* * *
Jane cut into the pie, placed a generous portion on a plate, added a slice of veal and some sauce, leaving room for vegetables, and pushed the plate across the table, receiving a chicken wing and a slice of breast in return. She helped herself to peas and carrots, with a mental lecture on eating too much—there was apple pie still to come—and took a sustaining sip of wine, then another appreciative swallow.
‘I beg your pardon? I am afraid I missed that.’
‘I was merely moaning,’ she confessed. ‘With pleasure.’
Ivo narrowed his eyes at her. For some reason there was colour on his cheekbones. Perhaps the roast fowl had been very hot.
‘The wine,’ Jane explained. ‘Delicious.’ She waited while he added chicken and vegetables to his loaded plate—clearly the military habit of eating well when one had the opportunity had not left him. ‘I had not expected such good food. And the Pelican at Speenhamland, just outside Newbury, has a very good reputation, I believe, so we should eat well again tomorrow night.’
‘The Pelican is extortionately expensive.’ Ivo poured red wine into his own glass. ‘There is a rhyme that says it is called the Pelican because of its enormous bill.’
‘We can afford it,’ Jane said, with an airy wave of her wine glass. The hock was really exceedingly good and eating alone with a gentleman had all the pleasure of novelty.
‘You should be saving your resources. Naturally, I will repay you as soon as possible, but splashing your blunt around at the Pelican, as though we were Admiral Nelson—’
‘He is dead,’ Jane pointed out. Perhaps she would try a little of the game pie as well, it did smell delicious, and the food was just slipping down with the aid of the wine. It was so pleasant not to have Mama sending her warning looks down the table.
‘A lady eats like a dainty bird. A lady has the most refined appetite. A lady drinks half a glass of wine at the most...’
‘Do you think ladies should just peck at their food and not show an appetite?’
‘No.’ Ivo sounded definite. ‘For a start it is a waste of the effort the cooks have put into preparing the food and food should not be wasted. Going hungry is no joke. Besides, a lady with a healthy appetite for food usually has a healthy appetite for—’ He broke off, coughing. ‘Sorry, a crumb in my throat. For life, I was going to say.’
‘Are you all right? You have become quite pink.’
‘I am perfectly well, thank you.’ Ivo topped up his glass. ‘To get back to what we were discussing: Nelson might be dead, but everyone who is anyone calls at the Pelican.’
Jane shrugged. ‘But I am not anyone, I am merely an unknown lady from Dorset. And no one will recognise you with those bruises if they are not expecting to see you. We must think of a surname if we agree to continue as brother and sister.’ She scanned the table for inspiration and fixed on the vegetable dish. ‘Pease? Pomeroy? Pomfret? Poppinghall?’
‘Preposterous. We are Mr and Miss Turnham who will be taking a private parlour—and going off to find an inn in Newbury if there is no
privacy to be had at the Pelican, believe me!’
‘Yes, Ivo,’ Jane agreed meekly, earning herself a suspicious look. It was a novelty to get her own way about anything, almost as much as this whole adventure was new and exciting. Mama and Papa were loving parents, but they were also exceedingly conventional ones, in her opinion. And Mama was ambitious. Jane would be a pattern book of good behaviour if constant nagging could achieve it—and as a consequence of this behaviour she was confident that Jane would find herself an eligible partner. Even a titled one might be possible because, as Mrs Newnham kept repeating ad nauseum, ‘Look at what Verity Wingate has managed.’
Jane had pointed out that there were no eligible dukes presently available, but that had merely sent her mother back to the Peerage to check each ducal line for unmarried heirs, or sons of heirs. But none was in Dorset and it was too much for even the most optimistic mama to hope that any would stray into the path of Miss Newnham, so her parents, who had treated as mere politeness previous vague invitations from Aunt Hermione in her letters, had decided to see what might be achieved.
‘Poor dear Hermione has not been well, it seems. We really should make the effort to visit her now she has recovered. And she has such a generous nature,’ Mama had murmured.
Jane had no trouble in translating that as, If we play our cards right my wealthy sister-in-law will fund a come-out.
Her father’s younger sister was inclined to approve of her niece, it seemed, and the hoped-for invitation for Jane to make her somewhat belated London debut next Season was on the verge of being made, if the hints Aunt had dropped were to be believed. And then, one naked footman later, Jane was on her way to the sedate safekeeping of Cousin Violet whose sole male indoor servant was sixty if he was a day.
Her wine glass was empty and both the bottles were nearer Ivo’s side of the table. Jane pointed this out.
‘You have had quite enough to drink.’
‘Two glasses only.’
‘Three and that is doubtless two too many.’
Perhaps it would not be as easy as she had thought, getting her own way with Lord Kendall. Jane reached for the bottle and he moved it out of reach, his expression suddenly reminding her that he had been an officer and was used to being obeyed.
‘You, my lord, are no f...fun.’ Although perhaps he was right after all, her tongue had almost got in a tangle and it was a most improper thing to say, mumbled or otherwise.
‘I am delighted that you think so, because that is absolutely the impression I wish to give, Miss Newnham. This entire expedition should not be amusing, entertaining or, in any way, fun. If we are fortunate it will be routine, dull and uneventful. If not, it has the potential for scandal, disaster and extreme embarrassment—’