Vera clearly thought they were tacky. “Once we have the floral arrangements on the table, there will be no room for saltcellars.”
Delia lifted her chin and began removing the crystal bowls. “What a shame this table is going to look very common for Colonel Phelps.”
Marianne continued setting out the butter knives and said nothing. She wished people would stop making such a production over Colonel Phelps, but what could she do?
By seven o’clock all the guests had gathered in the parlor for an aperitif. Andrew and Delia could both be counted on to comport themselves with ease, but old Jedidiah was always a question mark. Her grandfather had the intelligence to carry on a conversation with anyone, but some people were put off by his back-country accent and coarse sense of humor. The first thing her grandfather said to their guest of honor was to apologize for the way Marianne and Delia looked “so darn pooped.”
“The womenfolk spent all afternoon out in the backyard, skinning the coons I caught for supper,” he said in a teasing voice as he shook Colonel Phelps’s hand.
Delia froze in mortification, but Colonel Phelps took it in stride and knew exactly the right thing to say.
“I’d have come earlier if they needed any help,” he said with an engaging smile. “I did my fair share of hunting and skinning when I was out west with the cavalry.”
Jedidiah nodded in approval and launched into a discussion of army rations during the recent war. Marianne stood a few feet away, trying to see the army’s youngest colonel with new eyes. If she wasn’t already so dazzled by Luke, could she have been attracted to him? He had an easy manner with Jedidiah. After twenty minutes, Colonel Phelps had established a better rapport with the crusty old man than Delia had managed after twelve years of marriage.
At last it was time to proceed into dinner, and Colonel Phelps offered his arm to escort Marianne into the dining room. He murmured all the right compliments for her mother’s fine presentation and the elegance of the setting, but all Marianne could see were the amethyst saltcellars that had mysteriously reappeared beside each place setting.
Vera noticed too. She went white around the lips while trying to graciously accept Colonel Phelps’s compliments.
Why did Delia have to do that? This evening was already stressful enough for Vera without petty attempts to see who could outshine the other.
At least the presentation of the soup course and brie pastries went well. The main course of quail with truffles was next. Vera was explaining the process of making the truffles for the elegant dish when a disturbance sounded in the hall.
It sounded like two men were arguing. A man’s voice she didn’t recognize was angry and insistent, but his words were too muffled to understand. Their butler was just as adamant.
“Congressman Magruder is not at home to visitors,” the butler insisted.
Her gaze flew to her father, who looked annoyed as he set his linen napkin beside his plate. A frazzled maid hurried to her father’s side. “There’s a man at the front door. He’s very angry and pushed his way inside.”
“Who is it?” Clyde demanded.
The maid held up her hands. “I’ve never seen him before.”
Clyde rose just as the double doors to the dining room burst open. Good heavens! It was Gray Delacroix, his shirtsleeves rolled up and hair disheveled. The butler was right behind him, dragging on Mr. Delacroix’s arm to pull him back, but Gray shook him off and pointed an angry finger at her father.
“You’ve gone too far this time,” he snapped at Clyde. “I want you to drop the charges against my brother. He’s a journalist, not a spy.”
Marianne’s mouth dropped open. Had Luke gotten into trouble? Whatever happened must have been serious to send Gray into a temper like this.
Her father struggled to maintain a calm demeanor. “That’s for a court of law to decide.”
“So you admit that you’re behind this?” Gray demanded.
“I’m not admitting anything. Your brother has a bad habit of landing in jail, so it ought to be familiar territory for him.”
Marianne gasped and stood. “Luke is in jail? What happened?”
Clyde shot her a glare, and she dropped back into her seat. A glance around the table showed that nobody else noticed her slip of the tongue in using Luke’s Christian name. All the others were gaping at Gray, who stepped farther into the already overstuffed dining room to look directly at Jedidiah.
“Did you know anything about this? I always thought you had more sense than anyone else in this vulgar family.”
Jedidiah folded his arms across his chest and locked gazes with Gray. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, boy-o, but you’ve interrupted a fine meal and aren’t invited. Get out.”
Colonel Phelps stood. “You have been asked to leave,” he said. “I suggest that you do so.”
“Wait!” Marianne burst out, jumping back to her feet to stand beside Colonel Phelps. She couldn’t let Gray leave until she understood what was going on. “Don’t go yet. Please, tell us what’s happening.”
Colonel Phelps looked between her and Gray in indecision but made no further move to throw Gray out.
“My brother published an article critical of your father,” Gray said, struggling to speak in a rational tone. “Clyde ordered Luke arrested for it, and even now he’s sitting in the District of Columbia Jail. Are you telling me you don’t know anything about this?” he asked her.
Every eye in the dining room turned to stare at her. Her mouth went dry, and her heart thudded so hard that everyone could probably hear it. Jedidiah shifted in his chair to see her better, disbelief beginning to show on his aging face.
Fear paralyzed her as the implications sank in. This was about her photographs of the scientific reports. She’d given them to Luke, and he’d been jailed for it. Heat flooded her body, and a wave of dizziness came over her. It would kill her parents if she confessed to it. Jedidiah would hate her forever.
Ten feet away, Gray’s penetrating gaze demanded answers. A stronger woman would confess what she knew, but cowardice won out.
“I don’t know anything about this,” she whispered.
“But your father does.” Gray swiveled his attention to Clyde. “Surely you didn’t expect me to take this lying down. Not when you’ve thrown my brother in jail.”
“That’s exactly where he should be for spying on Congress,” Clyde said.
“It could have been anyone,” Gray said contemptuously. “Plenty of people knew about those studies, and any one of them could have sounded the alarm. One of the scientists who didn’t like seeing his research buried could have done it. A lab assistant from the study. Someone from your own company.” He paused. “Or your own family.”
Gray didn’t look at her, but that comment was aimed at her. He knew, or at least suspected. She held her breath, but Clyde didn’t catch the inference.
“Who else has a history of publishing articles in Modern Century but your brother?” Clyde scoffed. “He’s the guilty party, and he’s exactly where he deserves to be.”
Gray’s eyes gleamed in carefully restrained anger. “People have been locking up journalists ever since the printing press was invented. You don’t have to like what he wrote, but fight it out in the court of public opinion. Throw open your books and let the public see, if you have nothing to hide. But if you fight dirty, I’ll fight back. I’ll hire an army of lawyers to unleash a storm of litigation unlike anything you’ve ever seen. You think I’ve stoked up negative press in the past? Just wait. This is a First Amendment issue, which means every journalist in the country will be on my side, and they will rip your reputation from sea to shining sea. I will fight for my brother with everything I have. If you want a war, you’ll get one.”