“Will there be cakes? Why, my dear child, have you ever known us to have tea without cakes? Run along now and fetch the others, there’s a good girl.”
Rutherford chuckled as Mathilda scurried off on a pair of chubby little legs. “I hope you don’t mind an informal tea,” he said to them as he led them through the entryway into a spacious drawing room. “We gave that up after the twelfth grandchild learned to walk.”
Informal wasn’t the word Oliver would use to describe tea at Rutherford Hall.
It was bloody chaos.
They hadn’t yet raised their teacups to their lips before they were set upon by a swarm of children of various ages, all of them demanding cakes. Dozens of pattering feet ran from one end of the room to the other, and a quartet of tiny black kittens gamboled about, pouncing on the cake crumbs that fell in the children’s wake.
The noise was unholy, with everyone shouting at once. Oliver had never enjoyed himself more, but he cast a few anxious glances at Dinah, who sat amidst the tumult, her brow furrowed, as if she’d found herself in a foreign country and didn’t know what to make of it. Not surprising, since taking tea with a family like the Rutherfords would be no more familiar to her than taking tea with the queen.
“Let’s see to your whisky, shall we, Angel?” Rutherford said, rising to his feet when tea gave way to a haphazard game of charades. “I’ve set aside a cask for Lord Christopher, but I thought you and Mr. Bishop might like to have a wander through the cellars.”
“I’d enjoy that. Is that agreeable, Bishop?”
Grim seemed to think this was an occasion that called for a formal bow and bent awkwardly at the waist. “I can’t imagine anything more delightful.”
Oliver hid his grin. “Very good, Mr. Bishop. Miss Bishop? Do you fancy a wander through the cellars, or will you—”
He stopped short, one eyebrow inching up.
Rutherford’s granddaughter Mathilda had grasped a fold of Dinah’s skirt, and Dinah was staring down at the child as if she were trying to work out what sort of creature Mathilda might be.
“Oh, no. She must come with me and play with the kittens. You will come, won’t you?” Mathilda clung to Dinah’s skirts and gazed up at her with pleading brown eyes.
“I…well, I…yes, I suppose I will.” Dinah darted a quick glance at Oliver, but she let the child led her by the hand toward the parlor.
Oliver, Rutherford and Grim descended to the cellars. Rutherford was proud of his collection, and they spent quite some time ambling about, pausing now and again as Lord Rutherford pointed out some of his rarer bottles, and held forth on the topics of fermentation and malted mash.
When they returned to the parlor, they found Mathilda chattering away to Dinah in that way young children do when they’ve found a favorite. Oliver couldn’t hear everything Mathilda said, but she seemed to be talking of the black kittens and listing off their names to Dinah.
Dinah said very little, but she sat calmly on the floor beside Mathilda, one of the kittens curled up in her lap, listening quietly as the child prattled on.
“We’ve finished in the cellars, Miss Bishop.” Oliver offered Dinah his hand.
Dinah scooped up the kitten in her lap and placed it gently in Mathilda’s hands. “Thank you for sharing your kittens with me, Mathilda.” She nestled her fingertips in Oliver’s palm. He drew her to her feet, his hand tingling from the slide of her skin against his.
Rutherford led them to the entryway, a servant following behind with the cask of whisky, but when they opened the door, they were nearly knocked off their feet by a blast of cold air. The temperature had dropped considerably while they were inside, and just as Oliver had feared, plump white flakes of snow were falling from the sky.
“Well now, we can’t send you and your friends out in this weather, Angel.” Rutherford shook his head at the gray clouds. “It’s nearly dark, and there’s no telling how much snow we’ll have.”
“Oh, but we can’t stay! We told Lady Archer we’d arrive tonight.” Dinah glanced up at the sky, her teeth worrying her lower lip.
“Better to arrive late than not at all, my dear.” Rutherford gave Dinah’s hand a reassuring pat. “You’re very welcome to stay here tonight.”
Grim cleared his throat loftily. “Indeed, sister, we must stay. Our dear mother will never forgive me if I risk your safety.”
There wasn’t much Dinah could say to that, but she turned a look on Grim that made him flinch. “Since you insist on it, brother, of course we’ll stay, and hope for a better day tomorrow.”
CHAPTER 4
PLUMSTEAD, ENGLAND, DECEMBER 28TH
“What do you think, Grim? When Miss Bishop asks, should I say we…Grim? For God’s sakes, man. What ails you?” Oliver paused beside the coach and frowned up at his manservant.
Poor Grim was looking a trifle green.
Grim cast a wary look over his shoulder before shifting his attention to Oliver. “I beg your pardon, my lord. I thought you were Miss Bishop.”
“No. Miss Bishop is a good deal smaller than me, and she’s generally wearing skirts rather than breeches, what with her being female. I can certainly understand how you’d confuse us, however.”
Oliver grinned to show he was teasing, but Grim was preoccupied with scrutinizing his surroundings from his vantage point on the box, and didn’t notice. “Yes, my lord. It’s just that Miss Bishop is cross with me, and I don’t like to be caught unawares, Miss Bishop being a mite…unpredictable when she’s cross.”
“Oh, I shouldn’t worry if I were you, Grim. She isn’t likely to harm her only brother, is she?”
This didn’t seem to comfort Grim. He remained vigilant, as if he expected Dinah to leap out from the shadows at any moment and shove him from the box.
“Your attention please, Grim, if you’d be so kind. Now, when Miss Bishop asks, should I refer to our journey today as an adventure, a caper, or a frolic?” Oliver wasn’t usually so unsure of himself, but courtships were a delicate matter, and this one more than most.
“Didn’t you settle on escapade, my lord? I’m sure I heard Miss Bishop grumbling about an escapade.”
“I did, but Miss Bishop has informed she doesn’t care for escapades. I suppose that leaves adventure out too, doesn’t it? A lady who doesn’t care for escapades isn’t like to approve of adventures, either. A Christmas revel? A romp, an exploit?” No, exploit wouldn’t do. It had a touch of the hedonistic about it.
“A lark, my lord?” Grim asked. “I can’t speak for Miss Bishop, but I’m fond of a good lark, myself.”
“A lark.” Oliver rolled the word around in his mouth, then nodded in approval. “A lark, yes. It’s an innocent, childlike word, isn’t it? You’re brilliant, Grim.”
Grim flushed with pleasure. “Yes, my lord. Thank you, my lord.”
Dinah hadn’t been pleased to discover Oliver wished to go so far south, and he expected she’d demand an explanation from him this morning, but when Dinah emerged from Rutherford Hall, she didn’t spare Grim a glance, and she gave Oliver only a distracted nod.