombay duck for a journey, which is what it was used for by Indians of the East. It’s not duck at all, but dried bummelo fish.”
    â€œHow peculiar!” Mother looked suddenly stricken. “But Dane, these are provisions for your western excursion! We can’t take them.”
    â€œWe brought far too much,” said Dane negligently. “The housekeeper was sure we’d famish ‘amongst the savages’ and ordered in prodigious supplies from Fortnum’s in Piccadilly. We took as little as we dared without causing her apoplexy, but we still have enough to open a shop.”
    â€œI wish you’d give away all of that miserable canned Australian beef!” called Rolf from the next room. “Stringy, tasteless stuff! Fresh rabbit’s much better.”
    â€œDo you feel up to having some for dinner?” Mother asked, crossing to the bedroom door. “I’ve dredged it in meal and soaked it for a bit in vinegar water to make it tender.”
    â€œAny food you or Miss Deborah bring will taste like ambrosia.”
    Snorting at Rolf’s melting reply, Dane went to stand by his hostess. “And what about the food I bring you, my boy? The ladies must perforce give you breakfast and tend to you when I’m not here, but while I am, I’ll see to your needs.”
    Rolf groaned. “And I thought this to be one invalidism I’d enjoy!”
    â€œIf you’ll give me his plate, Mrs. Whitlaw?” Dane suggested.
    â€œIt’s mighty ramshackle of you!” grumbled Rolf. And then, craftily he said, “Didn’t you engage to go paint that Delaware guide this week—the one who brought back those gold nuggets from the South Platte last year?”
    â€œI’ve sent my excuses to Fall Leaf. There’s plenty of time. Don’t fret about my painting, youngling. My first concern is to get you back on your feet.”
    â€œYou’re too good to me by half!” Rolf growled. “But there it is; you’ve bullied me from the nursery and will probably keep it up till we’re in the family vault!”
    Dane thanked Leticia for the plate of rabbit and potatoes, then disappeared with it into the bedroom. She followed with a steaming cup of tea and the china sugar bowl, also brought out for this occasion. Returning, she began putting away Dane’s offerings, lingering over each small treasure with such delight that Deborah was shaken, glimpsing for the first time what a wrench it had been for Leticia to leave New Hampshire, how valiant she was in cheerfully bearing the grinding everyday drudgeries and harshness of frontier life.
    â€œReal coffee!” she said, sniffing the aroma of fresh-ground beans. “I can hardly wait to see how surprised your father will be when we serve him some of this tonight!” A frown creased her brow, and she paused with a jar of marmalade, glowing rich gold in her hand. “We can’t take it all, though. It really is too much.”
    With short, vengeful jabs, Deborah forked the meat onto a platter and dished up the potatoes, then set the teakettle on to heat. “I’m sure Mr. Hunter was telling the truth, Mother.” Her tone was so acid that even she was startled at its sound. “Their housekeeper sent so much of this kind of frippery that we’re doing them a favor to lighten their supply load.”
    â€œExactly so.” Dane, behind her, put down Rolf’s emptied plate and cup. “Apart from that, we can’t both of us