Chapter Eight
Oblivious to their reactions, Charlotte continued, “We brought some chocolates with us. Obviously, we didn’t bring them willy-nilly. Lady Peabody ordered them, and my clever sister created them. Thus, you shall taste our confections after dinner.”
Amity was happy her sister was proud of her. Nonetheless, at that moment, she would rather Charlotte had not referred to her as slaving in a back room. She might as well be dressed in her chocolate-smeared apron with her hair under a kerchief.
“Fascinating,” said Lord Ridley again, sounding even less impressed. Clearly, he wanted to be partnered with anyone else in the group than the lowly Rare-Foure shopgirls.
“I can hardly wait to taste your chocolate,” Lord Greenley said to Charlotte, arching the sculpted brow over one eye and winking the other.
Charlotte shrugged slightly, missing any innuendo, and Amity wanted to slap his face.
Thankfully, Lady Peabody announced dinner. As Amity turned, she found Lord Pelham staring directly at her even while he was taking Lady Madeleine’s arm.
He smiled, and she smiled back, glad he was there. He might not truly be her friend, and he was evidently smitten with his beautiful lady, yet they had shared a few pleasant interactions. She couldn’t help but consider him an ally among London’s elite. Hopefully, he would be seated close by at dinner.
Even though it had seemed as if Lady Peabody had presented her to Lord Greenley, that man took Charlotte’s arm, forcing Lord Ridley, with his palpable air of ennui, to take Amity’s.
Their host and hostess went first, followed by Lady Madeleine and the Duke of Pelham, indubitably the most important guests in the room, and everyone else made their way after.
The dining room was decorated with lavish reds and golds, both in the wallpaper and the fabrics, mirroring the current craze for everything oriental. The long table was festooned with a pretty lace cloth, barely visible under the array of candlesticks, plates, flowered centerpieces, multiple forks, spoons, and knives at every place setting, each containing a massive plate with a smaller plate and a bowl on top, along with glasses of every size and shape.
How many courses and how long this meal would go on for, Amity could hardly imagine. The guests milled about, looking for their names on small white cards.
“Look,” Charlotte exclaimed, “we have place cards. How clever for Lady Peabody to make them up for us after we arrived.”
Despite Foure being spelled incorrectly, Amity agreed it was kind of their hostess. When seated, she found herself directly across the table from Lord Pelham. She doubted they would be able to converse, however, what with the forest of vases full of roses and candelabra between them. There was even a whole pineapple displayed, which reminded her of the chocolates she’d brought. Apparently, Lady Peabody liked to show off her wealth, and pineapple was her luxury of choice.
Sending her a companionable look, the duke shrugged, and she smiled again. Then Lady Madeleine took his attention and the dinner began.
After removing her gloves and placing them in her lap, Charlotte leaned across her dining companion, Lord Greenley, and tapped Amity on the hand.
“No bags of meat tonight,” Charlotte whispered, loudly enough for the man to hear. It didn’t matter though. Amity could tell Lord Greenley was using only one of his five senses, given his good view down her sister’s décolletage.
All Amity could do was smile slightly. Certainly, at the Peabodys’ table, there would not be any sausages to which her sister so crudely referred. Rather, their hostess announced each new course in French with much rolling of her R’s. Luckily, with French grandparents and a good education, Amity knew what she was eating. From the turtle and spring-time potage to the filet of sole, oysters and breaded whiting during the fish course, through the chicken and roast beef, the lamb cutlets and breaded quail, the roasted figs and asparagus, the meal went on and on.
Amity realized by the relevés course during which the main meat was served that she ought to take the smallest bite of each dish or she would never make it to the entremets sucré. And she did so love fancy desserts. It would be a shame to be too full.
Shooting a glance at Charlotte, she set her fork down and hoped her sister followed suit. She also took a peek across the table. The duke happened to look up from his poulets a la régence.
With the smallest lift of his brow, Lord Pelham asked her how she was doing. With a returning lift of her shoulder, she indicated she was fine. It was the best exchange she’d had during the meal so far. In another minute, Lord Ridley finally attempted to show an interest by questioning where her father went to school, Eton or Harrow, and from what part of England the Rare family hailed.
After her answers seemed to dissatisfy him, he looked to his right for someone else with whom to converse. Thus, Amity sat unspeaking for an entire course, feeling shunned and a little sorry for herself.
With Lord Ridley’s shoulder firmly toward her, she knew her only hope to escape her isolation was to engage Lord Greenley in conversation. She almost wished her gown’s neckline were lower cut. Yet with half the meal still to come, and while Charlotte was conversing with the gentleman to her far left, Amity would make a valiant attempt.
“My lord.”
He turned slowly, his glance dropping to her bosom and the lace at her décolletage that obscured his view. When his gaze rose to her face, he gave her a wan smile, nothing like that of Lord Pelham, but at least he seemed to recall common courtesy and spoke.
“How are you enjoying the meal?” he asked.
“Very much,” she returned. “And yourself?”
“It’s better than some, not as good as others. In a word, it will do.”
“Goodness, my lord, your palate must be extremely persnickety not to find this to be a sumptuous repast. I cannot find fault with a single dish.”
He sniffed, twisted his mouth in an expression of mild distaste, and deigned to look so impossibly arrogant, Amity laughed out loud.
Absolutely unexpected, the laughter burst from her before she could stop herself. To her horror, it seemed to cause an immediate cessation of all noise in the room except for the clattering of a fork dropped carelessly onto a plate.
Turning toward the sound, Amity realized it had come from Charlotte, who was now staring at her with large, alarmed eyes.
Oh dear! Oh dear! Oh dear!
Amity’s mouth went bone dry. Reaching quickly for her wine, she proceeded to knock it over, making their hostess exclaim while some ladies tittered at her clumsiness. One of the servers rushed forward to mop it up, remove the glass, and replace it with a full one — all within about thirty seconds.
The longest thirty seconds of Amity’s life — with the other diners staying completely silent. She could only be eternally grateful the wine had been white.
“Doesn’t anyone laugh at a dinner party anymore?” Lord Pelham suddenly asked. Amity looked at him with gratitude, and he winked at her. “I, for one, am delighted at the happy sound and am ready to laugh along with the lovely young miss.”
“Perhaps if we knew what had caused the outburst of good humor,” said Lady Peabody, without any malice, sounding as if she genuinely wished to be in on the joke.
Drats and double drats! Amity could hardly say it was Lord Greenley’s sourpuss expression that had engendered her involuntary laughter. In fact, by the look on his face, he knew she had been laughing at him, and he didn’t look the least bit pleased.