Those eyes had lured him in momentarily. He wished he hadn’t asked. With anyone else such a question would be far too intimate to ask and he wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer. Please don’t let it be because of the title, he thought, or because all he was capable of was doing his duty as opposed to mustering any depth of affection. Too many people had thought that in his past.
‘It’s who you are, Finn. Your family is important to you. It stands to reason you’d want to have a family of your own,’ Catherine answered.
‘Some day,’ he answered. She was right, of course; family was important. He loved his sisters and his brother even though he often disagreed with Channing’s approach to life. ‘Speaking of family, how is yours? I trust they’ll be along in a day or two.’ It might be better to steer this conversation back to safer ground.
‘Tomorrow. My father’s nearly done with his latest book. It’s a treatise on local crop-rotation methods. He interviewed every farmer in the area for it. But you probably know that,’ Catherine added hastily.
Finn nodded. ‘I do know. I was interviewed for it, too.’ He liked the quiet, scholarly Robert Emerson. The two of them could talk for hours about things that would put the average person to sleep within moments. But that didn’t mean Robert Emerson was dull. He had a way about him of pulling people in, putting them at ease just by being himself. Perhaps Catherine had got that particular talent from him.
‘And Lady Eliza, does she share your devotion to family?’ Catherine persisted, clearly unready to let the prior subject drop.
Finn shook his head. ‘I don’t think Lady Eliza shares much of anything with me.’
‘Ouch!’ Catherine made a mock grimace. ‘Was she as bad as all that? I thought she seemed passable.’
‘Oh, she was,’ Finn put in quickly. ‘She just wasn’t for me.’ There’d been a lot of women who just weren’t for him. ‘I suppose you could say I’ve wanted something that’s not yet been available.’
‘Or someone?’ Catherine replied astutely, her words not all that different from his father’s, but she was no longer looking at him, but out over the guests. Finn could guess who her eyes sought, but finding it wouldn’t make her happy. Suddenly he didn’t want Catherine to find Channing, didn’t want her to see him fawning over Lady Alina Marliss and her delectable charms.
Finn rose, blocking her view of the room. ‘Come with me, I have an idea.’ Everyone here were old acquaintances. No one would think twice if he stepped out of the party with a long-time family friend.
They slipped out of the drawing room, her hand in his as they made their way along a darker corridor. ‘Where are we going?’ Her skirts were gathered in her free hand to keep up.
He tossed a smile over his shoulder. ‘Take a smell, you know where.’ Finn held the door open to the darkened kitchen. Cook would be having a short break before she came back to prepare the tea cart at eleven.
‘Ah, the cider’s on the stove already.’ Catherine breathed deeply and so did he, taking in the cloves and cinnamon.
Finn rummaged through the cupboards until he found two mugs. He poured a ladle full of cider in to each mug. ‘You can’t tell me this has changed since you left.’
Catherine sipped, hands wrapped around the mug. ‘Not at all. Mmmm. This is good.’ She grinned at him over the rim. ‘Do you suppose there’s any gingerbread?’
Finn whipped a white cloth off a plate in the centre of the long work table. ‘Right here.’
Catherine took a bite of the hard biscuit and its icing. ‘Perfect. No torte, or mousse, could be as good as Deverill cider and gingerbread.’
Finn took a bite too. ‘Do you remember the year all five of us sneaked down to the kitchen and ate gingerbread until we were sick?’
Catherine groaned. ‘I do. I thought I’d never want to eat gingerbread again, but apparently I was wrong because we were back at it the next year.’
‘And the year after that. I suspect we had a little help from Cook by then.’ It had become a Deverill children’s tradition to sneak into the kitchen and gobble gingerbread and cider the opening night of the holiday house party. After that first year, Cook had discreetly seen to it that they were well supplied.
‘Are you ready for our next stop?’ Finn took her hand and they were off again into the dark corridors of the hall. He stopped at the back door and shrugged out of his evening coat. ‘You’ll want this. It’s still snowing outside.’