The Luck of the Bride (The Cavensham Heiresses #3)(24)
The boy, who favored his sister in both features and coloring except for his startling green eyes, stepped forward and regarded McCalpin. Without any prompting from his sister, he held out his hand. “I’m Lord Bennett Lawson.”
With a nod, McCalpin shook his small hand. “It’s a pleasure.”
Bennett grinned. “Call me Lawson. That’s how men address each other.”
“Only if you call me McCalpin.” He glanced at March. She directed her attention to her brother. Without pain and shock marring her features, she was striking. Her fondness for her brother made her radiant.
She extended her hand out for her brother’s inspection.
“May I see the stitches this evening?” Bennett asked. Before she could answer, March’s brother turned his attention to McCalpin. “Did you get the chance to examine it? How many stitches?” His gaze met McCalpin’s as if it was completely normal to ask such questions of a marquess.
“Five.” As a boy, he’d been fascinated by cuts and wounds also. “Straight cut but will leave a scar, unfortunately.”
“A badge of honor. I wish I could have seen it.” Bennett grimaced. As was typical of youth, his focus quickly turned to other matters. “As a thank you for rescuing my sister, I’d like to invite you to stay for dinner.”
“Bennett—” Before March could finish her protest, McCalpin took her uninjured hand and gently squeezed.
“Stay for dinner, McCalpin,” the boy cajoled.
“Bennett, I’m sure Lord McCalpin—” The color was starting to deepen on March’s face, the perfect pink replaced by the most enticing scarlet.
“How lovely. Thank you, Lawson.” He’d finally see exactly what their circumstances were and why she was forging his name to embezzle those funds.
March discretely nodded to Mrs. Oliver. The old woman’s eyebrows shot skyward.
Chapter Six
The set table was reminiscent of Christmastide dinner. The delicate china that bore the viscountcy’s seal, the polished silver serving pieces, cutlery, and even the massive centerpiece of evergreens and a few apples and walnuts brought an unabashed elegance to the formal dining room. Only the buckets strategically located to capture the rain that leaked from the roof marred the scene in front of her family and Lord McCalpin.
March pressed her eyes closed at the humiliation of their current circumstances. Yet, McCalpin needed to see how they were living and change things for the better. She just prayed that the modest feast splayed before him would be enough to keep his attention throughout dinner.
The roasted pheasant was supposed to have lasted for two days, but with the marquess accepting Bennett’s invitation, they were lucky to have it on hand. March wouldn’t take any so there would be plenty. Besides, her hand had started to pound with throbbing pain. She’d never be able to cut the meat.
She chanced a glance at Bennett, who sat enthralled with McCalpin’s discussion of London’s museums. Serving the fowl this evening meant Bennett would suffer through ham and beans for two days this week. Would he have invited the marquess to join them if he knew the result of such an invitation?
How inhospitable of her to even think such thoughts. The look on her brother’s face was pure rapture. So starved for an adult male’s companionship outside of Hart, he’d probably subject himself to a week’s worth of the meager offerings.
Bennett insisted he sit at the head of the table. The large chair seemed to swallow his small body. McCalpin sat to his right. She sat at Bennett’s left. Loyal Faith sat next to her, and Julia sat next to their guest.
Faith leaned close. “I don’t know how you did it, but the table looks magnificent.”
“Miss Lawson.” The sinfully dark voice commanded her attention. “I agree with Miss Faith. Everything is simply delicious.”
“Thank you, my lord.” She tried to smile, but the pain had increased to the point that such an effort only resulted in a grimace. Her voice sounded as dull as a rusty ax. “We don’t have the opportunity to entertain much at Lawson Court. We’re delighted to have your company.”
His eyes narrowed as if he doubted the truth of her words. The blue of his eyes pierced hers. Her David was back in his full glory. For a moment, she couldn’t breathe as she gazed upon his perfection. This close to him, she could make out a faint scar that marred his square chin. It was the only imperfection in his features. To call him handsome was like calling Michelangelo someone who played with rocks and painted as a hobby.
“You’re not feeling well,” he whispered.
Bennett tilted his head in her direction at the marquess’s question. “March, are you all right?”
A sudden flush washed over her face when everyone’s gaze settled on her. “I’m fine.” She took a sip of wine. The crisp taste washed away the irksome bile that had taken refuge in her throat. She only hoped she’d make it through the evening without dying of embarrassment or falling off her chair in pain.
“My lord, tell us of the entertainments you enjoy in London.” Julia’s simple question hinted at her desperation to escape their paltry existence.
McCalpin grinned as he played with the stem of his wine glass. His large fingers dwarfed the fragile crystal, but there was an inherent gentleness in his hands. He’d treated her with the same care out in the field. Even though she couldn’t remember much of their interaction, she’d felt safe and protected.