the carriages, and Sylvester leaned against the old oak to enjoy the spectacle of his Aunt Sarah's preparations for a small family picnic. It was a family joke that Lady Sarah's picnics were grander and involved more fanfare and preparation than a state dinner in the Great Hall at the Castle. She had brought seven footmen and three maids, besides an army of grooms and the undercook, whose sole task it was to see to the arrangement of the various dishes on the tables being set up in the shade of the spreading oak.
From the vantage point of her carriage, Lady Sarah directed the goings-on with military precision, although Sylvester knew from experience that the servants could manage very well without her supervision. He remembered with a stab of nostalgia how Adrienne had hugely enjoyed the incongruity of Lady Sarah's simple pastoral outings, as his aunt always called her forays into the countryside.
Mrs. Standish appeared to find the proceedings equally astonishing, for she moved to stand beside him, a tentative smile on her lips.
"Your aunt does not believe in doing things by half measures, my lord," she murmured after a moment, eyeing two burly footmen struggling with a hamper stuffed full of dishes of cold chicken, roast venison, pigeon pie, sausages, and other delicacies.
Sylvester laughed. "Aunt Sarah's idea of a simple country repast rivals Henry the Eighth's most sumptuous banquets," he replied lightly. "And we all know how much that illustrious monarch enjoyed his food." He motioned to a footman carrying the wine basket. "Allow me to pour you a glass of wine, Mrs. Standish," he invited, watching out of the corner of his eye as Perry settled the two Rathbone ladies in comfortable chairs and poured them glasses of lemonade.
The widow must have observed him, too, for the gaze she turned upon him was troubled. "I should be drinking lemonade, my lord," she murmured.
"But wine sounds so much more appetizing, does it not?" he suggested with a smile. "And it is nicely chilled, too," he added, drawing the cork from the bottle of champagne and pouring two glasses. "I shall join you, madam, if you have no objection. But allow me to commandeer a chair for you first." He motioned to a footman, who immediately set up two chairs a little apart from the group around the table.
Sylvester caught his son casting a worried glance in the widow's direction, and before long the viscount approached with a glass of lemonade in his hand.
"I have b-brought you some 1-lemonade, Athena," he stammered, blushing like a schoolboy. "You must be w-warm after your ride."
The widow did not respond immediately, and when she did there was a definite chill in her voice. "I am well taken care of, thank you," she said flatly, without looking at him.
Sylvester saw his son wince at the rebuff and intervened to soften the blow. "I am sure Mrs. Standish would enjoy some cold chicken, Perry. And perhaps some of Cook's fresh bread. I know I would."
He was rewarded with a grateful look before Perry strode away on his errand. Before his son reached the table, Sylvester heard the tinkling voice of Miss Rathbone calling out teasingly. "I do declare, my dear Lord Fairmont," she trilled with enervating gaiety, "you have abandoned me to starve to death. Oh, do bring me some of that delicious-looking pigeon pie, and perhaps a sliver of cold chicken."
Quite twenty minutes later, when Peregrine had not returned, Sylvester thought it best to bestir himself on the widow's behalf. He had intended her to be slighted, but certainly not left without her nuncheon. When he returned with two plates of food, he noted that Mrs. Standish was fit to be tied, her amber eyes glowing with suppressed fury. He did not envy Peregrine when the widow caught up with him.
"I am not hungry, my lord," she said, abruptly rising to her feet and shaking out her skirts. "I think I will take a stroll down by the stream." Without another word, she swooped off with an angry swishing of
From the vantage point of her carriage, Lady Sarah directed the goings-on with military precision, although Sylvester knew from experience that the servants could manage very well without her supervision. He remembered with a stab of nostalgia how Adrienne had hugely enjoyed the incongruity of Lady Sarah's simple pastoral outings, as his aunt always called her forays into the countryside.
Mrs. Standish appeared to find the proceedings equally astonishing, for she moved to stand beside him, a tentative smile on her lips.
"Your aunt does not believe in doing things by half measures, my lord," she murmured after a moment, eyeing two burly footmen struggling with a hamper stuffed full of dishes of cold chicken, roast venison, pigeon pie, sausages, and other delicacies.
Sylvester laughed. "Aunt Sarah's idea of a simple country repast rivals Henry the Eighth's most sumptuous banquets," he replied lightly. "And we all know how much that illustrious monarch enjoyed his food." He motioned to a footman carrying the wine basket. "Allow me to pour you a glass of wine, Mrs. Standish," he invited, watching out of the corner of his eye as Perry settled the two Rathbone ladies in comfortable chairs and poured them glasses of lemonade.
The widow must have observed him, too, for the gaze she turned upon him was troubled. "I should be drinking lemonade, my lord," she murmured.
"But wine sounds so much more appetizing, does it not?" he suggested with a smile. "And it is nicely chilled, too," he added, drawing the cork from the bottle of champagne and pouring two glasses. "I shall join you, madam, if you have no objection. But allow me to commandeer a chair for you first." He motioned to a footman, who immediately set up two chairs a little apart from the group around the table.
Sylvester caught his son casting a worried glance in the widow's direction, and before long the viscount approached with a glass of lemonade in his hand.
"I have b-brought you some 1-lemonade, Athena," he stammered, blushing like a schoolboy. "You must be w-warm after your ride."
The widow did not respond immediately, and when she did there was a definite chill in her voice. "I am well taken care of, thank you," she said flatly, without looking at him.
Sylvester saw his son wince at the rebuff and intervened to soften the blow. "I am sure Mrs. Standish would enjoy some cold chicken, Perry. And perhaps some of Cook's fresh bread. I know I would."
He was rewarded with a grateful look before Perry strode away on his errand. Before his son reached the table, Sylvester heard the tinkling voice of Miss Rathbone calling out teasingly. "I do declare, my dear Lord Fairmont," she trilled with enervating gaiety, "you have abandoned me to starve to death. Oh, do bring me some of that delicious-looking pigeon pie, and perhaps a sliver of cold chicken."
Quite twenty minutes later, when Peregrine had not returned, Sylvester thought it best to bestir himself on the widow's behalf. He had intended her to be slighted, but certainly not left without her nuncheon. When he returned with two plates of food, he noted that Mrs. Standish was fit to be tied, her amber eyes glowing with suppressed fury. He did not envy Peregrine when the widow caught up with him.
"I am not hungry, my lord," she said, abruptly rising to her feet and shaking out her skirts. "I think I will take a stroll down by the stream." Without another word, she swooped off with an angry swishing of
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