Back in the kitchen, William took off his suit jacket and placed it on a handy hanger. No doubt Jack Briggs was accustomed to slipping his jacket on and off as well. He donned his big apron and went into catering mode. The man who was normally so deferential and soft-spoken turned into an efficient kitchen commander. I loved watching him switch like this. And I went from pampered guest and close friend to worker bee.
He set timers, and we helped him unpack all the food and put it where he told us to. Fridge or countertop. Nothing went in the oven yet, but William turned the ovens on.
He checked his watch. “Right. We’ve got thirty minutes until we serve the first course. Lucy, go into the dining room and check that the table is set correctly.” He ran through the various forks and spoons and glasses, and I tried to memorize it all. “Mrs. Briggs was to set the table to my specifications, but I’d like you to double check.”
I nodded, really hoping that Mrs. Briggs had done the job right because William had lost me at seafood fork (not to be confused with fish fork!).
“Violet, you do the same upstairs.”
“I’ll check the drawing room, see if drinks need freshening,” Pamela said, clicking out on those ridiculous heels before William could stop her. As I watched her go, it occurred to me that she hadn’t dressed for downstairs. She was groomed and gowned for upstairs.
I didn’t need to do much in the dining room. Mrs. Briggs had done a better job than I would have, and everything seemed to be in its place, including a fan of wine glasses, each for a different kind of wine.
Back in the kitchen, William was working quickly and efficiently. He had the oven on, and the chafing dishes he’d brought were already set up.
Whenever the front doorbell rang, it rang in the kitchen, too, presumably so if the butler was back here, he could hotfoot it out front.
“When do you want me to light the candles in the dining room?”
He checked his watch. “At seven twenty-five, they’ll all go into the dining room, where we’ll serve the first appetizers and champagne.” I could spend the rest of my life in that one room. It was so gorgeous.
I could hear the front doorbell ring and, obviously, the butler was answering the door. Meanwhile, I helped William plate the first course. It was four perfect and tiny morsels. A tiny tower of beetroot and smoked salmon, an oyster in its shell with some kind of sauce, a bit of roast duck served on a tiny potato rosti with feathers of fried onion, and a sliver of Melton Mowbray pork pie. “They’ll be full before they get to the first course,” I said.
“They’re young lads with ferocious appetites. Anyway, the more I can get them to eat, the more it will soak up the alcohol.” We carried the prepared plates into the preparation room.
William went to the big wine fridge and opened it. “When they first sit down, I’ll open and pour champagne.” He pulled out a bottle and gave a low whistle when he studied the label.
I looked over his shoulder. I didn’t know much about champagne. This one was Krug from 2004. “Fancy?” I asked.
“This stuff is a thousand quid a bottle. Each bottle is numbered.” Figured. Back in my college days, we got excited about a kegger.
“You’re a wine expert too?”
He shrugged. “I bought a couple of cases of this for Rafe. He likes to keep his cellar well stocked.”
He glanced at his watch. “You can light the candles in the dining room now.”
Before I headed through the door, he stopped me. “Lucy, these young men don’t have the best reputations. Come and get me if there’s any trouble at all.”
“They’re in a parent’s house. How much trouble can they cause?”
He rolled his eyes. “From what I’ve heard, quite a bit. Just don’t take any nonsense.”
I was getting tired of these warnings. I wasn’t a defenseless damsel in distress. “I have no intention of it.”
I went through to the dining room. I had my back to the main doorway to the room, the one that led to the hallway that the guests used. I was leaning over lighting the candelabra in the middle of that beautiful, polished dining table when someone behind me said in a super posh voice, “Hello. I had no idea tonight’s dinner was going to be quite so delectable.”
Seriously?
I turned around and saw a gorgeous-looking guy leaning against the doorjamb with studied casualness. He was wearing the same outfit Rafe had on. The navy suit with big, embossed brass buttons, the cream silk waistcoat, maroon bow tie and highly polished shoes. He should have looked ridiculous, but he looked amazing, like one of the actors in a BBC period drama had stepped out of the screen and was talking to me. He had blond, wavy hair, chiseled features, deep and beautiful blue eyes. Also an I-could-eat-you-all-up grin. He couldn’t have been more than twenty-one or -two, and he looked as though he owned the world. Of course, if he was in this club, he probably owned part of it.
I tried to send him a glance that said, “Don’t mess with me, buddy” and added, “Sorry, I’m not on the menu.”
His gaze traveled from the top of my head to the bottom of my shoes, taking their lazy time doing it too. “Maybe later then.”
Maybe never. Before I could answer, three more guys came in. All wearing the same outfit and all equally gorgeous. It was like these boys had been taken as babies, polished, given every possible advantage from the best food to the most amazing cultural enrichment and sheltered from every ill wind. They looked like they’d never suffered a pimple, a cold, a bad day at school or a broken heart. I suppose there
