Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR

You can lead a horse to water, but you can't make it drink.

—Saying about horses

V eronica caught up to Gladdie in the hall, terrified Edward would offer his arm as her escort to the luncheon if she wasted any time in reaching the dining room. However, upon arriving, she realized Mother had outsmarted everyone. Not only had she outdone herself with using their finest china, silver, crystal goblets, and the best linens, she had also instructed Martin and Grace to use place cards. Why hadn't Veronica seen that coming? She hadn't expected Mama to use assigned seating, but when Edward found his name on the card directly across from hers, she tried not to groan.

Mama took the seat on her right, Delia the one on her left, and the handsome older Beckett son took his place between his father and brother on the other side of the table. Gladdie, sitting down at the end of the table near Rupert, snickered like the horses in their stables at Veronica's predicament. Seated across from Rupert, Delia elbowed Veronica, showing no sympathy whatsoever. Her sisters would enjoy entertaining Rupert while Veronica struggled through making conversation with Edward and their parents.

Pa took his seat at the head of the table with Mr. Beckett on his right and Mama on his left. Veronica sank into her seat and kept her eyes planted on the first course, a bowl of steaming beef consommé. Why did she feel like a lamb to the slaughter, and seated close enough for Mama to clutch her if she tried to escape? Mama could also nudge her if she made any wrong moves.

Pa said a prayer, but Veronica could hardly focus on it. As the meal began, she avoided making eye contact with Edward or participating in the small talk her parents exchanged with Mr. Beckett. Why make Edward feel warm and welcome?

She needed a strategy to survive this elegant luncheon designed to impress their guests. What else could she do except show him she could not possibly be a suitable match? If Leviticus Beckett, and especially Edward, thought she had no training befitting a bride for an eligible bachelor from Manhattan, perhaps they would find some excuse to abandon the visit and return home.

The last to taste her soup, she lifted the spoon to her lips and tested her strategy with a long slurp. She did not have to look at her mother to know Eleanor Lyndon wore a face aghast. Veronica repeated the procedure. Dip spoon, lift, slurp. Predictably, Mama patted Veronica's skirt under the table.

Veronica cast a wide-eyed glance at her. "Did you need something, Mama?"

"Why, no, my dear. I wouldn't dream of interrupting your enjoyment of the first course."

She disregarded Mama's reply and sucked in more of the soup, creating another long slurp, suppressing a giggle at the looks exchanged all around.

Mr. Beckett peered at Veronica. "The soup is so delicious. I can see why she likes it."

"It does have good flavor," Pa agreed, but his brows furrowed.

Mr. Beckett returned his attention to the broth, seemingly unfazed by her table manners. But Veronica considered it a win. She'd garnered his attention. Her sisters looked on in horror at first, but they soon began to snicker and joined her in making the slurping noises. Even though her sisters doubtless only slurped to spare themselves from boredom and entertain Rupert, who broke into a wide grin, Veronica reveled in the sense of solidarity in protest of the idea of any of them forced to endure an arranged marriage. If she could figure out a few more stunts as effective as slurping, perhaps the Becketts would leave on the very next train bound east. Mama shook her head and held a linen napkin to her forehead.

Pa exchanged looks with Mama and gave her a subtle wave of his hand, no doubt meant to discourage her from reprimands.

Edward shifted in his seat, and Veronica's eyes briefly met his, but he locked his gaze on the bowl of consommé before him and did not join in the slurping—unlike his brother. Maybe he feared he could prevail, seated beside his father, or maybe he considered himself above such ill manners. Meanwhile, Mr. Beckett and her father did an admirable job of discussing the weather.

Her back stiff as a ramrod, Mama beckoned Martin and Grace to her side and leaned toward them. "You may serve the next course, and please begin with my daughters."

Martin and Grace nodded and began the rescue for Mama's attempt at a New York high society luncheon. Veronica didn't dare look at Grace or her mother as Grace removed her remaining soup. The faithful servant dutifully replaced the bowl with a plated salad of spring greens and hard-boiled eggs lightly drizzled with poppy seed dressing.

Veronica frowned. Their family typically ate a lunch of cold fried chicken or ham-and-biscuit sandwiches with the farm's employees gathered around two long picnic tables under the shade of several oak trees behind the kitchen. Willamena, their cook, would serve most of the meal on one or two plates. The second plate might contain a slice of apple or cherry pie.

Mama had read in the Lexington Gazette about luncheons of multiple courses of smaller quantities of lighter fare served at restaurants like those in the Waldorf Hotel. But really, couldn't her mother simply have found a new recipe for an ordinary casserole? Impressing Edward and his family certainly did not top Veronica's list.

Mama leaned toward her. "Perhaps you could ask Edward to tell you something he likes about Manhattan while Father and I chat with Mr. Beckett, Veronica."

Drat! Since the remark had been loud enough for everyone else to hear, avoiding a discussion with Edward would prove futile. She sighed. "Do tell me something you like about Manhattan, Edward."

Edward's brow arched. "Manhattan?" He paused. "I like the many rooftop restaurants and gardens. They are thrilling to visit in the evenings with the stars twinkling in the sky and the city lit up below."

Rooftop restaurants and gardens sounded romantic, but she refused to admit they did. "I can almost imagine it." Hopefully, her remark sufficed. Would he resume eating, and would Mama find satisfaction in her attempt to speak in a civil manner to their guest?

"And you? Tell me something you like about Kentucky." His head tilted to one side.

Her brows furrowed, and she resisted the urge to drum her fingers on the linen tablecloth. There was much she liked about Kentucky, but what should she divulge to a man she did not want to converse with? Relenting with a slight heave of her chest, she toyed with her spoon, refusing to look at him except for a brief peek through her eyelashes. "I like the local night races amongst the younger set."

"Ah, that sounds entertaining." Edward leaned forward. "Do tell me more. Are these frequent events?"

"Nothing to tell, really. Folks used to race right through the middle of town, but authorities put a stop to it with the institution of fines. Now, people our age have taken to racing in the countryside, usually in the evenings, where innocent bystanders are less likely to be run down. If it gets a little late, after sunset, we use lanterns and torches for light. They're quite exciting, if I do say so myself."

"And Veronica Jo has won her fair share of those races…I should add," Gladdie interjected, her voice fading when Veronica cast her a quelling look.

She didn't need Gladdie to brag about her racing ability, but she softened when she realized Edward and his family might consider her participation vulgar. She'd have to thank her sister later.

"How intriguing." A contemplative and almost perplexed look appeared on his face.

If only he didn't sound so intrigued, nor so well versed at making polite conversation. He didn't even bristle at her involvement.

"Good harmless fun for our young people," Mama said, trying to smooth over Gladdie's faux-pas.

Veronica stared at the eggs on her plate and twirled her fork for a few moments. Hmm. If she pressed the utensil hard enough onto an end of one of her eggs, perhaps it would perform some stunning acrobatic feat. That would surely send the Becketts running.

She pressed on one end of the egg nearest to the edge of her plate, and it went flying. It landed with a splash directly in Edward's consommé, startling everyone, including herself. He jumped back, and Martin, standing behind him, the next course in hand, froze.

"Oh dear…pardon my egg." Veronica smothered a nervous laugh. Perhaps she had gone too far. "I don't suppose I could make a repeat of that spectacular landing, but I won't try it again since Mother will faint." Veronica hadn't expected the egg to so fully cooperate. She had hoped and aimed for a middle-of-the-table landing, not a splash into his consommé.

All eyes wide and mouths agape, everyone waited on Edward's reaction.

Please be cross with me . Please have a foul temper so my parents will change their minds at once.

He recovered quickly, lowering his raised brows and leaning forward again. "Beef consommé is so much better with an egg."

The corners of his mouth curved upward, revealing a smile and a sense of humor. The others laughed. Not exactly the reaction she'd hoped for. He'd taken it in stride, graciously behaving like a perfect gentleman. Why did he have to look so handsome and forgiving when he smiled at her?

"Would you like the next course, Mr. Beckett?" Martin inquired.

"Yes, but I'll finish the soup. You may leave both courses here." Edward winked at Veronica as Martin complied. Edward sliced into the egg drowning in his soup, tasted it, and then looked up with a charming smirk.

"Veronica Josephine Lyndon, I don't know what has come over you," Mama chided her, but Mr. Beckett began asking about the size of their chicken flock, diverting Mother's attention.

Veronica refused to consider her efforts at sabotage a defeat. She must believe she had done enough to plant seeds of doubt about her suitability as a bride. When their guests returned to their hotel, Mama would reprimand her. But that was a small price to pay with her entire future and freedom at stake.

"Veronica, perhaps you could ask Edward about where folks go to experience the countryside when in New York?" Mama encouraged when she'd finished her discussion with Edward's father.

Here we go again. Veronica sighed. "And where do you like to go to experience the countryside when in New York, Edward?"

He shifted in his seat. "We head to the Adirondacks or our estate on the coast of South Carolina to enjoy the beach."

Both locations sounded terribly appealing, but Veronica replied, "What a pity you must travel to enjoy the peace and nature the Lord has freely given us." Veronica avoided eye contact with him.

Edward's brows furrowed, and he clamped his lips into a firm line. Sitting back in her chair, she made no effort to extract more information, but her sisters began asking the brothers about both locations. The city boys admitted to having gone hiking, boating, and fishing in the Adirondacks. Somehow, Veronica couldn't picture Edward putting a worm on the hook.

When Delia asked what he did at the beach, Edward said he enjoyed taking walks at sunrise and sunset. Rupert commented that they both enjoyed playing badminton in the sand with their sisters and friends. In truth, the activities the Beckett boys mentioned sounded lovely, and Veronica struggled not to smile.

Next came a course of tiny oyster-and-cracker sandwiches alongside delicate ham slices topped with mint jelly, served on small triangular slices of brown bread. Beside these tiny sandwiches, each plate displayed two cucumber slices topped with a teaspoon of chicken salad and one freshly baked scone. Joined crystal bowls containing clotted cream and blackberry and raspberry preserves—boiled down from berries picked on their own farm—made their way around the table.

Best to approach her next act of sabotage with a bit more subtlety. She heaped extra jam and clotted cream on her scone. It might make Edward think she'd become quite fat in her old age. She took an unusually large bite of the scone and let some of the blackberry preserves decorate her face.

Then she leaned forward to draw Mr. Beckett's attention. But instead of addressing him as Mr. Beckett , she would use his first name—something she would never do under normal circumstances, even if he invited her to at this stage of their acquaintance. "Do tell us more about Manhattan, Levi. I suppose you have a great many balls, parties, and afternoon teas to attend."

Everyone looked at Veronica with raised brows and horrified expressions, as though they were watching a comedic play that had turned into a tragedy. No doubt Mama simmered beneath her cool and calm exterior. Edward's eyes widened, but he clamped his lips together.

Mama waited for Mr. Beckett to finish the response he managed to give about their busy social calendar. Then she could clearly take no more. "Veronica, you are…I was going to say a mess…but at this point, I concede. Why not invite the chickens into the dining room?" She sighed deeply and again pressed her linen napkin to her forehead.

Veronica refused to let Mama's exasperation ruin her strategy. "I do miss having them wander freely about the house. Do you have chickens in New York, Levi?"

"Veronica…" Pa's tone was stern, but Mr. Beckett cleared his throat.

"No, someone delivers eggs, butter, and milk," the man answered, his brows furrowing as he surveyed Veronica's appearance. "Would you mind passing those preserves? They look quite tasty."

"Certainly." Veronica smiled. Reaching across the table for the crystal trio dish of preserves and clotted cream, she nudged her glass of tea toward Edward, spilling it in the center of the table. "Oh dear, I am so sorry."

Edward pushed his chair away from the table to avoid the rush of sugary brown liquid running toward his plate. The preserves somehow made it to Mr. Beckett in the ensuing chaos. Grace and Martin jumped into action to soak up the mess with extra linens from the buffet. Edward survived the ordeal without a stain, but after the servants stepped back to their places, he eyed Veronica with a wary look. Edward slid his seat forward and resumed eating, and she cheered silently, assured of victory at last.

Veronica took a large bite of her scone and, with her mouth full, muttered a somewhat distinguishable apology. "How clumsy of me." Then she licked jam from each of her fingers and took another bite of her scone. Unfortunately, Rupert's occasional chuckles indicated he might find her amusing, but the wrinkled forehead Edward wore made her think her plan might actually be working.

Mr. Beckett chuckled and nudged his son. "I haven't had this much fun in years. My boys—Edward here in particular—used to spill something weekly at the table. Gloria would go into hysterics half the time, but I always found it amusing." He turned toward Veronica's father. "Remind me to tell you about some of our best stocks to help set you up for a fine retirement, Joseph—when we are not in the presence of such fine ladies, of course."

F un? Fine ladies? His father's disingenuous description of the present company only made his determination to overlook Miss Veronica's theatrics more obvious. And if memory served, Father had never found messes amusing. Not only did Edward's mother frequently display hysteria if any mishap ruined a meal, but his father had raised his voice on a number of those occasions, dismissing the child to blame from the table.

His father's congeniality irked him. Especially since in private, Leviticus Beckett seldom spoke so nicely. In fact, he frequently turned into a gruff, stern, and unforgiving version of himself, lecturing Edward and his brother about this, that, and the other.

Thankfully, the servants had reacted quickly enough to spare him from a cold tea bath in his expensive summer suit. He didn't dare lose his patience with Miss Veronica lest his father grumble and complain endlessly at the hotel.

He had to admit, however, that Veronica looked adorable with jam smeared at the corners of her mouth and a little on the prettiest nose he'd ever seen. She certainly kept him on his toes wondering what she might do next.

Yet Father excused everything she did with a wave of his hand as if none of it mattered. His mother would have been horrified and snubbed a girl waging war on her parents, now that he thought about it. If Edward didn't know better, he'd think his father might have something else in mind in addition to getting his hands on Veronica's dowry. The way he spoke so nicely to his old friend and overlooked Miss Veronica's lack of table manners… And now his father indicated he had some investment tips for Mr. Lyndon too.

But what else could he want? A good horse, maybe? Racetrack betting advice? Or the most likely scenario, and in keeping with his mention of stock tips, perhaps his father wanted Mr. Lyndon to invest in stocks at Beckett, Reed & Johnston.

Miss Veronica used her dessert fork to attack her potato salad, stabbing each bite vigorously, accompanied by a clanging of the fork tines on the china. He half expected her to shoot the olives at him like marbles or stuff the thinly sliced roast beef and butter cheese into her mouth all at once.

He had hoped for a more refined bride.

When the butler appeared from the kitchen ready to serve the dessert course consisting of crystal bowls of custard garnished with nutmeg and strawberries harvested from their garden, relief washed over Edward.

Miss Veronica eyed the tray of desserts in the butler's hands. "I'll have two servings, Martin."

My, how slim Miss Veronica's waistline appeared in comparison to her appetite.

"Just give it to her, Martin. If she wants to…" Mrs. Lyndon's voice faded, and the servant did as commanded, setting two bowls of custard before Miss Veronica.

The young lady proceeded to gulp down the desserts—a Kentucky debutante and finishing school graduate who had gone out of her way to prove otherwise.

"I haven't seen such a healthy appetite in a girl in years," Father marveled aloud. "In fact, I'd like two servings as well, if you please. Then let me tell you about the best stock I've found to make a rich man richer."

There Father went again, dismissing Miss Veronica's unusual behavior and managing to mention stocks in the same breath.

Edward almost missed Rupert attempting to exchange glances with him. They had all noticed Veronica's audacious antics, but had his little brother noticed father's odd behavior too?

V eronica could hardly wait to make her exit. She had done as her parents asked. She had appeared for the introduction and the luncheon. Her only regret was the extra work her sabotage attempts would cause Martin and Grace—who faced piles of dishes thanks to Mama's determination to give the Becketts a fancy dining experience. Poor servants. They already looked worn out.

Veronica intended to keep herself busy during the tour of Velvet Brooks following the meal, far away from Edward Beckett, no matter how handsome and intelligent and annoyingly polite he might be. Hopefully, he would now want nothing to do with her.

The time had come to escape. Rising from the table, she urged her sisters to join her by nodding toward the hall with a stern but silent look. To the others, she announced, "If you'll kindly excuse us, I have a matter to settle with Delia and Gladdie—on the racetrack."

Her sisters dutifully rose, following her lead for one final act of impoliteness.