The Mad, Bad Duke (Nvengaria #2)(48)

When she placed the bite of fish into her mouth a wonderful explosion of flavor burst over her tongue—buttery, savory, salty, and smooth, delicate herbs just setting off the velvet touch of the butter. She closed her eyes and swallowed, amazed at the sensations. She’d never tasted such food.

She opened her eyes to see Gaius hovering at her elbow with a huge grin, holding out the goblet of the wine. Meagan took the glass from him and sipped, experiencing another savoring moment. The mellow sweetness of the wine nicely offset the fish, the flavors melding perfectly.

“Oh, my,” she said, setting down the goblet. “This food is excellent. Montmorency, please tell Cook.”

The butler raised his brows the slightest bit. “His Grace’s chef will be pleased to hear the first course is a success.”

Meagan’s face heated. She glanced at Alexander to see what he made of her gaffe, but her husband, far away behind silver dishes, candlesticks, and crystal, had his attention on his food.

The soup came next, a clear broth served steaming hot in a porcelain bowl. Gaius lifted one of the spoons and handed it to her with an encouraging smile. All three footmen waited with eager gazes for Meagan to take her first mouthful. The soup too was excellent, but Meagan refrained from making any excited statements about it.

It was the most bizarre meal Meagan had ever experienced in her life. She and Alexander might have been in different rooms for all their interaction. Each set of servants carried out their tasks without speaking to the others, the only go-between being the butler, who handed bottles of wine to the footmen.

At home in Portman Square and in Oxfordshire, supper was a lively meal, filled with Simone’s chatter as she related the gossip of the day. Michael would listen with a fond smile, then he and Meagan would discuss things he’d read in his books he thought would interest her. The table in the Tavistock dining room seated six at most, and that was in a pinch with everyone’s elbows bumping.

The vastness of Alexander’s dining table could have been a desert, the empty chairs marching down either side, giving the impression that only ghosts ate there. Meagan imagined skeletal fingers reaching for the fruit bowl, and shivered.

As soon as she set down her soup spoon Gaius whisked the bowl away. In the delay between the removal of the soup and the serving of the meat, Meagan cleared her throat.

“I did not see Lady Anastasia at the wedding,” she said into the silence.

Every head in the room lifted, every pair of eyes fixed on her. The butler stopped in the act of handing the next bottle of wine to Alexander’s footman.

Alexander’s eyes, bluest of all, pinned her down the length of the table. “I beg your pardon?”

Meagan cleared her throat again. “I said, I did not see Lady Anastasia at the wedding.”

Alexander fingered his wine glass, tracing the facets of crystal. “No, she thought it better that she stayed away.”

“Pity, I would have liked to speak with her.”

Alexander shook his head. “You should not speak with her at all.”

Meagan looked straight at him. “Because everyone believes she is your mistress?”

You see? I can be blunt as well. But Meagan’s speech hadn’t shocked Alexander as far as she could discern. She’d only succeeded in shocking Montmorency, if the choking noises coming from him were any indication.

Alexander lifted his goblet to his lips, taking a swallow of wine. He passed his tongue over his lower lip as he set down the glass. “Indeed.”

“All this intrigue is so difficult.” Meagan sighed.

Alexander raised his eyes again. “I beg your pardon?”

“I said, all this— Oh, never mind. This is ridiculous, I cannot even see you, let alone conduct a conversation. Gaius.” Meagan held up her hand, stopping the young footman in his act of setting down a plate of roast beef. “Put my supper over there. I am going to sit next to His Grace.” She pointed to the chair on Alexander’s right. Gaius looked in that direction then stared back at Meagan, his mouth open.

“I want to move,” she repeated, raising her voice. She started to stand, but the other two footmen, Marcus and Brutus, pushed her back down.

Alexander growled a few words in Nvengarian. The footmen serving him broke away and headed down the table to Meagan. Montmorency backed against the sideboard as they hurried by, clutching his bottle of wine to his chest.

“Just a moment,” Meagan began as all six footmen bore down on her. “For heaven’s sake—”

She broke off with a squeak as two of the footmen lifted the chair with her still in it and half-galloped with it down the length of the table. Marcus moved the chair next to Alexander out of the way, and the other two set Meagan gently down, chair and all, in the place she required. Gaius led the others in bringing every piece of porcelain, crystal, and silver from the abandoned end of the table to swiftly lay them in front of her.

Before Meagan could draw a breath Gaius laid the meat in sauce, undisturbed from its journey, in its place.

“Well.” Meagan glanced at Alexander, who had continued his meal calmly throughout the move. “Perhaps tomorrow night we could save trouble by setting my place here from the beginning.”

Alexander lifted his goblet and sipped more of the Nvengarian wine, his throat moving as he swallowed. “We will dine out tomorrow. There is a ball at the house of the French ambassador.”