“Yes, but it all looks the same.”
She was wearing a dark blue dress, the buttons done up to her throat. It appeared to be something she’d work in, not dine in.
“I fear as hostess that I don’t know what to do,” she said.
“How can you not know what to do? It’s been weeks,” Luke said.
“Hardly,” Frannie replied. “Not more than two.”
Luke spun around to face Catherine, who jerked back as though to avoid a blow. He could only imagine the frustration his face revealed. “What have you been doing every night? You said she was learning.”
“And she has been, but I also said that a gaming hell was not the best environment for learning all that needed to be taught.”
“I have an idea,” Frannie said. “Why don’t we pretend, just for tonight, that Lady Catherine and Luke are married? Bill and I will come to call and then you can show me what to do. I learn much better by example.”
“I want to see what you know,” Luke said.
“I’ve told you. I’ve yet to learn how to properly host dinner.”
“But, Frannie, we discussed—” Catherine began.
“I know, but I can’t remember everything. Please just show me.”
“Please do something to move this along,” Bill said, “because I’m starving.”
“Very well,” Catherine said, raising her hands in surrender. “We won’t pretend that we’re married, but I shall be the hostess. First, we need to check on the dinner preparations.”
“Lovely. Let’s go to the kitchen shall we?”
Frannie took Catherine’s arm. They walked from the room, and Luke strode to the side table, where he poured himself a generous amount of whiskey and downed it in one swallow, before pouring another for himself and one for Bill.
“You seem out of sorts,” Bill said, coming to stand beside him.
“I’m supposed to be acting like a damned earl tonight. Do you not think she’ll be judging my behavior as closely as she will be Frannie’s?”
“What do you care of her opinion?”
Luke took another swallow of whiskey.
“You want to impress her?” Bill asked.
“No, of course not.”
“Just be yourself. The old gent taught you that.”
Luke feared, when it came right down to it, that he was going to let the old gent down.
“Sometimes, I think I would be much happier moving back into Frannie’s world than having her move into mine. What if I do nothing more than make us both miserable?”
“You’ve loved her as long as I’ve known you. Everything you’ve ever done has been to secure her happiness. I can’t see you making her miserable.”
Luke wished he was as sure.
“Are you nervous about tonight?” Catherine asked as she and Frannie walked down the hallway to the kitchen. She was still trying to figure out Frannie’s strange reaction and suggestion.
“A bit, I suppose. It reminds me of when we lived with Feagan and had to learn to take a handkerchief or coins out of a pocket without being noticed. I don’t suppose any bell will ring to alert anyone to my mistakes.”
“I don’t understand,” Catherine said. “A bell—”
Smiling, Frannie stopped. “Feagan would hang jackets and bells on a rope. You had to reach carefully into the pocket of a jacket without causing a bell to ring. If the bell rang, you felt the sting of Feagan’s cane across your knuckles.” She blushed. “Well, I never did. Luke always put his hand over mine, so he took the blow. Oddly, it made me try harder to learn the task, because I hated to see him hurt.”
“It seems you two have always been close.”
Frannie nodded. “The first night Jack brought him to us, I can’t explain it, but something about him was different. He seemed to expect us to do things for him, but Feagan beat that attitude out of him quick enough.”
“Do you think it’s possible that he’s the rightful Earl of Claybourne?”
“Well, of course, he is. The old gent asked him questions, and he knew the answers. I know he doubts sometimes, and I don’t understand that. He knew the answers.”
No, Catherine thought, he’d somehow managed to give the right answers even though he didn’t know them. Was he really that good at deception? Then a rather odd thought came to her and a shiver raced down her spine. What if Claybourne hadn’t deceived the previous earl? What if he’d deceived himself?
Dinner was an absolute disaster.
Half an hour into it, they’d finished their fish and were to be served their beef when Catherine’s patience snapped. She’d been trying to start conversations about the weather, the theater, and the park. Frannie’s and Claybourne’s answers had all been succinct as though neither of them had a clue how to expand conversation into something interesting. Dr. Graves had given it a halfhearted attempt, but it seemed his life was little more than dealing with the infirm, and they weren’t likely to engage in trite conversation. Claybourne was drinking wine as though it were the main course. He narrowed his eyes each time poor Dr. Graves spoke, and Catherine had little doubt that the doctor was aware of the scathing glances, and probably as confused by them as she.