“I am not so impressive, madam,” Elias said with a bow. He cringed whenever someone treated his birth like an accomplishment, for a son did not choose his father.
A bastard didn’t earn the fortune attached to his family name.
“Shall we go into the dining room?” Mr. Darling offered his arm to the widow. “My daughter created the menu for this evening. According to the cook, it is sure to impress.”
Elias flinched when the adults moved across the chamber. He turned his chin so Josephine wouldn’t notice his blush. He held his breath so her perfume wouldn’t unravel him.
“It was you,” Josephine gasped once her mother was out of earshot. She gazed at Elias as though to confirm her suspicions. “Not a word about the masquerade. All right?”
He nodded. “Consider it forgotten.”
“That was so unlike me. I don’t make a habit of what happened.” She fidgeted with her purse, a rosy hue colouring her cheekbones. “Mother cannot know. She thought I was visiting my great-aunt, who is blind and deaf and likely wouldn’t remember if I did visit.”
“Your secret is safe with me,” Elias said. He offered his arm, a flutter lifting through him when Josephine looped her fingers around his bicep. He’d dreamt about this moment for months. To see her again. To stand close to her.
He wanted to feel her lips pressed against his.
“Thank you, Mr. Welby.” Josephine looked up at him as they walked toward the dining room. She flashed a smile. “Or should I call you Bag Head?”
Elias laughed. “Please do. I’ll even wear a sack—”
“No, no, I think your face is much less terrifying.” Josephine squeezed his arm, her nose scrunching to make space for a wider smile.
“Less terrifying? Brilliant. I’m pleased to know my face doesn’t frighten you.”
“I’m wretched with compliments. The worst.” Josephine pinched her lips together, amusement shimmering in her eyes. “You have a fine look, sir. Perhaps you should go to London and become a stage actor. Crowds adore faces like yours.”
“Until they witness my acting. I cannot even win a game of charades.” Elias led Josephine into the dining room, where their families gathered. He wanted to banter with her all night, for she put a warmth inside him. She eased his nerves.
Indeed, she was the same girl he remembered.
Dinner involved a humble five-course meal, for the Darlings dared not flaunt their good fortune. Instead, they celebrated their estate’s harvest in a room grand enough to seat the House of Lords. They adorned the table with flowers from their gardens. They displayed mutton and rosemary chicken—food indicative of their rural lifestyle.
“Sebastian, do you not wish to welcome our guests?” Mr. Darling asked once everyone took their seats. He sat at the table’s head, his moustache twitching with frustration.
“Apologies.” Sebastian glanced up from his plate and forced a smile. “I am thrilled by your presence, ladies. Your arrival . . . It fills me with . . . emotion.”
Mrs. Darling cleared her throat when Sebastian slid down in his seat. She glanced to her right, at Widow De Clare. “Did you have a pleasant trip?”
“Oh, yes. I find the northern moors both eerie and evocative.” Widow De Clare unfolded her napkin, then draped it across her lap. “Do you not agree, Josephine?”
“Yes. Eerie and evocative,” Josephine said with a huff. She clutched her cup of tea, requested in lieu of wine. Her demeanour seemed tense, unlike her interaction with Elias. Had she not wished to visit Cadwallader Park?
Elias reached for the fork closest to her hand, his fingertips skimming her glove.
“Won’t you miss the city, Miss Josephine?” Kitty asked from the opposite end of the table. She leaned forward, her auburn curls swishing over her food.
Widow De Clare answered instead. “Not at all! We’ve been living at our cottage in Morpeth, which is superior to the old town home. Besides, Josephine prefers the countryside.”
“Really? Why?” Sebastian stabbed his knife into the tabletop. He propped his elbows on either side of his plate, drenching his sleeves with potato pudding. Either the port had gone to his head or he intended to scare off the guests.
“Because it’s eerie and evocative.” Josephine delivered the response like a rehearsed line. She mustered a smile, one that appeared more spiteful than sincere. Had Sebastian offended her? What else could explain her sudden change of mood?
“Gracious, Sebastian,” Mrs. Darling gasped. “Mind your manners.”
“Yeah, Sebastian. Don’t act like a pig.” Fitz giggled. He squirmed in the chair next to Miss Karel and tossed peas onto Kitty’s plate.
“Please do not make a sport of your dinner, Master Fitz,” the butler said with a groan. He confiscated the boy’s vegetables and replaced them with a slab of bread.
An easier cleanup.
The valet rushed to provide a second course of savouries and sweets. He balanced platters on his forearms, poured wine, and skirted the butler with careful steps.
“I want my peas back,” Fitz yelled.
“When hogs fly,” the valet said. He grabbed the boy’s collar, forcing him to still. Mr. Darling nodded his approval.
Elias leaned toward Josephine, his heart racing when she met his gaze. “You shall have plenty of theatre here,” he whispered. “Not an evening passes without entertainment. Take my word for it. Dinners would seem quite dull without Sebastian’s tantrums and Fitz’s pea cannons.”
“Good. I like the theatre,” Josephine said with a nod. She lifted her fork and guided a square of cheese into her mouth. Still, her expression remained despondent.
“This place looks gloomy, but it’s not, really. Just mind the ghost upstairs. He doesn’t like girls who joke around,” Elias said in hopes of making Josephine smile. Perhaps her stay at Cadwallader would give him the chance to offer courtship. He possessed wealth and a good name. Surely Josephine wouldn’t care about his birth.
“We were sorry to hear about your loss,” Mr. Darling said as he sliced his mutton and doused it with gravy. “You have our deepest condolences.”
“Thank you. My late husband’s illness was a shock, but your kindness toward Miss De Clare and me has been more
