the last. But someone important—I cannot for the life of me remember
who—once said that the only thing we can confidently expect of life is the unexpected. I have lived long enough to know that he was quite right. Or
perhaps it was a she. It is foolish of us ever to expect that life will proceed according to our plans and expectations. Miss Thompson, I realize that I
have bespoken the only private parlor this inn boasts. I suspect the dining room will be filled later. My children will be eating their dinner early. I
would prefer to dine later especially if I can prevail upon you to join me. Perhaps it is impertinent of me to ask when we are strangers, but the
circumstances are unusual."
She hesitated visibly. It was not at all the thing, of course, for a single lady to dine alone with a single gentleman. But the circumstances were indeed
beyond the ordinary, and he could almost see her weighing that fact against the alternative, which was to dine alone in a small and potentially crowded
dining room.
"After having tea with your daughter," she said at last, "I do believe I would find it quite flat to dine alone, Mr. Benning. Thank you. I will join you.
At what time?"
"Eight o' clock?" he suggested. "The children will be ready for bed by then."
"Eight o' clock it will be," she said.
He bowed and returned upstairs. He must take Georgette to his room and do something with her for a while—play chess, perhaps. He had a traveling set
in his bag, and she was getting good enough at it that he was beginning to enjoy their games. He had never simply allowed her to win. She would know and
would scold him. But in the foreseeable future she might win without any help at all.
I found her a delight,
Miss Thompson had said, and she had seemed to mean it. He had not come across many adults who shared her opinion, though a number of people were polite and
pretended to be charmed by her. Miss Everly was one such person. She smiled whenever she encountered his daughter, and called her a sweet child—an
inappropriate description if ever there was one. Through part of the London Season that had recently ended he had considered Miss Everly as a possible
candidate for his second wife, though he had never taken the step of actually courting her. It was her mother who had suggested a boarding school for the
child she always referred to as
dear Georgette
.
He opened the door of the children's room quietly. Robert was still asleep. Georgette was perched on the side of his bed, patting his back through the
bedcovers. Michael was always touched by the tender devotion with which she treated the sibling who was as different from herself as it was possible to be.
His guess was that she was trying to make up for the fact that Robert had no mother. Though she did not either, did she?
* * * * *
She would have quite an adventure to recount to her mother and sisters when she arrived at Lindsey Hall, Eleanor thought as she changed into her gray silk
with the white lace collar and sat for Alma to brush out her hair and coil it into a more elegant knot than usual high at the back of her head. She would
not after all arrive tomorrow all grumbles about the storm and the tedious night she had been forced to spend on the road. Instead she would make much of
describing her tea with the large platter of dainties worthy of the finest pastry cook and Georgette Benning for company. And she would make a riveting
story of her invitation to dine tête-à-tête with the child's handsome and charming papa in his private parlor.
She hesitated before reaching into her bag for the velvet box that held her brooch, which Alma proceeded to pin between the lapels of her collar. It was
her one valuable piece of jewelry, a cluster of pearls given her by Christine and Wulfric for her birthday two years ago. She did have another precious
piece, but only she ever saw the diamond betrothal ring she had worn on a chain about her neck ever since she had