Blackhearts (6 page)

a way to make herself feel better when confronted with a rival.

Despite his irritation with Anne, even he had to admit that

Patience’s words had been in poor taste.

“The food is simply wonderful,” William said, taking a por-

tion of potatoes from the platter in Anne’s hands.

Anne hesitated before moving on to Patience.

“Drummond demands the best,” Lord Hervey boomed,

taking a hearty bite of pheasant. “Have you not seen his ship?”

Lady Hervey laughed, a shrill sound like breaking glass,

much like her daughter’s laughter. “I, personally, have not.

Would you be so kind as to show it to me?” she said, leaning

toward Teach. “My own private tour.”

Teach chanced a glance at the baron, surprised the baron-

ess would speak to her future son-in-law in that manner. The

baron didn’t seem to notice his wife’s boldness.

His daughter certainly did. Patience cleared her throat.

“Mr. Edward doesn’t have time for such things, Mama. We have

much more pressing issues to discuss.”

Lady Hervey leaned back in her seat, a frown between her

brows. Teach could practically see the wheels turning in her head as she tried to come up with something to break the strained

silence. It was clear from Patience’s reaction that she was accustomed to her mother’s flirtatious behavior. Only the baron

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appeared unaffected. If her daughter’s marriage hadn’t been planned for two years, Teach had the distinct feeling the baroness would likely have made a play for him herself.

It had been more than a year since Teach had last seen the

Hervey family. He was trying to decide if they had changed so very much in that time, or if the change lay solely with him. Before, he’d found their eccentricities amusing. Now he was annoyed.

The maids retired to the side of the buffet, and Teach found

his eyes drawn to Anne over the course of the meal. Her expres-

sion was oddly calculating. She appeared to be watching the

group, waiting for something, but he was unsure what.

All he knew was that her expression did not match that of

the other girl’s. The two could not have been more different.

The plump one made eyes at William, blushing a pretty pink

when he returned her stare. Anne looked like she wished the

entire dinner party would fall off the end of a dock, with nary

a boat in sight.

“Tell me about your year at sea, Mr. Edward,” Lady Hervey

said, reaching over and touching Teach on his sleeve.

“I wouldn’t know where to begin,” he said, his face lighting

up at her request.

“Was it terribly difficult?”

“It was the most difficult thing I’ve ever done. In the past

twelve months I’ve encountered more danger than some men

experience their whole lives. We nearly sank in a storm off the

coast of Jamaica. We were attacked by a Spanish sloop with ten

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guns and a crew of fifty, and barely made it to port before our captain died from his injuries,” he said, aware he held the entire room captive with his voice. “Yet if the chance were to present

itself, I would leave again tomorrow.”

Teach wasn’t sure who appeared more displeased at his

statement—Patience, Lady Hervey, or his father. Anne, for one,

looked thrilled. She was no doubt wondering if she could go

to the docks herself and commission a captain and a ship if

it meant she would be rid of him. Teach’s irritation with the

girl took on illogical proportions. She definitely needed to be

taught her proper place in this household.

“But surely you don’t mean that,” Patience said, leaning

forward and revealing a dangerous amount of décolletage, no

longer content to let her mother steer the conversation.

It was Drummond who spoke next, his face hard. “No, he

does not mean it. Edward’s time at sea has passed. I granted him one year, to get it out of his system,” he said, glowering. “He had a bit of excitement and adventure, but now it’s time to get serious again about his future.”

Lord Hervey took a sip of wine before turning to Teach.

“You spent several years at Eton, didn’t you? A most excellent

school. I remember my days there,” he said fondly, clasping his

hands in front of him. “What was your favorite subject?”

Teach shrugged but made no comment, knowing his father

would not take kindly to his saying he cared more for naviga-

tion than Latin.

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Drummond sat up straight. “At my request Edward was exposed to many different subjects, and he enjoyed them all.

He excelled at Greek and Latin. Mathematics also appeared to

be to his liking,” he said. “He read the works of John Milton

and other renowned authors. While I do not approve of Mil-

ton’s disdain for Catholicism, Edward learned a great deal.”

Lord Hervey slapped Drummond on the back. “If he went

to Eton, it was more likely gambling and drinking that he

learned.”

Only the slight tightening of his lips displayed Drummond’s

displeasure, but he was discreet enough not to correct the baron’s statement.

It was William who added a bit of levity to the conversa-

tion. “Oh, no, he was a model student. Despite my attempts to

lure him into shocking dens of greed, your son stayed clear of

the gaming tables and drinks so that the rest of us had some-

thing to be good at,” he said, with a self-deprecating smile.

Some in the party laughed, and the moment passed.

Teach shook his head, wondering how much longer this

inanity would continue. He did not feel well and wished

to retire as soon as possible. His head pounded, and he was

uncomfortably warm. But it was the lesser of two evils to obey

his father and simply remain where he was, a helpless bystander

in this farce.

Not to be forgotten amidst the talk of personal edification,

Patience cleared her throat. “Who is John Milton?”

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Teach groaned inwardly. She was a baron’s daughter. How could she
not
know of Milton? Teach’s mother had often read Milton’s works in the evening. He remembered sitting near the

fire, listening, inspired by the prose so full of passion for freedom and self-determination.

He glanced at his father, wondering not for the first time if

he was still intent on joining his line with the Herveys’.

The fork in Drummond’s hand stopped midway to his

mouth, for Teach was not the only one surprised by her lack of

knowledge. “John Milton was a poet,” he said, speaking as if to

a child.

Patience nodded, pretending understanding. In truth,

Teach knew she cared far more about her appearance than her

education. She could paint a pretty landscape or stitch an altar cloth, but she’d once told him that literature and poetry would

likely blemish her complexion with concentration lines.

Teach felt an inexplicable need to break the uncomfortable

silence. “Don’t worry, Miss Patience. I’d be happy to introduce

you to the works of Milton.
Paradise Lost
is one of my favorites, and I believe you’ll be a very quick study.”

“I look forward to it,” she said, smiling, no doubt remem-

bering the last time they had been alone.

William spoke up. “That’s Teach for you,” he said, a grin

on his face.

“Teach?” Drummond asked.

William nodded. “That’s what we called Edward at school.

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If you were willing to learn, he was always willing to
teach
you.”

“Well, I’m a very willing pupil,” Patience said.

Lady Hervey glanced between the two of them, a frown on

her face. “I wrote a poem once, when Patience was just a child.”

“Oh, no, Mama, please—” Patience began.

Ignoring her daughter’s protest, Lady Hervey launched

into her text. “Patience is a virtue, virtue is a grace. Both put together, make a pretty face.”

William choked on his food, his face turning red. Drum-

mond and Lord Hervey smiled politely. Lady Hervey beamed as

if lauded with praise. It took considerable effort on Teach’s part not to burst out laughing, for he could not tell if the mother

had been trying to outshine her daughter or praise her with that poem. In either case, the poem was a disservice.

His gaze found Anne. It was apparent by the frown on her

face that she thought the entire group beneath her contempt.

It didn’t help his temperament that he partly shared her senti-

ments.

At the moment the group did appear silly, their comments

trivial and unimportant. The fact that a
maid
recognized it did not sit well with him.

He pierced a potato with his fork and chewed with vigor.

How dare she stand there and look back at him like that? He

could feel her judgment of everyone, himself included, and

found he was on the defensive.

What was so wrong with the people seated at the table?

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Yes, Lady Hervey and her daughter had led sheltered lives, and seemed rather ignorant, but it was not their fault. It was a result of their station.

And, admittedly, mother and daughter were not above

competing with each other. It was sometimes hard to tell who

flirted more with the male members of the party. But Teach

didn’t mind it so much when he was on the receiving end. Who

wouldn’t want two beautiful women fighting over him?

And William could be a bit overbearing, but that was

because he was the son of a duke. There were three things in

life William could not live without. Bad poetry, sugary treats,

and women. In his case, two of those vices prevented the attain-

ment of the third. William recognized his flaws and was often

self-deprecating, the complete opposite of Teach’s father, which explained why Teach had always enjoyed spending time with

his old school friend.

In truth, the Earl of Lorimar was no more of a gentleman

than Patience was a gentlewoman.

By the time dessert was served, Teach was as tightly wound

as a top. He declined the tartlet placed before him and gritted

his teeth, waiting for the meal to be over.

The other guests, unaware of his suffering, dug into their

desserts with enthusiasm.

Across the table, Patience’s eyes grew wide with the first

bite. While everyone around her enjoyed the dessert, the veins

in her neck began to bulge, and tears streamed down her face.

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She emptied her goblet and motioned for Anne to pour more.

“I’ll have to go and fetch some, miss,” Anne said, her lips

twisting into what appeared to Teach to be a smug grin.

From his vantage point, it looked as though the decanter in

Anne’s hands was half-full, but she left the room so quickly, he couldn’t be sure.

He jumped up, but when he reached Patience’s side of the

table, he did not quite know how to ease the situation. William, too, stood next to them, for once at a loss for words. By the

time Anne returned to the dining room, Patience’s face was a

deep shade of red, and she was fanning herself with her napkin,

gasping for breath.

Lady Hervey was bent over at the waist next to Patience,

pushing the tartlet around on its dish. “I don’t see anything. I can’t imagine what it could be.”

Anne removed the offending plate and returned it to the

sideboard. Lord Hervey insisted on calling a doctor. Drum-

mond was the only voice of reason, contending that a doctor

wasn’t necessary.

“She simply ate something that didn’t agree with her,” he

said. “Perhaps she is not used to the variety of cinnamon the

cook uses.”

It took Patience three more goblets of wine before she

stopped choking and was able to recover somewhat. Everyone

took their seats once more.

After that, Drummond kept a tight rein on the afternoon’s

5 0

proceedings. The conversation revolved around the
Deliverance
, and everyone recognized just how passionate Richard Drummond was about his ship.

By the time the meal was over, Teach wasn’t the only one

sorely in need of a drink.

Everyone stood, the men moving in groups toward the

library, the women to the drawing room. Teach held the door

open as William exited. He made as if to follow him, but

stopped in the doorway.

Mary and Anne moved in to clean up the table. Mary was

nearest the door that led from the dining room to the kitchen

and slid out before Anne could stop her. The door swung shut

behind her.

Teach heard Anne curse, clearly annoyed, her arms full of

dishes. She held out her hand for the knob but couldn’t extend

enough to reach it. Teach crossed the floor behind her, reached

over her, and pulled the door open.

Trapped between the door and his body, she froze. He knew

he was using his size to intimidate her, but nothing else seemed to work where she was concerned. She was as bold as a badger

and just as fierce. He could feel the heat emanating from her.

Anne swallowed, turning to meet his gaze.

“What did you put in the tartlet?” he demanded.

Her face paled, and her blue eyes flitted to the door on the

other side of the room before meeting his gaze again. “I don’t

know what you mean.”

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“Don’t lie to me. You put something in Miss Patience’s apple tartlet. I want to know what it was.”

“Margery was the one who baked the tartlets. I suggest you

go ask her,” she said.