Daniel shook his head.
“Daniel, tell Mrs. Hardy that you’re sorry for pinching her.” Mrs. Peck nudged her son.
“I’m sowwy for pinching you,” he whispered.
“I accept your apology, Daniel,” Delilah said with dignity. “And I’m sorry again for shouting a naughty word.”
“Now, Mr. Peck, we would like you to put a pence in the jar,” Captain Hardy told him. “Those sorts of words are not allowed in this room, so there is a small penalty.”
As it turned out, Mr. Delacorte had an available penny. He passed it to Mrs. Peck, who gave it to Daniel, who bravely strode over to the jar and dropped in the penny.
Everyone began to cheer, then stopped abruptly when it occurred to them that it might just encourage Daniel to shout “SHITE” with abandon.
“Now, Daniel, sweetie,” Delilah said, “do you want to come with me to see if Helga has any apple tarts left in the kitchen?”
“TAAAARRTS!” Daniel roared, and gave a gleeful hop.
Delilah led him off by the hand. He hopped the entire way down the stairs to the kitchen.
When Mr. Marchand abruptly stood, it was as if someone had swung a hammer at Ginny’s heart like a gong.
It leaped into her throat.
“Well, on that note, I’ll bid everyone good night,” he said. “It’s far too salty in here for my delicate constitution.”
To good-natured laughter, everyone bid good night to him.
He didn’t so much as glance at Ginny as he passed her table on the way out of the room.
In fact, so subtle had he been that she didn’t notice the small, ragged scrap of paper on the table in front of her until he was gone.
She stared at it.
She turned it over with shaking hands and read:
Come to my room at eleven.
Chapter Nineteen
At about two minutes after eleven o’clock, Marchand greeted Ginny at the door of his room in the same attire that had made her lightheaded a few days previously. In other words: He was already half undressed.
She’d decided to wear her copper-colored silk for the occasion, instead of her night rail.
“You’re a little late. I was beginning to worry that your courage had failed you,” he said.
“When has my courage ever failed me?”
“Exactly how I reassured myself during those long moments of anticipation,” he replied, somewhat silkily.
He stepped aside so she could enter the room.
The click of the door closing behind her seemed deafening.
She would be shocked if he couldn’t hear the pounding of her heart, which sent the blood ringing in her ears.
The room was shadowy in the corners. But the fire was leaping so healthily high that Lucifer himself would have been right at home. It smelled headily like Marchand in here. Notes of bergamot and leather and bay rum, a little sweat.
The covers of his bed were turned down neatly.