Now he was at last shaken from his calm imperturbability. “Starving you to death? What the devil are you talking about?”
“She serves barley gruel! Currants soaked in vinegar! Oatmeal soup with corn husks! Potatoes pickled in lemon water! Carrot pudding! And turnip cakes!”
Taken aback, Mr. Penhallow said defensively, “Carrot pudding doesn’t sound so bad.”
“With sea-kelp and purslane roots?” she hissed.
Just then Mrs. Penhallow sailed by with her satellites in tow, pausing only to whisper fiercely in Livia’s direction, “Miss Stuart! Pray refrain from brangling in the Pump Room! A little more countenance, if you please!”
Obediently Livia plastered a smile on her face, but as soon as the old ladies had completely passed by, she continued in the same furious undertone. “And what’s worse, that’s what the staff must eat as well! The poor things are starving.”
He stared at her. “How do you know that’s what the staff eats?”
“Because I went into the kitchen and they told me.”
“You went into the kitchen?” he repeated incredulously.
“Yes, and the cook actually cried. I told them—”
“Are you telling me you went into the kitchen?”
“Aren’t you listening to me?”
“My dear girl, I’m quite sure they can fend for themselves. What could possibly compel you to commune with the kitchen staff?”
Livia leaned in even closer, feeling as if she might bite off one of the elegant amber buttons on his waistcoat and spit it high into the air, simply to cause the vulgar scene Mrs. Penhallow had warned against. “I’m not your dear girl, and I went there because I was hungry, you cruel, dreadful beast!”
He looked at her for a very long moment, and then he took her arm again and began to lead her away. The only words he spoke were to a footman, requesting that he inform Mrs. Penhallow that her grandson and his fiancée would return shortly.
Gabriel sat in the Phelps Tea Room and watched without comment as Miss Stuart, in a very genteel but methodical way, consumed eight dainty ham sandwiches, three devilled eggs, and most of a plate of pastries. When finally she paused, and took a sip of her tea, he held out the plate.
“Would you care for another raspberry tart, Miss Stuart?”
“Oh, no, I couldn’t,” she sighed, sounding very happy.
Gabriel was startled at the transformation from the tense, tightly strung young lady he had met in the Pump Room to this . . . this relaxed, almost languorous girl who looked like she would at any moment begin to purr with satisfaction. It was difficult to believe that half an hour ago she was practically snarling at him and calling him a beast.
In his long experience with females, he’d never before had that epithet tossed at him. Usually it was handsome, charming, debonair, nonpareil, desirable, irresistible, distinguished (yes, he’d heard Lady Enchwood; her voice had quite a carrying quality), prize of the Marriage Mart, top of the trees, rich as Croesus, and so on and so forth, ad nauseum. Thoughtfully, he took one of the tarts and bit into it. Both sweet and tart, its deep red juices flooded his mouth.
It was delicious.
He took another bite.
Perhaps he had been a little insensitive.
He signaled to the waiter for another pot of tea. “Quite a nice little establishment here.”
“Yes, I think so too.”
“Are you sure you don’t want this last sandwich, Miss Stuart?”
“Quite sure, thank you.”
“I can order another plateful.”
“I assure you it’s not necessary, sir. Unless you want more?”
“No, I don’t think so.” Gabriel finished the tart, then helped himself to that ham sandwich. And gazed at her appraisingly while he ate it.
“My compliment in the Pump Room was not insincere,” he said. “You’re not that rather feral-looking girl I met in the woods.”
“I’m not feral anymore? That’s hardly complimentary.”
He smiled slightly. “Let us say, then, that you were—ah—unconventional.”
“And now?”
“And now you have quite the fashionable air about you.”
“I told you I was going to work hard.”
“It shows.”
“Thank you.”
“Oh, and that bonnet you’re wearing is very smart.”
“Your grandmother picked it out.”
“She has very good taste.”
“In bonnets. Not in food. Let’s talk about the kitchen staff.”
“Fine.” Feeling remarkably mellow, Gabriel said with kindly patience, “Allow me to set you straight, Miss Stuart. A lady of Quality doesn’t lower herself by visiting the kitchen area.”