Devil in Spring
Page 40
It was the first time Pandora had ever heard Phoebe mention her late husband’s name. Tentatively she asked, “Did you and he ever try to find shapes in the clouds?”
“Oh, all the time. Henry was very clever—he could find dolphins, ships, elephants, and roosters. I could never see a shape until he pointed it out. But then it would appear as if by magic.” Phoebe’s gray eyes turned crystalline with infinite variations of tenderness and wistfulness.
Although Pandora had experienced grief before, having lost both parents and a brother, she understood that this was a different kind of loss, a heavier weight of pain. Filled with compassion and sympathy, she dared to say, “He . . . he sounds like a lovely man.”
Phoebe smiled faintly, their gazes meeting in a moment of warm connection. “He was,” she said. “Someday I’ll tell you about him.”
And finally Pandora understood where a little small talk about the weather might lead.
After dinner, instead of the customary separation of the sexes, the assemblage retired together to the second floor family room, a spacious area arranged with clusters of seating and tables. Like the downstairs summer parlor, it faced the ocean with a row of screened windows to catch the breeze. A tea tray, plates of sweets, port, and brandy were brought up, and a box of cigars was set out on the shaded balcony for gentlemen who wished to indulge. Now that the formal dinner was concluded, the atmosphere was wonderfully relaxed. From time to time, someone would go to the upright piano and plunk out a tune.
Pandora went to sit in a group with Cassandra and the other young women, but she was obliged to stop as a set of warm masculine fingers closed around her wrist.
Gabriel’s voice fell gently against her ear. “What were you discussing with the prim Mr. Arterson while stirring your potatoes so industriously?”
Pandora turned and looked up at him, wishing she didn’t feel such a leap of gladness at the fact that he’d sought her out. “How did you notice what I was doing all the way from the other end of the table?”
“I nearly did myself injury, straining to see and hear you all through dinner.”
As she stared up into his smiling eyes, she felt as if her heart were opening all its windows. “I was demonstrating cloud formations with my potatoes,” she said. “I don’t think Mr. Arterson appreciated my stratocumulus.”
“I’m afraid we’re all a bit too frivolous for him.”
“No, one can’t blame him. I knew better than to play with my food, and I’ve resolved never to do it again.”
Mischief flickered in his eyes. “What a pity. I was about to show you the one thing carrots are good for.”
“What is it?” she asked, her interest piqued.
“Come with me.”
Pandora followed him to the other side of the room. Their progress was briefly interrupted as a half-dozen children crossed in front of them to pilfer sweets from the sideboard.
“Don’t take the carrot,” Gabriel told them, as a multitude of small hands snatched almond and currant cakes, sticky squares of quince paste, crisp snow-white meringues, and tiny chocolate biscuits.
Ivo turned and replied with a chocolate biscuit making a bulge in his cheek. “No one is even thinking of taking the carrot,” he told his older brother. “It’s the safest carrot in the world.”
“Not for long,” Gabriel said, reaching over the herd of feasting children to retrieve a single raw carrot from the side of a dessert tray.
“Oh, you’re going to do that,” Ivo said. “May we stay and watch?”
“Be my guest.”
“What is he going to do?” Pandora asked Ivo, wildly curious, but Ivo was prevented from answering as a matron approached to shoo the marauders away from the plates of sweets.
“Off with you, now!” the vexed mother exclaimed. “Begone! Those sweets are too rich for you, which is why you were all given plain sponge cake at the end of your dinner.”
“But sponge cake is just air,” one of the children grumbled, while pocketing an almond cake.
Suppressing a smile, Gabriel addressed his younger brother in a quiet undertone. “Ivo, weren’t you put in charge of managing this lot? It’s time to demonstrate some leadership.”
“This is leadership,” Ivo informed him. “I’m the one who led them in here.”
Pandora exchanged a laughing glance with Gabriel. “No one likes dry sponge cake,” she said in Ivo’s defense. “One may as well eat a sponge.”
“I’ll take them out in a minute,” Ivo promised. “But first I want to fetch Lord Trenear—he’ll want to see the carrot trick.” He dashed off before anyone could reply. The boy had taken a liking to Devon, whose straightforward masculine character and ready sense of humor appealed to him.
After settling the matron’s ruffled feathers, and cautioning the children not to take all the sweets, Gabriel led Pandora toward a narrow pier table in the corner of the room.
“Now, what is that for?” she asked, watching as he took out a pocket knife and pared the end of the carrot.
“It’s part of a card trick.” Casually Gabriel set the carrot into a silver candleholder on the pier table. “In the absence of an honest talent such as singing or playing piano, I’ve had to develop what few skills I possess. Especially since for the greater part of my youth”—he had raised his voice just enough that his father, who sat at a nearby table playing whist with the other gentlemen, could hear—“I was abandoned to the unwholesome companionship of the sharpers and criminals who frequented my father’s club.”
“Oh, all the time. Henry was very clever—he could find dolphins, ships, elephants, and roosters. I could never see a shape until he pointed it out. But then it would appear as if by magic.” Phoebe’s gray eyes turned crystalline with infinite variations of tenderness and wistfulness.
Although Pandora had experienced grief before, having lost both parents and a brother, she understood that this was a different kind of loss, a heavier weight of pain. Filled with compassion and sympathy, she dared to say, “He . . . he sounds like a lovely man.”
Phoebe smiled faintly, their gazes meeting in a moment of warm connection. “He was,” she said. “Someday I’ll tell you about him.”
And finally Pandora understood where a little small talk about the weather might lead.
After dinner, instead of the customary separation of the sexes, the assemblage retired together to the second floor family room, a spacious area arranged with clusters of seating and tables. Like the downstairs summer parlor, it faced the ocean with a row of screened windows to catch the breeze. A tea tray, plates of sweets, port, and brandy were brought up, and a box of cigars was set out on the shaded balcony for gentlemen who wished to indulge. Now that the formal dinner was concluded, the atmosphere was wonderfully relaxed. From time to time, someone would go to the upright piano and plunk out a tune.
Pandora went to sit in a group with Cassandra and the other young women, but she was obliged to stop as a set of warm masculine fingers closed around her wrist.
Gabriel’s voice fell gently against her ear. “What were you discussing with the prim Mr. Arterson while stirring your potatoes so industriously?”
Pandora turned and looked up at him, wishing she didn’t feel such a leap of gladness at the fact that he’d sought her out. “How did you notice what I was doing all the way from the other end of the table?”
“I nearly did myself injury, straining to see and hear you all through dinner.”
As she stared up into his smiling eyes, she felt as if her heart were opening all its windows. “I was demonstrating cloud formations with my potatoes,” she said. “I don’t think Mr. Arterson appreciated my stratocumulus.”
“I’m afraid we’re all a bit too frivolous for him.”
“No, one can’t blame him. I knew better than to play with my food, and I’ve resolved never to do it again.”
Mischief flickered in his eyes. “What a pity. I was about to show you the one thing carrots are good for.”
“What is it?” she asked, her interest piqued.
“Come with me.”
Pandora followed him to the other side of the room. Their progress was briefly interrupted as a half-dozen children crossed in front of them to pilfer sweets from the sideboard.
“Don’t take the carrot,” Gabriel told them, as a multitude of small hands snatched almond and currant cakes, sticky squares of quince paste, crisp snow-white meringues, and tiny chocolate biscuits.
Ivo turned and replied with a chocolate biscuit making a bulge in his cheek. “No one is even thinking of taking the carrot,” he told his older brother. “It’s the safest carrot in the world.”
“Not for long,” Gabriel said, reaching over the herd of feasting children to retrieve a single raw carrot from the side of a dessert tray.
“Oh, you’re going to do that,” Ivo said. “May we stay and watch?”
“Be my guest.”
“What is he going to do?” Pandora asked Ivo, wildly curious, but Ivo was prevented from answering as a matron approached to shoo the marauders away from the plates of sweets.
“Off with you, now!” the vexed mother exclaimed. “Begone! Those sweets are too rich for you, which is why you were all given plain sponge cake at the end of your dinner.”
“But sponge cake is just air,” one of the children grumbled, while pocketing an almond cake.
Suppressing a smile, Gabriel addressed his younger brother in a quiet undertone. “Ivo, weren’t you put in charge of managing this lot? It’s time to demonstrate some leadership.”
“This is leadership,” Ivo informed him. “I’m the one who led them in here.”
Pandora exchanged a laughing glance with Gabriel. “No one likes dry sponge cake,” she said in Ivo’s defense. “One may as well eat a sponge.”
“I’ll take them out in a minute,” Ivo promised. “But first I want to fetch Lord Trenear—he’ll want to see the carrot trick.” He dashed off before anyone could reply. The boy had taken a liking to Devon, whose straightforward masculine character and ready sense of humor appealed to him.
After settling the matron’s ruffled feathers, and cautioning the children not to take all the sweets, Gabriel led Pandora toward a narrow pier table in the corner of the room.
“Now, what is that for?” she asked, watching as he took out a pocket knife and pared the end of the carrot.
“It’s part of a card trick.” Casually Gabriel set the carrot into a silver candleholder on the pier table. “In the absence of an honest talent such as singing or playing piano, I’ve had to develop what few skills I possess. Especially since for the greater part of my youth”—he had raised his voice just enough that his father, who sat at a nearby table playing whist with the other gentlemen, could hear—“I was abandoned to the unwholesome companionship of the sharpers and criminals who frequented my father’s club.”
