Feeling the need to put some distance between them, she crawled out of his lap.

“I’m glad you don’t have the pox,” she said, standing and tugging at the wild disorder of her skirts. “And your future wife—whoever she is—will certainly be glad as well.”

The pointed comment didn’t escape him. He gave her an acerbic glance and rose to his feet in an easy movement. “Yes,” he said dryly, brushing at his own trousers, and raking a hand through the brilliant layers of his hair. “Thank God for sheep balloons.”

Chapter 10

The local families that came to dinner were quite sizeable, each with an array of children of varying ages. It was a merry gathering, with lively conversation flowing across the long table where the adults were seated. The youngest children were eating upstairs in the nursery, while the older children occupied their own table in a room adjoining the main dining room. The atmosphere was embellished with the soft music of a harp and a flute, played by local musicians.

The Challons’ cook and kitchen staff had outdone themselves with a variety of dishes featuring spring vegetables and local fish and game. Although the cook back home at Eversby Priory was excellent, the food at Heron’s Point was a cut above. There were colorful vegetables cut into tiny julienne strips, tender artichoke hearts roasted with butter, steaming crayfish in a sauce of white burgundy and truffles, and delicate filets of sole coated with crisp breadcrumbs. Pheasant covered with strips of bacon and roasted to juicy, smoky perfection was served with a side of boiled potatoes that had been whipped with cream and butter into savory melting fluff. Beef roasts with peppery crackled hides were brought out on massive platters, along with golden-crusted miniature game pies, and macaroni baked with Gruyère cheese in clever little tart dishes.

Pandora was quiet, not only out of fear of saying something awkward or gauche, but also because she was determined to eat as much of the delicious food as possible. Unfortunately, a corset was a misery for anyone fond of eating. Swallowing one mouthful beyond the point of comfortable fullness would cause sharp pains behind the ribs, and make it difficult to breathe. She wore her best dinner dress, made of silk dyed in a fashionable shade called bois de rose, a deep earthy pink that flattered her fair complexion. It was a severely simple style, with a low square-cut bodice and skirts pulled back tightly to reveal the shape of her waist and hips.

To her disgruntlement, Gabriel wasn’t seated by her as he had been the past few nights. Instead, he was at the duke’s end of the table, with a matron and her daughter on either side. The women laughed and chatted easily, delighted to have the attention of two such dazzling men.

Gabriel was slim and handsome in formal black evening clothes, a white silk waistcoat, and a crisp white necktie. He was flawless, ice-cool, utterly self-possessed. The candlelight played gently over him, striking golden sparks from his hair, flickering over the high cheekbones and the firm, full curves of his mouth.

Fact #63 I couldn’t marry Lord St. Vincent if for no other reason than the way he looks. People would think I was shallow.

Remembering the erotic pressure of his lips against hers only two hours earlier, Pandora squirmed a little in her chair and tore her gaze from him.

She had been seated close to the duchess’s end of the table, between a young man who seemed not much older than herself, and an older gentleman who was obviously smitten with the duchess and was doing his best to monopolize her attention. There was little hope of any conversation from Phoebe, who sat across from Pandora looking distant and detached, consuming her food in tiny bites.

Risking a glance at the dignified young man beside her—what was his name?—Mr. Arthurson, Arterton?—Pandora decided to try her hand at some small talk.

“It was very fine weather today, wasn’t it?” she said.

He set down his flatware and dabbed at both corners of his mouth with his napkin before replying. “Yes, quite fine.”

Encouraged, Pandora asked, “What kind of clouds do you like better—cumulus or stratocumulus?”

He regarded her with a slight frown. After a long pause, he asked, “What is the difference?”

“Well, cumulus are the fluffier, rounder clouds, like this heap of potatoes on my plate.” Using her fork, Pandora spread, swirled, and dabbed the potatoes. “Stratocumulus are flatter and can form lines or waves—like this—and can either form a large mass or break into smaller pieces.”

He was expressionless as he watched her. “I prefer flat clouds that look like a blanket.”

“Altostratus?” Pandora asked in surprise, setting down her fork. “But those are the boring clouds. Why do you like them?”

“They usually mean it’s going to rain. I like rain.”

This showed promise of actually turning into a conversation. “I like to walk in the rain too,” Pandora exclaimed.

“No, I don’t like to walk in it. I like to stay in the house.” After casting a disapproving glance at her plate, the man returned his attention to eating.

Chastened, Pandora let out a noiseless sigh. Picking up her fork, she tried to inconspicuously push her potatoes into a proper heap again.

Fact #64 Never sculpt your food to illustrate a point during small talk. Men don’t like it.

As Pandora looked up, she discovered Phoebe’s gaze on her. She braced inwardly for a sarcastic remark.

But Phoebe’s voice was gentle as she spoke. “Henry and I once saw a cloud over the English Channel that was shaped in a perfect cylinder. It went on as far as the eye could see. Like someone had rolled up a great white carpet and set it in the sky.”