Page 24 of The Runaway Duchess

“The lot of you can sail wherever you please,” she said. Her voice was severe but she couldn’t hide the twinkle in her eye. “But not now. Now it’s time to eat.”

Tomas sat at the head of the table as his family ranged down the sides. When Aunt Joan and Uncle Kitto were still alive, Uncle Kitto had been the one to preside over meals, making them all laugh with tales of his mishaps on the road. Washed-out bridges. An impassable stretch of sleeping sheep. As a family doctor, he’d spent dawn to dusk on horseback visiting far-flung patients. No flashy equipage. Not even a dog cart. Tomas was a different kind of doctor, with a thoroughly modern sensibility. Nonetheless, Neal could see how much it pleased him, taking on his father’s role in the family, and in the county at large.

Tomas had never fought against the tide of his life, as Neal had. He hadn’t lost time in mad, dangerous endeavors. Lost friends.

“The Jenkins girl has come round.” Tomas was recounting his news from the day while Kelyn poured the beer. “Cobbe fell off the church wall and bruised his head, the rascal.”

As Tomas spoke, the rest of the family interrupted with questions and sallies. Laughter rang out. Neal’s thoughts drifted.

You can’t wander the world forever, my boy, like an anointed rogue. That was what his father had said when Neal returned from his first commission with Varnham and contracted at once for the second.

There’s too much Traymayne in you. You’ll see. Your roots are too deep.

His eyes found Muriel. She sat catty-corner to him, between Davy and Alice’s husband, William. William was a great bear of a man, as gentle in nature as one of his Jersey cows. He’d been married to Alice for the better part of a decade, but, at that moment, Muriel was smiling up at him and he looked as besotted as a schoolboy. He served her half the dish of fried potatoes before he realized what he was doing. Alice didn’t seem to mind, or even notice. She was calling to their three children, who’d decided to play a game of libbety-lat on the stairs.

“Libbety-lat, libbety-lat.” Their voices chorused as their feet pounded the step. “Who can do this and who can do that?”

“I tried,” Alice said comfortably, abandoning her efforts and forking a chop onto her plate. “By sunset, they’ll be hungry as the grave, and I’ll remind them they chose libbety-lat for dinner.”

“We’ll send you home with whatever you like,” said Kelyn, laughing. “We can’t let the children go hungry. They’re thin as lathes.”

“Oh, don’t mind that. The more they eat, the thinner they get.” Alice sighed. “I can’t say they feature me in that respect.”

“So you’re not wanting me to pass you this gravy?” Kelyn made to put down the gravy boat, and Alice reached for it, dimples flashing.

“That I never said.”

“Leave a drop for our guest.” Tomas grinned at Muriel as Alice doused her chop. “I hope you like potatoes.”

Muriel looked down at the mountain on her plate.

“Oh, I’m sure I’ll like these,” she said. She picked up her fork and took a tiny bite. “Exquisite,” she said, treating the table at large to a dazzling smile. “You don’t know how difficult it is to find a decent cook in London.”

She looked to Neal for confirmation. He smiled back, teeth aching where the molars ground together. Elizabeth herself couldn’t have chosen a less apposite line. He registered the unfairness of his irritation even as it flared. There was a pause before Kelyn spoke up.

“I am the cook,” she said mildly. “But William grew the potatoes, so I don’t dare take the credit. They come flavorful from the ground.”

Muriel blushed furiously.

“I’ve often thought it would be charming to cook,” she said to Kelyn. “A soufflé, for example. It could become all the rage. Cooking. You could make an evening of it.”

His cousins exchanged little glances. Muriel straightened her shoulders, her face bright with embarrassment. But she would be a success. Neal could see the determination stamped on her features. Irritation aside, he had to hand it to her. She didn’t give up easily. You could admire the tenacity, if you ignored the technique. Eyes wide, she turned to William.

“And you!” She shook her head. “I would never have known you for a farmer. I thought one distinguished farmers by their smocks.”

Emmeline made a choking sound. William tugged the lapels of his dark jacket and smiled uncertainly. Muriel bit her lip, eyes narrowing as she refined her strategy.

“You could pass for a man in town, is what I meant to say.” She delivered this last with the air of a woman bestowing a considerable compliment and sat back in her chair, pleased.

“You do look well, William.” Neal speared one of the last fried potatoes from the dish as he came to Muriel’s rescue. “How is the herd?”

Unfortunately, William had always been a man of few words. The presence of a raving beauty at his elbow batting her eyes as she insulted him with the highest praise she could muster did nothing to loosen his tongue.

“Doing keenly,” he said.

“Glad to hear it,” said Neal after a pause.

“Summering on the moor,” William added, with a touch of desperation. He turned his attention abruptly to his plate and began to masticate an overlarge bite of chicken.