Gail Eastwood by An Unlikely Hero Read Free Book Online Page A

disconcerting frequency, however.
    It is not very likely she is looking at you,
he counseled himself. Upon consideration it seemed much more likely that she might be casting glances at the young Earl of Lindell, who was sitting just on the other side of Lady Adela. Still, it was safer to become absorbed in the play of light bouncing off the silver on the table or in the formation of the clouds in the painting on the ceiling at those moments when her head turned in his direction.
    Lady Vivian, on the other hand, seemed quite absorbed in her own dinner partner, Lord Ashurst. In an interesting turn-about, the quiet twin appeared to be talking considerably more than her sister. Gilbey could not see her quite as readily as he could see Lady Venetia, for Lady Vivian was seated on the same side of the table as himself, with eight places between them.
    “The glacéed carrots
vont très bien
with the salmon, don’t you think?” Lady FitzHarris said, interrupting his thoughts. “Could I ask you to pass the dill sauce, Lord Cranford,
s’il vous plaît?”
    Gilbey located and obtained the sauce for her, spooning some onto her plate with a gallant smile. He wondered if the plump baroness felt ill at ease among the other guests or if she always sprinkled French phrases into her speech to seem fashionable. Was he the only one who was uncomfortable? But then, these people would have been trained for these roles since birth, not left to their own devices from the tender age of eight, as he and his sister had been.
    He glanced at Nicholas, seven places up from him on Lady Venetia’s side of the table. Nicholas’s father had not succumbed to grief at the loss of his wife, although the place at the foot of the table had been left vacant in her memory. Quite without meaning to, Gilbey happened to catch his friend’s eye. The duke’s son winked and raised his wineglass in a salute. He had taught Gilbey the custom of “taking wine,” and Gilbey answered with his own glass. Just as he took a sip, however, there was motion beyond Lady Venetia near the far end of the table. The elderly Duke of Thornborough struggled to his feet to offer the first toast of the evening.
    “To the King, God bless him and grant him peace.”
    “To the King!” And so it went, through all the traditional toasts from the Prince Regent and the nation on down to the host and his fair daughters, the health of the company, and the skill of the cooks. The glasses were charged and recharged several times, keeping the servants busy.
    “La! I shall be quite giddy by the time I drink another glass,” declared Lady Adela when her glass was filled once again. Unfortunately she accompanied this pronouncement with a dramatic fluttering of her hand that caught the poor footman’s arm just as he was refilling Gilbey’s glass. Glass, bottle, and footman all lurched at the same moment, sending the wine quite where it did not belong.
    “Oh, heavens!” cried Adela, leaping up in alarm even as the horrified footman began to beg Gilbey’s forgiveness. The dark red wine splashed down Gilbey’s arm, soaking into his coat-sleeve, pooling on his trousers, and finally running down his leg.
    “Never mind, never mind. It was purely an accident,” Gilbey mumbled, rising slowly to test whether the wine had quite finished its travels. He was certain the carpet beneath his feet was worth a hundred times the value of his modest clothing. When he looked up he realized that all the eyes around the table were turned toward him.
    So much for not attracting attention,
he thought with a sigh. The sooner he retreated from the dining room the sooner the rest of them would return to their meal and forget him. Certainly he was not needed to help chaperon anyone in such a structured setting as dinner. Perhaps he could even escape the inevitable evening of cards that was bound to follow.
    “Oh, my dear sir! Your poor coat!”
    “How terribly clumsy! That footman should be turned off.”
    The