would. I was just on the point of ringing for Emily to help me dress.”
“Oh, thank goodness.” Dulcie sank down on the windowseat beside her sister-in-law and heaved a sigh. “I really did not want to rail at you, dearest, but I felt something must be done.”
“You are quite right,” Sabina agreed. “And I have decided that it cannot be done from this room.”
Dulcie looked at her with concern growing in her eyes again. “What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know. But I shall think of something.”
Chapter 7
Robert Ashton gazed down the length of dining table in front of him, mentally comparing his ancestral residence with the cosiness of the Theaks’ home on the water—and not to the Abbey’s advantage.
Dinner at Ashtonbury Abbey was invariably in the formal style, even when only family members were present. The Abbey was a large building, built upon over the centuries since the Dissolution in a variety of fashions that tended to reflect ever more ancient times so that in its current incarnation it resembled a crusader’s castle more than a modern estate. The dining room was likewise built along massive lines, with a table that could seat fifty; even with all the leaves removed, it could hold many more than the five persons who assembled there for meals in the ordinary course of the day.
The earl’s heir, Viscount Ashton, aged seven, and his younger brother, the Honorable David, aged five, did not of course dine with the adults except on those rare informal occasions when their mother was able to tolerate them. This left, in the current season, the earl and countess, the countess’s mother, Lady Brendel, the Reverend Mr. Jennings, a distant relation of Lady Kimborough who chanced to be staying at the Abbey, and the earl’s younger brother, lately returned from the wars, to forgather at the family board.
On the day of Robert’s parting from Sabina, he was unable to participate in the proceedings as fully as Lavinia might have liked and so was grateful for the voluble Mr. Jennings. The meal itself was somewhat overpowering in any case, consisting of numerous courses and side dishes, from poulard à la duchesse to an exquisitely grilled breast of lamb in mint leaves. Lavinia employed a French chef, not so much because she cared particularly about what she put in her mouth, but because she could boast about him—in a subtle way, of course—to all her acquaintance. Alfonse stayed because he was allowed to experiment as much as he liked so long as he provided at least one good English dish at each meal, and because the earl at least appreciated his efforts and told him so.
In the general way, Captain Robert too was a notable trencherman, having learned when food was short as well as unpalatable to make full use of it when it was plentiful. However, he was notably remiss in contributing to the polite conversation which his sister-in-law decreed was as essential a part of civilized dining as good food, but this was the last thing he cared to exercise his mind on, to Lavinia’s oft-expressed regret. She had for some time been discoursing upon the paucity of high-minded activities to be found in the neighborhood without offering any suggestions of her own or volunteering her own home for activities in the advancement of literature or science, but only Mr. Jennings appeared to be interested in the subject.
“I was privileged to hear a lecture by Mr. Southey while in London,” this gentleman remarked. Having made short work of his grilled trout, daubed his lips genteelly with his napkin, and cleared his throat importantly in an irritating way that could not help draw the attention of the other diners—the earl’s younger brother excepted—to his remarks.
“That is, I should say”—Mr. Jennings tittered delicately—”When I was in London. I daresay I might call on the Southeys at any time while they are domiciled in Greta Hall, which, as you may know, lies a mere twenty miles from my
“Oh, thank goodness.” Dulcie sank down on the windowseat beside her sister-in-law and heaved a sigh. “I really did not want to rail at you, dearest, but I felt something must be done.”
“You are quite right,” Sabina agreed. “And I have decided that it cannot be done from this room.”
Dulcie looked at her with concern growing in her eyes again. “What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know. But I shall think of something.”
Chapter 7
Robert Ashton gazed down the length of dining table in front of him, mentally comparing his ancestral residence with the cosiness of the Theaks’ home on the water—and not to the Abbey’s advantage.
Dinner at Ashtonbury Abbey was invariably in the formal style, even when only family members were present. The Abbey was a large building, built upon over the centuries since the Dissolution in a variety of fashions that tended to reflect ever more ancient times so that in its current incarnation it resembled a crusader’s castle more than a modern estate. The dining room was likewise built along massive lines, with a table that could seat fifty; even with all the leaves removed, it could hold many more than the five persons who assembled there for meals in the ordinary course of the day.
The earl’s heir, Viscount Ashton, aged seven, and his younger brother, the Honorable David, aged five, did not of course dine with the adults except on those rare informal occasions when their mother was able to tolerate them. This left, in the current season, the earl and countess, the countess’s mother, Lady Brendel, the Reverend Mr. Jennings, a distant relation of Lady Kimborough who chanced to be staying at the Abbey, and the earl’s younger brother, lately returned from the wars, to forgather at the family board.
On the day of Robert’s parting from Sabina, he was unable to participate in the proceedings as fully as Lavinia might have liked and so was grateful for the voluble Mr. Jennings. The meal itself was somewhat overpowering in any case, consisting of numerous courses and side dishes, from poulard à la duchesse to an exquisitely grilled breast of lamb in mint leaves. Lavinia employed a French chef, not so much because she cared particularly about what she put in her mouth, but because she could boast about him—in a subtle way, of course—to all her acquaintance. Alfonse stayed because he was allowed to experiment as much as he liked so long as he provided at least one good English dish at each meal, and because the earl at least appreciated his efforts and told him so.
In the general way, Captain Robert too was a notable trencherman, having learned when food was short as well as unpalatable to make full use of it when it was plentiful. However, he was notably remiss in contributing to the polite conversation which his sister-in-law decreed was as essential a part of civilized dining as good food, but this was the last thing he cared to exercise his mind on, to Lavinia’s oft-expressed regret. She had for some time been discoursing upon the paucity of high-minded activities to be found in the neighborhood without offering any suggestions of her own or volunteering her own home for activities in the advancement of literature or science, but only Mr. Jennings appeared to be interested in the subject.
“I was privileged to hear a lecture by Mr. Southey while in London,” this gentleman remarked. Having made short work of his grilled trout, daubed his lips genteelly with his napkin, and cleared his throat importantly in an irritating way that could not help draw the attention of the other diners—the earl’s younger brother excepted—to his remarks.
“That is, I should say”—Mr. Jennings tittered delicately—”When I was in London. I daresay I might call on the Southeys at any time while they are domiciled in Greta Hall, which, as you may know, lies a mere twenty miles from my
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