“While that may be true,” Elizabeth replied lightly, “I suspect the spaniels belong more to my younger sister than to our father. They follow her because she shares her biscuits.”
From farther down the table, Wilhelmina interjected with a grin. “Leftovers, mind you. Daphne’s their biscuit queen.”
Pomfrey laughed. “A little pied piper in petticoats!”
Their small group chuckled, and Elizabeth relaxed slightly. Pomfrey might have been a bit much, but he was sincere.
“But you must love venison, surely?” he pressed on. “And I’m rather partial to a boar’s head with an apple in its mouth. Seasoned with cloves and honey glaze.”
“I enjoy venison on occasion,” Elizabeth said, careful. “Though I admit I’ve never had much affection for anything still bearing its own head at the table. Our eldest sister doesn’t eat meat at all, despite our father’s enthusiasm. She simply finds the hunt… unappealing.”
Pomfrey sobered. “A compassionate soul, then.”
They ate in brief silence. Elizabeth appreciated the rich broth and delicate fish course, though her appetite was never especially large. She believed in eating for strength, not performance.
Pomfrey set down his fork. “You can tell a lot about a person by the way they choose their supper. I admire your sister’s conviction. I don’t trust those who pretend to nibble at asparagus here, only to gorge on duck elsewhere.”
“My lord,” Elizabeth said mildly, “restraint can be sincere. Some ladies eat sparingly because their appetites are delicate. Others savor each bite slowly because each mouthful is… an experience.” Her voice dipped slightly, her tone soft and deliberate. “In fact,” she added, eyes gleaming just a little, “I know a lady who tastes every bite like it’s a revelation. An explosion of sensation.”
Across the table, she caught the Duke’s eye. He was staring. His friend, the Earl of Whitton, tugged at his sleeve, whispering something, but the duke didn’t look away.
Wilhelmina lifted her glass. “Hear, hear,” she whispered with a smirk.
Pomfrey looked awestruck. “Lady Elizabeth, I daresay… I’ve never thought of it that way. But I shall from now on.”
Elizabeth gave him a gracious smile, her heart light. There might not be sparks between them, but there was good conversation. And that was rare enough.
“I’m glad to have contributed something to your reflections, my lord,” she said sweetly.
From across the room, she still felt the Duke’s gaze both warm and lingering.
And for a moment, the silk clinging to her skin felt a little bolder than she remembered.
Alasdair watched her.
Lady Elizabeth Brighton, resplendent in deep blue silk, conversing easily with the young lord seated beside her.
Her laughter was light, unforced—music in itself—and something inside him uncoiled at the sound of it. She leaned slightly toward Lord Pomfrey as she spoke, her eyes sparkling with that particular mischief that had undone him more than once already.
She was glowing.
And others were noticing.
Not just Pomfrey, who seemed utterly entranced, but half the men within earshot. They watched her as if she were the only illumination in the room, and for all Alasdair knew, she might well have been.
Heshouldbe proud. After all, she’d taken the lessons he’d offered and wielded them with devastating effect. She was poised, clever, alluring. Every inch the polished lady society adored.
But pride was not what burned in his chest.
She was going to rid him of any peace of mind he ever hoped to find.
“Stop glaring,” Seth muttered beside him, good-natured and too amused by half.
“I’m not glaring,” Alasdair said tightly.
“You are. If looks could wound, Pomfrey would be dueling you at dawn. It’s like he insulted your entire clan.”
He might as well have,Alasdair thought savagely.