they had just hired a British naval officer to be their man of work, there would be plenty of arguments.
If they knew they had just invited the enemy into their home, they would never forgive Rose.
CHAPTER 8
S hifting his weight onto his good leg, Alex gripped the back of his chair and waited until Mrs. Drummond, Miss McGuire, and Amelia took their seats. Across the spotless white linen that covered the table, pewter plates, silverware, and glass goblets shone beneath the glimmering light of several candles set in brass holders. A modest display, to be sure, but far more than he expected from these backwoods farmers. Amelia burst into the room, then slowed her pace as she pinched her cheeks and approached the table, offering him a coy glance. She’d exchanged the lavender gown she’d worn earlier that day for one of cream-colored muslin with a pink velvet bow tied about her waist. Alex shifted uncomfortably beneath his drab, stained garb. Never in his life had he attended the evening meal so shabbily dressed. Even aboard the HMS
Undefeatable
, he’d always worn his cleanest uniform.
He glanced at Miss McGuire who slid into her seat across from him. She had not changed for dinner from the simple muslin gown she’d worn all day—a definite breach of proper etiquette. Yet the flowing lines and delicate pattern of the fabric flattered her feminine figure and brought out the glow in her face. He longed for a glimpse of her sea-blue eyes, but she kept them hidden from him and glanced instead ather uncle sitting at the head of the table—the man seemingly oblivious to his lapse of decorum. Both in the fact that he had taken his seat before the ladies and that he had invited Alex, a mere servant, to sup with them. Unheard of!
As soon as the ladies lowered into their seats, Alex moved out his chair and sank onto the hard wood, stretching out his injured leg beneath the table. A plump colored woman whom he assumed was the family slave slapped a steaming bowl and two trays of food in the center. His stomach growled as the spicy smell of gamy meat and butter filled his nose.
“Shall we bless the food?” Mr. Drummond bowed his head, the ladies following suit. As the man prayed, Alex cast a curious glance across the group. It had been years since his own father had prayed before a meal. When had he stopped? He couldn’t recall. Yet as Mr. Drummond’s voice shook with emotion and his words rang with sincerity, Alex couldn’t help the lump that formed in his throat. These people actually believed God had provided this food and would bless it to strengthen their bodies. Yet the fare that sat before him, though it smelled delicious enough, paled in comparison to the nightly feasts Alex had partaken of at the Reed estate back home.
Where thanks had so rarely been given.
Their harmonious “amens” rang over the table, and Miss McGuire handed him a bowl of buttered potatoes. She continued to avoid his gaze as he took the dish from her and spooned a portion onto his plate. No doubt, she was not altogether pleased at his presence at her family’s table. But how could he have avoided it? He’d watched the soldiers leave the farm from his spot behind a bush along the tree line. But as he waited, it occurred to him that the foppish gentleman he’d seen enter the house had not left along with them. It was beyond objectionable that the man should be alone with Miss McGuire. Alex intended only to ensure her safety before returning to the icehouse, but when he approached the front door and heard Miss McGuire order the man to leave and saw that he did not oblige, Alex had no choice but to step in.
He handed the bowl to Amelia beside him. The young woman had no trouble keeping her gaze locked on Alex. Creamy skin surrounded by waves of raven hair and sharp brown eyes assessed him with brazenimpunity as she flitted her lashes and took the potatoes. Like so many of the ladies he’d known at home, Miss McGuire’s companion was a
If they knew they had just invited the enemy into their home, they would never forgive Rose.
CHAPTER 8
S hifting his weight onto his good leg, Alex gripped the back of his chair and waited until Mrs. Drummond, Miss McGuire, and Amelia took their seats. Across the spotless white linen that covered the table, pewter plates, silverware, and glass goblets shone beneath the glimmering light of several candles set in brass holders. A modest display, to be sure, but far more than he expected from these backwoods farmers. Amelia burst into the room, then slowed her pace as she pinched her cheeks and approached the table, offering him a coy glance. She’d exchanged the lavender gown she’d worn earlier that day for one of cream-colored muslin with a pink velvet bow tied about her waist. Alex shifted uncomfortably beneath his drab, stained garb. Never in his life had he attended the evening meal so shabbily dressed. Even aboard the HMS
Undefeatable
, he’d always worn his cleanest uniform.
He glanced at Miss McGuire who slid into her seat across from him. She had not changed for dinner from the simple muslin gown she’d worn all day—a definite breach of proper etiquette. Yet the flowing lines and delicate pattern of the fabric flattered her feminine figure and brought out the glow in her face. He longed for a glimpse of her sea-blue eyes, but she kept them hidden from him and glanced instead ather uncle sitting at the head of the table—the man seemingly oblivious to his lapse of decorum. Both in the fact that he had taken his seat before the ladies and that he had invited Alex, a mere servant, to sup with them. Unheard of!
As soon as the ladies lowered into their seats, Alex moved out his chair and sank onto the hard wood, stretching out his injured leg beneath the table. A plump colored woman whom he assumed was the family slave slapped a steaming bowl and two trays of food in the center. His stomach growled as the spicy smell of gamy meat and butter filled his nose.
“Shall we bless the food?” Mr. Drummond bowed his head, the ladies following suit. As the man prayed, Alex cast a curious glance across the group. It had been years since his own father had prayed before a meal. When had he stopped? He couldn’t recall. Yet as Mr. Drummond’s voice shook with emotion and his words rang with sincerity, Alex couldn’t help the lump that formed in his throat. These people actually believed God had provided this food and would bless it to strengthen their bodies. Yet the fare that sat before him, though it smelled delicious enough, paled in comparison to the nightly feasts Alex had partaken of at the Reed estate back home.
Where thanks had so rarely been given.
Their harmonious “amens” rang over the table, and Miss McGuire handed him a bowl of buttered potatoes. She continued to avoid his gaze as he took the dish from her and spooned a portion onto his plate. No doubt, she was not altogether pleased at his presence at her family’s table. But how could he have avoided it? He’d watched the soldiers leave the farm from his spot behind a bush along the tree line. But as he waited, it occurred to him that the foppish gentleman he’d seen enter the house had not left along with them. It was beyond objectionable that the man should be alone with Miss McGuire. Alex intended only to ensure her safety before returning to the icehouse, but when he approached the front door and heard Miss McGuire order the man to leave and saw that he did not oblige, Alex had no choice but to step in.
He handed the bowl to Amelia beside him. The young woman had no trouble keeping her gaze locked on Alex. Creamy skin surrounded by waves of raven hair and sharp brown eyes assessed him with brazenimpunity as she flitted her lashes and took the potatoes. Like so many of the ladies he’d known at home, Miss McGuire’s companion was a
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