The Countess' Lucky Charm by A. M. Westerling Read Free Book Online Page A

for an instant. “That explains why I never got spring sickness.”
    “How so?” Dr Taylor asked.
    “I stole me an orange almost every day. From the markets. I went to a different one every day, so I wouldn’t get caught,” she bragged.
    Dismay surged through Temple. Didn’t she realize she’d admitted to being a thief? The charade as his wife had hardly begun and already it teetered on the edge of disaster.
    “Simone!” He tapped his finger on his mouth to shush her.
    “Simone, really!” Mrs Featherstone exclaimed.
    Simone looked at Temple. At the sight of his murderous expression, she switched her gaze to the captain’s wife.
    “I didn’t mean to say that,” she mumbled. “Sometimes I say things without thinking.” A flush crept through her cheeks.
      “Agreed,” Temple growled. “So enough chatter and let us begin our meal.” He couldn’t decide whether his own embarrassment at Simone’s behaviour or embarrassment on her behalf peppered his brow with beads of sweat. He swiped his forehead with his napkin, frantically shaking his head when he noticed Simone about to copy him. Bloody hell, how would they survive this meal without looking like a pair of buffoons? He groaned inwardly and looked at the clock.
    She blinked and replaced her napkin on her lap.
    Mrs Featherstone served the soup from a chipped tureen, carefully passing out the bowls one by one. Simone immediately grabbed her bowl and slurped its contents.
    Temple gave her a ferocious kick under the table.
    At another time, the sight of two piercing blue eyes glowering at him over the rim of her bowl might have amused him but not tonight, not now. He rolled his eyes skyward. The evening promised to be interminable. Somehow they must get through it without drawing more attention. No, he corrected himself. Without Simone drawing any more attention.
    He shook his head slightly. “Watch me first,” he whispered. “Do as I do.”
    She put down her bowl, flashing him an indignant glance in the process. How else am I supposed to eat soup, she seemed to say.
    He picked up his spoon in his right hand; so did she. He dipped it into his bowl and raised it to his lips. She did too although it was plain to see she had overfilled the spoon for a trail of amber broth dripped off of it and onto the table cloth. Not too bad, considering the motion of the ship. He gave her an encouraging smile.
    Simone took it as permission to go ahead and finish the bowl for she lowered her eyes and bent her head down closer to the bowl, shuttling the liquid between it and her lips without looking up once.
    He contemplated giving her another kick but decided against it, opting instead to eat his own soup while it was still hot. A quick glance around the table confirmed the others were occupied with the tricky liquid as well. Perhaps they wouldn’t notice her struggle with the soup.
    Of course, she finished long before he did. Soup dripped from her chin and he paused long enough to pat his napkin to his lips. Her expression brightened with understanding and she did the same.
    After that she fidgeted while he finished his soup. She tapped her fork on the edge of her plate before tapping it on her glass.
    The conversation died away. Temple swivelled his head to find the doctor, clerk and first mate gaping at Simone with a mixture of surprise and amusement. A sympathetic Mrs Featherstone cast an apprehensive glance at the captain, who regarded Simone with blatant dislike.
    Bloody hell, they’d only finished the soup course and already things had become undone. Perhaps an explanation would be in order.
    “Lady Wellington comes from rather unusual circumstances,” he began in his most pompous voice.
    “What is unusual, Lord Wellington, is that you think you can teach the chit table manners.” Captain Featherstone leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “I fear you’re wasting your time.”
    Temple ’s hackles rose at the captain’s haughty manner. “That sounds