without a hitch.
As he strolled to offer his arm to Mrs. Driscoll, he wondered how Elizabeth would have managed it.
Well, we’ll hope to see you in Edinburgh sometime in the next year.“ Mrs. Driscoll helped herself to green beans from the dish Michael held, then relieved him of the dish and passed it on.
“I’d enjoy visiting again, but I fear the Prime Minister may have other plans.” Picking up his knife and fork, he applied himself to the fifth-course meats. “When duty calls…”
“Aye, well, all of us here understand that.”
Mrs. Driscoll’s gaze briefly circled the table. Inclining his head in acknowledgment, he, too, glanced around. For all that she saw him as a potential opportunity for one of her daughters, Mrs. Driscoll had not been overly pushy; their conversation had not become awkward.
Her comment, indeed, was apt. All those about the table knew how things were done, how to behave in this select and somewhat esoteric circle so heavily influenced by the vicissitudes of politics, both local and international. He felt more at home, certainly more engaged than he did at similar purely tonnish gatherings.
Between Mrs. Driscoll on his right and the countess on his left, he didn’t lack for conversation. The whole table was engulfed in a pleasant hum. Glancing along the board covered with white damask, silver, and crystal, he noted the younger ladies, Elizabeth and the two Driscoll girls, together with two younger gentlemen and flanked by Edward Campbell, sitting in a group midway along.
Seated on the opposite side of the table, Elizabeth was engrossed in some discussion, animatedly describing something, hands flying.
Michael turned to reply to a question from the countess.
He was turning back to Mrs. Driscoll when a sudden peal of laughter drew all eyes—to Elizabeth .
The sound was abruptly cut off; fingers pressed to her lips, Elizabeth ’s gaze darted up and down the table. A blush suffused her pale cheeks.
One of the Driscoll girls leaned forward and made some comment; Edward Campbell answered and the awkward moment passed. The other diners turned back to their conversations. One of the last to do so, Michael saw Elizabeth , head now bowed, reach for her wineglass.
She took a sip, choked—tried to replace the goblet and nearly tipped it over. The clatter and her coughing again drew all eyes. Goblet finally safe on the table, she grabbed her napkin from her lap and ducked her head.
Beside her, Campbell patted her on the back; her coughing eased. He asked her something—presumably if she was all right. Her fair head bobbed. Then she straightened, lifted her head, and drew in a deep breath. Smiling weakly around, she breathlessly said, “I’m so sorry—do excuse me. The wine went down the wrong way.”
Everyone smiled easily and returned to their discussions.
Talking to the countess, Michael found his mind wandering. The incident was a small thing, yet…
His gaze drifted up the table to Caro at its end, engaged in what appeared to be a scintillating discussion with the duke and the general. If she had choked… a big “if admittedly, but if she had, he was certain she’d have passed the moment off in a much more charming way.
Still, as Caro had said, Elizabeth was young.
He smiled at the countess. “I hope to visit your country again in the not-too-distant future.”
When the company reassembled in the drawing room, Michael continued to observe Elizabeth , but from a distance. She remained surrounded by the younger crew, leaving all hostly duties to her aunt and father, giving him no chance to evaluate her abilities in that sphere.
He felt oddly frustrated. Joining that younger group… he simply wasn’t one of them. It had been a very long time since events such as curricle races had dominated
As he strolled to offer his arm to Mrs. Driscoll, he wondered how Elizabeth would have managed it.
Well, we’ll hope to see you in Edinburgh sometime in the next year.“ Mrs. Driscoll helped herself to green beans from the dish Michael held, then relieved him of the dish and passed it on.
“I’d enjoy visiting again, but I fear the Prime Minister may have other plans.” Picking up his knife and fork, he applied himself to the fifth-course meats. “When duty calls…”
“Aye, well, all of us here understand that.”
Mrs. Driscoll’s gaze briefly circled the table. Inclining his head in acknowledgment, he, too, glanced around. For all that she saw him as a potential opportunity for one of her daughters, Mrs. Driscoll had not been overly pushy; their conversation had not become awkward.
Her comment, indeed, was apt. All those about the table knew how things were done, how to behave in this select and somewhat esoteric circle so heavily influenced by the vicissitudes of politics, both local and international. He felt more at home, certainly more engaged than he did at similar purely tonnish gatherings.
Between Mrs. Driscoll on his right and the countess on his left, he didn’t lack for conversation. The whole table was engulfed in a pleasant hum. Glancing along the board covered with white damask, silver, and crystal, he noted the younger ladies, Elizabeth and the two Driscoll girls, together with two younger gentlemen and flanked by Edward Campbell, sitting in a group midway along.
Seated on the opposite side of the table, Elizabeth was engrossed in some discussion, animatedly describing something, hands flying.
Michael turned to reply to a question from the countess.
He was turning back to Mrs. Driscoll when a sudden peal of laughter drew all eyes—to Elizabeth .
The sound was abruptly cut off; fingers pressed to her lips, Elizabeth ’s gaze darted up and down the table. A blush suffused her pale cheeks.
One of the Driscoll girls leaned forward and made some comment; Edward Campbell answered and the awkward moment passed. The other diners turned back to their conversations. One of the last to do so, Michael saw Elizabeth , head now bowed, reach for her wineglass.
She took a sip, choked—tried to replace the goblet and nearly tipped it over. The clatter and her coughing again drew all eyes. Goblet finally safe on the table, she grabbed her napkin from her lap and ducked her head.
Beside her, Campbell patted her on the back; her coughing eased. He asked her something—presumably if she was all right. Her fair head bobbed. Then she straightened, lifted her head, and drew in a deep breath. Smiling weakly around, she breathlessly said, “I’m so sorry—do excuse me. The wine went down the wrong way.”
Everyone smiled easily and returned to their discussions.
Talking to the countess, Michael found his mind wandering. The incident was a small thing, yet…
His gaze drifted up the table to Caro at its end, engaged in what appeared to be a scintillating discussion with the duke and the general. If she had choked… a big “if admittedly, but if she had, he was certain she’d have passed the moment off in a much more charming way.
Still, as Caro had said, Elizabeth was young.
He smiled at the countess. “I hope to visit your country again in the not-too-distant future.”
When the company reassembled in the drawing room, Michael continued to observe Elizabeth , but from a distance. She remained surrounded by the younger crew, leaving all hostly duties to her aunt and father, giving him no chance to evaluate her abilities in that sphere.
He felt oddly frustrated. Joining that younger group… he simply wasn’t one of them. It had been a very long time since events such as curricle races had dominated
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