coquettish tease. With the proper attire—and pedigree—she would be the belle of the London season … if she weren’t such an unsophisticated American.
Ruffians
, he huffed to himself. Again, he found it beyond the pale that they would invite a servant to dine at the same table with the masters of the house, but Alex would not complain. The few minutes he’d spent with their cook in the kitchen convinced him he would no doubt suffer from indigestion should he be forced to dine while listening to her incessant grumbling. Besides, being the son of Lord Cranleigh, he had every right and more to sit at any table he chose.
If they only knew
.
Alex stabbed a chunk of some type of meat from a platter that barely held enough for all of them and placed it on his plate.
“Please forgive our meager fare,” Mrs. Drummond said as if reading his mind. “I’m afraid that the British blockade of the Chesapeake has restricted our diet and tightened our purse strings. And with no one to hunt game for us, we are forced to purchase what we can from the local trappers.”
Alex glanced into her green eyes and was startled at the intelligence he found there. Intelligence and a speck of hauteur that together with her stately bearing could match any of the accomplished, society matrons back home. A sparkle drew his gaze to elegant jewels dangling from her ears—an odd accessory to her plain gown. What a dichotomy. Yet despite the wrinkles lining the corners of her eyes and mouth and the touch of gray that ran through her auburn hair, Mrs. Drummond possessed a refined comeliness Alex had not expected to see among these crude Americans.
“However, we must thank Rose for the potatoes.” She gazed lovingly at her niece. “She grows them in her garden, you know.”
“And Cora for her delicious apple butter.” Mr. Drummond nodded as he snagged a biscuit from the tray. “Best in all of Baltimore.” He dipped his spoon into a serving bowl filled with the brown, gooey substance and slathered it over the bread.
“Indeed.” Alex smiled at Miss McGuire, but still she would not look his way. “Has the blockade caused you much discomfort?”
Something struck his foot, and he peeked beneath the table, thinking perhaps a dog wandered about seeking scraps of food.
“As you know, Mr. Reed.” Mrs. Drummond’s tone was edged with pride. “We are a hardy people and have become quite accustomed to living off the fruits of our labors.” She sighed. “It is the luxuries we miss. The exotic fruits, sugar, coffee, and rice from the West Indies. The satin, taffetas, and velvets from England and France. Why, I haven’t had a new gown in over a year. And the millinery was nearly empty the last time we visited.”
“I couldn’t agree more.” Amelia shook her head, sending her dark curls dancing. “It has been insufferable.”
“Come now, my dear ones,” Mr. Drummond gently admonished them as he bit into a biscuit, scattering crumbs over his waistcoat. “These are trifling problems compared to the suffering some citizens have endured due to these infernal British raids.” His gaze traced to Miss McGuire.
A twinge of guilt struck Alex. Miss McGuire dropped her spoon onto her plate with a clank.
Mrs. Drummond smiled at her husband. “You are right, dearest. Forgive me.”
“So, Mr. Reed.” Mr. Drummond faced Alex. “I’ll warrant my niece has a good explanation for hiring you without my consent, but before I agree to it, tell us a bit about yourself. Where did you meet my niece, and how did you come to be in Baltimore?”
Out of the corner of his eye, Alex saw Miss McGuire stiffen like a mast. “In truth, Mr. Drummond, I was passing by your farm, saw a gentleman enter your house and heard a scream shortly after. Not wishing to pry, but worried for the safety of any ladies within, I crept up to the open door to investigate.”
“Such kindness, Mr. Reed.” Mrs. Drummond took a sip of her drink.
Amelia sliced her meat and
Ruffians
, he huffed to himself. Again, he found it beyond the pale that they would invite a servant to dine at the same table with the masters of the house, but Alex would not complain. The few minutes he’d spent with their cook in the kitchen convinced him he would no doubt suffer from indigestion should he be forced to dine while listening to her incessant grumbling. Besides, being the son of Lord Cranleigh, he had every right and more to sit at any table he chose.
If they only knew
.
Alex stabbed a chunk of some type of meat from a platter that barely held enough for all of them and placed it on his plate.
“Please forgive our meager fare,” Mrs. Drummond said as if reading his mind. “I’m afraid that the British blockade of the Chesapeake has restricted our diet and tightened our purse strings. And with no one to hunt game for us, we are forced to purchase what we can from the local trappers.”
Alex glanced into her green eyes and was startled at the intelligence he found there. Intelligence and a speck of hauteur that together with her stately bearing could match any of the accomplished, society matrons back home. A sparkle drew his gaze to elegant jewels dangling from her ears—an odd accessory to her plain gown. What a dichotomy. Yet despite the wrinkles lining the corners of her eyes and mouth and the touch of gray that ran through her auburn hair, Mrs. Drummond possessed a refined comeliness Alex had not expected to see among these crude Americans.
“However, we must thank Rose for the potatoes.” She gazed lovingly at her niece. “She grows them in her garden, you know.”
“And Cora for her delicious apple butter.” Mr. Drummond nodded as he snagged a biscuit from the tray. “Best in all of Baltimore.” He dipped his spoon into a serving bowl filled with the brown, gooey substance and slathered it over the bread.
“Indeed.” Alex smiled at Miss McGuire, but still she would not look his way. “Has the blockade caused you much discomfort?”
Something struck his foot, and he peeked beneath the table, thinking perhaps a dog wandered about seeking scraps of food.
“As you know, Mr. Reed.” Mrs. Drummond’s tone was edged with pride. “We are a hardy people and have become quite accustomed to living off the fruits of our labors.” She sighed. “It is the luxuries we miss. The exotic fruits, sugar, coffee, and rice from the West Indies. The satin, taffetas, and velvets from England and France. Why, I haven’t had a new gown in over a year. And the millinery was nearly empty the last time we visited.”
“I couldn’t agree more.” Amelia shook her head, sending her dark curls dancing. “It has been insufferable.”
“Come now, my dear ones,” Mr. Drummond gently admonished them as he bit into a biscuit, scattering crumbs over his waistcoat. “These are trifling problems compared to the suffering some citizens have endured due to these infernal British raids.” His gaze traced to Miss McGuire.
A twinge of guilt struck Alex. Miss McGuire dropped her spoon onto her plate with a clank.
Mrs. Drummond smiled at her husband. “You are right, dearest. Forgive me.”
“So, Mr. Reed.” Mr. Drummond faced Alex. “I’ll warrant my niece has a good explanation for hiring you without my consent, but before I agree to it, tell us a bit about yourself. Where did you meet my niece, and how did you come to be in Baltimore?”
Out of the corner of his eye, Alex saw Miss McGuire stiffen like a mast. “In truth, Mr. Drummond, I was passing by your farm, saw a gentleman enter your house and heard a scream shortly after. Not wishing to pry, but worried for the safety of any ladies within, I crept up to the open door to investigate.”
“Such kindness, Mr. Reed.” Mrs. Drummond took a sip of her drink.
Amelia sliced her meat and
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