Pam poured wine, and I served the beef Wellington. “Where’s Jeremy?” I asked, noticing his chair was empty, napkin laid on the seat.
“He’s gone for a fag. Just leave his dinner on the table. His fault if it’s cold,” Alex instructed. Jeremy had gone for a cigarette right before the main course was served? How rude.
I could feel that the atmosphere had changed the minute the older men had left the room. The young men were looser, joking with each other and sitting at their ease. Pam poured the rich, red wine into all the glasses, and as she was about to put the rest of the wine back in the prep area, Alex Percival Brown said, “No, no. Leave it on the table. And open a couple more, would you?”
When I thought of all the things even one bottle of this wine could buy, I was shocked, and they were just getting William to open bottles. I began to get an inkling of what it was like to live in this world. These guys were going to be hammered before they ever got to their potatoes.
I put Charles’s dinner in front of him, and he slipped his hand under my skirt. He didn’t change expression or move any part of his body but that wandering hand. I knew all I had to do was call out for Rafe, and I’d likely have the satisfaction of seeing Pervy Charles go crashing through the dining room window. But I wasn’t without defenses all my own. In the olden days, naughty English schoolboys had to hold out their hands and they’d be caned. I’d seen it in an old movie.
I wasn’t big on corporal punishment, but Charles needed a lesson. His hand was hot and squeezing. I pictured his palm held open, and in my mind I took a narrow cane and whacked the palm that was even now inching higher.
He let out a yelp of pain and dropped his hand away.
I moved smoothly out of range as Vikram asked, “Are you all right?”
He was staring at his open palm as though looking for the welt or a sting perhaps. There was nothing there. He shrugged, looking sulky. “The waitress trod on my foot.”
Miles caught my gaze and gave the tiniest nod. No doubt he thought I had stepped on Charles’s foot, and he probably knew why and approved my actions. Though the caning had been so much more satisfying. And, I thought, how typical of Charles to make it sound like I’d been clumsy instead of admitting that he’d been inappropriate.
William went to open more wine, and as Pam and I followed, Alex said, “Thank you. We’ll ring the bell if you’re wanted.” Just as though I’d been some poor, overworked maid in Victorian times. It was everything I could do not to curtsy as I left the room.
I got the message loud and clear. Stay out.
Charles Smythe-Richards reached out and grabbed my arm. Some guys never learned. “Wait a minute. I need you.” He turned to his host. “Why don’t we get the girls to join us? They’re all lovely. Add a bit of spice to this rather dull gathering.”
Alex looked toward Pam as though he was considering extending the invitation, but Miles once more told Charles not to be so stupid. “We’ll go out later. Then you can cause all the trouble you like. While we’re here, remember, Lucy’s my friend. Try to control yourself.”
Charles let me go but replied to Miles, “I wouldn’t boast about being friendly with the hired help.”
Ass.
And speaking of asses. I pulled up my mental image of that cane again. Made it longer this time. Focused and… Whack.
“Agh,” Charles cried, jumping up in his seat and frantically rubbing his backside.
With a serene smile, I walked out of the dining room.
I headed back to the kitchen, leaving them to it. I had helped William out a few times before, and I’d heard so many extravagant compliments about his glorious food that it hurt my feelings by proxy to have these boorish young men not have a single compliment for me to pass on to William.
I wondered if I should make a few up, but I knew I wouldn’t. He’d probably see right through me. In this instance, William was going to have to take pride in his own work, because I didn’t think there were going to be any huge compliments thrown his way. Hopefully the men dining upstairs would have more class.
I’d barely reached the kitchen when Pamela said, “I’ll see if they need anything upstairs.”
William was getting the desserts ready. And they were beautiful. Since it was St. George’s Day, he’d made tiny, perfect, round, steamed strawberry puddings with white marzipan making the cross of St. George. The belt was piped dark chocolate, and each had a tiny St. George’s flag piped onto the center of the marzipan.
I didn’t know if he knew that Lochlan Balfour was a genuine Knight of the Garter, but since William was more in Rafe’s confidence than I was, no doubt he did. “These look amazing, William.”
He looked quite pleased, as he should. This was his first genuine compliment of the evening.
“I hope they enjoy them.”
“I hope they aren’t too drunk to taste dessert.” My disdain must have shown in my tone.
“Those young men will go on to great things one day. Let’s hope they remember enough of my talents that they hire me one of these days. Or, better yet, Hugo and his wife do a lot of entertaining. One way or another, I’m sure something good will come of this.”
I sidled up to him. “I’m hoping leftovers come out of this.”
He chuckled. “Well, you’ve all certainly earned a good meal. If they really don’t want to
