Page 256 of Ashen Torment

“I imagine even the ornaments require company from time to time.”

Nathaniel adjusts his cuffs, looking across the room.

“A pleasant afternoon lies ahead.”

Isobel breaks the awkwardness with a solicitous voice. “What would you care to taste, Lord Dorian?”

The woman does not surrender.

He lowers his gaze to my plate. His brow furrows for an instant, as if those pears offend him.

Lavinia intercepts the gesture and summons the waiter with a swift movement of her hand. The waiter returns, this time with the air of a man who knows he must commit many requests to memory.

Richard orders a warm, dense pudding in a calm tone; Isobel asks for small oyster patties; Julian contents himself with black tea; Lavinia chooses spiced biscuits, pronouncing the name with musical precision. Dorian, after a brief silence, asks for a brandy cream, his gaze still obstinately fixed on my plate. Nathaniel orders a hot chocolate, without cream, and mulled wine; I, another coffee. The waiter nods several times, memorizes, and withdraws.

I turn toward Dorian, my fingers grazing his gloves resting beside the plate.

“I did not know you were coming, Lord Dorian.”

Isobel intervenes before he can answer. “We encountered Lord Dorian a few steps from here. We continued together.”

I look back at him.

Dorian holds my gaze. “I am here.”

Julian leans slightly toward Richard, raising his voice with that feigned politeness he uses when he wishes to be heard by everyone.

“I was just illustrating to Elijah how inflexible your brother is, Richard.”

At that moment, the waiter returns with his hands full, the tray swaying slightly as he arranges the plates one by one.

The scent of mulled wine mingles with that of hot chocolate, a dark cup is set before Nathaniel, followed immediately by a steaming goblet. A compact, dark pudding slides in front of Richard, while small golden parcels are arranged carefully beside Isobel. Julian’s tea is just beginning to steam; before Lavinia, spiced biscuits appear, glossy with glaze. A pale brandy cream is placed before Dorian. My coffee arrives last.

“Nathaniel is not inflexible,” Richard says as he sinks his spoon into the pudding.

Julian smiles. “And yet, he has not deigned to give dear Elijah a single word.”

Isobel inclines her head toward her brother. “Why?”

Nathaniel does not pull his gaze from the cup. He brings the mulled wine slowly to his lips, takes a sip, then sets it down with precision.

“I have nothing to say to the ill-mannered.”

Lavinia has already begun to eat. She breaks one of the biscuits delicately, then looks up at Nathaniel, amused.

“Do not tell me, Lord Brownell, that you have allowed yourself to be influenced by that article.”

With a vague gesture of her hand, she includes us all. “No one here is a saint.”

“I am not accustomed to letting myself be guided by rumors, Mademoiselle Duprés.”

“Le français sonne délicieusement sur vos lèvres.”

“I thank you,” Nathaniel replies.

Then he takes the cup of chocolate and slides it toward me. In the same instant, Dorian intercepts my coffee and replaces it with the brandy cream he had ordered.

Their gazes lock across the table.