Sobering on that thought, she ordered a cream of asparagus soup along with the veal when the waiter returned. “I always found the veal to be one of the most tempting dishes prepared by Mrs. Elkins,” she told Mr. Donahue once he’d requested the same starter as she with roast duck for his main course.
He knit his brow. “It’s an excellent choice, though I would prefer not to be reminded of your time below stairs for the evening. It…unsettles me.”
“I’m sorry.” She’d not intended to cause him distress and thought it necessary to add, “As challenging as it was, I believe there’s a silver lining. Although I cannot claim an upbringing equal to a British peer, it was privileged nonetheless. My world was protected, so seeking employment offered an insight I never would have had otherwise.”
“One you never should have experienced,” Mr. Donahue told her gravely.
“It wasn’t easy for me, I’ll grant you. But it has given me an appreciation for the hard work required from household staff, or in this case hotel staff. I hope to use the knowledge well once it comes time for me to employ my own servants.”
Mr. Donahue visibly stilled. “When you marry, you mean?”
“Naturally.” She reached for her glass with trembling fingers and raised it to her lips while Mr. Donahue watched every move, his gaze intense, his every breath measured.
“Tell me about yourself.” He blinked as if surprised to hear his own voice. He seemed to shake himself free of the strange sensation, then added. “Were you born in New York, or did your family move there later?”
“I was born there,” she said. “So I’ve had the pleasure of watching the city transform. It’s a wondrous place, you know. Buildings are forever being constructed – it’s almost like a living creature, growing and expanding with each passing moment. And there’s so much culture to be found there too. People have come to New York from so many different places, it’s common to hear a variety of languages spoken whenever one steps outside and…” She paused, momentarily dazed by the quirk of his lips. “What is it?”
Mr. Donahue’s mouth stretched wider and since she’d never seen him smile before, it took her a moment to adjust – to gather her composure as it were – since the expression only made him all the more handsome. Which wasn’t something she’d have thought possible until then. But his eyes twinkled with rapt amusement while tiny dimples formed in his cheeks. The effect was so thoroughly attractive Calista suddenly understood why some ladies swooned in the presence of men. If they were like Mr. Donahue, they simply had the ability to rob a lady of breath.
He chuckled. “You speak with such open enthusiasm, Miss Smith. I must confess I find it not only refreshing but thoroughly entertaining.”
“You do?” She could not deny the pleasure his words stirred in her heart.
“English ladies tend to be more reserved. It makes it harder to figure out what they’re really like as people, whereas with you… I believe I’m starting to form an opinion already, and just so you know, it’s an extremely positive one.”
Heat flooded Calista’s cheeks. “I’m flattered.”
Their soups arrived and once the waiter had set them down and retreated, Mr. Donahue picked up his spoon. “Do go on.”
Calista hesitated only briefly before saying, “It’s an exciting place to live with such variety of culture and cuisine. I particularly enjoy Italian dishes. Oh, and there is some excellent Mexican food as well - some of it spicier than European fare but extremely flavorful.”
“I feel rather sheltered now by comparison,” Mr. Donahue confessed. “I’ve only ever had English or French cuisine, though I’d love to try a wider variety.”
“The simplest way to do so would be by coming to New York,” she said without thinking and swiftly slammed her mouth shut lest he think she was trying to encourage a deeper attachment between them. She took a spoonful of soup and tried to ignore the penetrating heat of his gaze.
“Possibly,” he agreed in a non-committal sort of way.
Lord, she was an idiot.
“What about you,” she hastened to ask for the sake of turning attention away from herself. “Did you grow up here in London?”
“No. I was born and raised in Devon.” He hesitated a moment as if gauging how to proceed before he emitted a heavy sigh and said, “On the family estate. My father was the Earl of Lakewood.”
She allowed that piece of information to settle. “So, you’re not just a successful businessman. You’re also nobility?”
“In a manner of speaking. I’m a third son.”
“Still…” She stared at him from across the table. The oil lamp placed between them bathed his features in a warm glow. “Should I be curtseying?”
“Yes,” he told her with the utmost gravity.
She nearly dropped her spoon. “Oh dear. I’m so—“”
“I jest, Miss Smith.” Again a hint of humor captured his features, easing the characteristic strain there for a moment. “If you curtsey to me I shall scold you severely. I much prefer to think of you as my equal.”
Calista wasn’t sure she could do so. This man had more pedigree than any other person of her acquaintance. Additionally, he’d built an impressive hotel which outdid all of Mr. Thorkilson’s construction projects. His wealth was apparent in the artwork gracing the walls, in the beautifully crafted Grecian columns and statues placed on display throughout the dining room, and in the colorful frescoes adorning the ceilings.
Additionally, he could probably trace his ancestry all the way back to the Battle of Hastings and beyond while she could only go back as far as her great-grandparents.
“You said your father was the Earl of Lakewood.” Calista knew it was an indelicate subject she probably ought to avoid, but curiosity got the better of her.
“Indeed,” Mr. Donahue said, his tone appropriately solemn. “He died six years ago. My older brother, Edward, is earl now.”
“And your other brother? You mentioned being the third son.”
A shadow fell across Mr. Donahue’s brow. “Nigel. He and I were both taken care of in Father’s will, though Nigel decided to spend his money differently. Do you have any siblings, Miss Smith?”
A waiter swept in to remove their soup bowls at that exact moment while another arrived with their next course.
“I do not,” Calista said while preparing to cut her veal. “Though I always did wish I’d had at least one.”
“They can be both a blessing and a curse,” Mr. Donahue murmured. “My relationship with Edward has always been solid, whereas Nigel and I have rarely seen eye to eye. A pity since he and I are closer in age.”
She ate some veal which was even better than she could have hoped. The tender meat melted on her tongue while the cognac-flavored sauce, spiced with crushed black pepper and herbs, filled her taste buds with joy.
“None of my relatives are the same age as I,” Calista said. “My cousins are either much older or younger. But I do have a few friends, some of whom I’ve known for most of my life, so they’re practically family. And then of course there are my parents.”