Chapter Twenty-Seven

" T he seal?" Clarity snapped. "You mean the wax seal on the envelope?"

"Don't think about it now," Alex urged. "We have an even number of couples, a delicious meal, and good company. Everything is fine."

Everything was fine. But since they were no longer her guests, she imagined as the evening progressed, it might no longer be her party.

"This was not the group I had planned for," she said. "Why, I think she chose her own friends. Most of the guests in there are your aunt's age."

"Not true," he said. "Well, maybe it is. But there will still be pleasant conversation. And the best part is at the end of it all, we can retire together. I'll make you forget anything that has displeased you tonight. I promise."

Clarity tried to hold on to that promise all evening as things began to go badly. Lady Aston lorded it over the drawing room conversation, making a toast while standing center stage by the hearth. It was followed by her guest, Major Grover with his face full of white whiskers, drinking to her health and thanking her for helping to put on the splendid gathering.

To make it worse, when they were finally called to dinner, Lady Aston and the major led the way.

Clarity looked at Alex, who merely shrugged, appearing entirely unbothered at being usurped in his own home. She half expected the major to take Alex's seat at the head of the table and fervently wished she'd told his aunt ahead of time that she wanted the seat at the other end. There was no way to do it gracefully once the major drew out the chair and slid it under Lady Aston, before taking a seat at her right.

Two of the couples who had exchanged a few withering glances now began to trade snide remarks. One was on Clarity's original guest list, but the other had been invited by Lady Aston. It seemed someone had kissed someone else's wife if she was correctly interpreting the jagged innuendo.

When the two couples had verbally fenced into hostile silence, mortifying the rest of the diners, another guest complained about the thinness of the consommé.

"A nice thick pottage is what's needed," one male guest without better manners proclaimed. "Remember what you served last time," he said, looking to Alex's aunt. "That was delicious."

"I remember," she replied. "However, Lady Hollidge handled the menu." She looked to Clarity as did all the guests around the table.

Feeling as if it were her first time at an adult dinner, Clarity did the unthinkable. She squirmed and knew her cheeks were probably flaming.

"I think it is a perfect start to a long dinner," Alex said.

She could have kissed him until he added, "If you have a richer, tastier pottage, then you might fill up."

Inwardly, she groaned. That was like saying she'd served them all something nasty to keep them from gorging. About to get up and stave off the footman from serving the meats à la Victoria , as she'd come to think of it. It was too late.

In came a footman followed by a maid, each holding two platters, which they placed on the high sideboard table against the wall.

"What's happening?" Lady Aston asked.

In that instant, Clarity knew Alex's aunt was fully aware of how the meats were going to be served and was drawing attention to it so she could gloat.

Sure enough, instead of enjoying the novelty of the buffet table, it was universally panned as an inconvenience, having to rise from one's seat, and also in poor taste. Too loudly, she heard Lady Aston mention to the major how it was strangely "crass" but understandable from an inexperienced hostess.

If the guests had been her original ones, she knew they would have enjoyed the novelty and been interested in the queen's custom. Unfortunately, the meat selections were mediocre at best, which shocked Clarity due to her mother's recommendation of the butcher.

By the time the females returned to the drawing room, Clarity considered the evening a disaster, and that was before she discovered the musicians had not arrived. While her guests found places to sit, Clarity spoke with the butler.

"They came highly recommended," she said to him, as if there was some way Mr. Berard could produce two violinists, a viola player, and a cellist from the cupboard under the stairs.

"I am sorry, my lady."

"What's the problem?" Lady Aston asked, coming up beside them.

"The musicians never arrived while we dined. I had hoped for a short concert to end the evening."

"I hope you aren't referring to Mr. Ella's string quartet."

It was obvious Alex's aunt already knew. Clarity didn't need to answer, but she did.

"Yes," she said, trying to keep her tone neutral.

"Their bill arrived the other day, wishing to be paid ahead of time."

"That's what I agreed to," Clarity told her.

"I didn't know," she said, utterly unbothered. "I tore it up."

Clarity wondered if one could actually expire from a fit of the red devils.

"Did you not think to speak with me about it? Now we have no entertainment."

"Maybe you should have spoken to me ," Lady Aston insisted, "and then I could have directed you to a better choice. What next, a tavern singer?" She gave a dismissive shake of her head.

Clarity was stunned, only glad no one else could hear.

"Mr. Ella plays popular music. What we want," Lady Aston continued, "is music as art, not merely entertainment. Our guests shall not be subjected to an amateur quartet for hire. When we pay, we want professionals such as those who play in the concert halls. In any case, artistic music is now considered to be that played upon a piano or at least accompanied by one."

"We don't have a piano," Clarity pointed out, trying to be reasonable while seething mad.

"Then we cannot have a proper musical concert. Thus, we should either let our guests perform to the best of their amateur abilities, as in my day, by singing, or we should have invited them out to a proper concert."

Clarity's fingers were curled into fists. With nothing else to say, she returned to the drawing room where the guests were amusing themselves with prattle and gossip, except the two hostile wives who were gnashing their teeth at one another.

Save for those two, Clarity was confident her guests would have been happily entertained with the quartet she'd heard in her parents' drawing room at the beginning of the year.

Soon, with Alex leading the way, the seven men entered to rejoin the ladies' company. Her husband came directly to her side.

"We hurried with our cigars and brandy in order not to miss the evening's entertainment."

"Oh, no, no, no, my love. Your aunt says we are not to expect entertainment . Only art ."

He smiled uncertainly. "I don't understand."

She sighed. "Nor do I, but there is no music unless you wish to sing."

"I do not," he said.

"Should I ask if any of the guests wish to perform?" She folded her arms, wanting to stamp her foot but managed not to. "I suppose we should obtain a piano if we're going to have parties more often."

"I don't fancy asking a guest to sing for his or her supper, do you? Nor do I know of any place we can get a piano on short notice. I suppose we could knock on one of our neighbor's doors and ask."

She didn't find anything funny about the situation, no matter how hard Alex tried. She hadn't set up tables for cards, nor had she planned out any charades.

Luckily, two footmen entered with trays, each holding a pitcher of creamy white beverage.

Clarity relaxed. "At least my surprise beverage is finally being served."

"I implore you all to take a glass," she invited.

When everyone had done as asked, with Alex's aunt's nostrils flaring when she sniffed the concoction, Clarity announced it to be "genuine Atholl brose."

"My Scottish grandmother used to make porridge and call it brose," Major Grover said. "Funny this should share the name."

"History and a good dose of rumor states the Duke of Atholl used a well filled with this creamy beverage," Clarity informed the room, "all the way back in 1475 to capture his enemy, the Earl of Ross, who was overly fond of drinking it. Lured to the well, he somehow fell in."

A few people gasped, but Clarity continued, "It is, as Major Grover said, oatmeal but it is blended with honey and whiskey."

Some guests set their glasses down on nearby tables, apparently unwilling to try it.

"Don't be shy to taste it, I beseech you," Clarity continued. "Just as some of our meal was inspired by our gracious monarch, so too the queen and the prince consort were served Atholl brose about three years ago when visiting Perthshire and greatly enjoyed it."

"How clever of you to come up with it," Alex said, and she wished his tone wasn't condescending, although she knew he was trying to help.

Those still holding their glasses took sips. A few coughed.

"Hm," Clarity said doubtfully. It was lumpy, tangy, and unpleasant.

"I think you'll find it was supposed to be strained after curing for a week," the major said. "At least, that's how I have had it before."

Clarity felt her cheeks grow hot again. Her mood didn't lift when Alex joked to the guests.

"I guess my wife decided to present us with the stodgy version to capture us as firmly as the Earl of Ross in that dratted well."

"I, for one, would prefer a nice glass of sherry," came Lady Aston's icy tone.

"I would like some port," said one of the gentlemen. "And then we must be on our way. If there is no music, then I have a card game to attend at my club after dropping my lovely wife home."

Alex had expected better . After all, Clarity had been around dinner parties all her life. Moreover, Lady Diamond was considered a renowned hostess. He could even remember his mother saying how wonderful her dinner parties were.

Yet this had not been wonderful at all, nor smooth and polished. And if his wife repeated such a poor performance in party-planning, she would get a reputation as a poor hostess, which was the last thing he wished.

"A calamity," his aunt declared when she sailed into his study the following day, wearing her sourest expression. "She even tried to use a new butcher! A new butcher for a party, can you imagine? Fortunately, Cook mentioned Lady Hollidge's wish to use some upstart in Holland Park, and I made sure our meat came from our usual man. You must dissuade Lady Hollidge from any more of her parties until she has been schooled in what's proper and what is decidedly not."

"Agreed," he said. "For her own good, I will suggest she let you instruct her. Maybe she can take notes and then after watching you host the next one, she'll be ready in a month."

His aunt rolled her eyes. "You think I have nothing better to do than provide tutelage to your inexperienced viscountess. You ought to have married a woman who could step in and immediately run this household."

"Don't start with that again, Auntie. I love Clarity beyond reason. And if we have to have a few failed dinner parties now and again, I don't care. On the other hand, if you're too busy to help," he began.

"For you, I shall make time. But she must listen and do as I say, not protest and argue."

Alex thought of Clarity's nature. "I am sure if you are friendly and not demeaning, she will be happy to receive assistance."

"Very well. But if she makes a fuss, I shall leave her to her own missteps and mistakes."

"Fair enough."

When he saw Clarity later, he broached the subject, knowing he must persuade her when she wasn't in the same room as his aunt. For some reason, even though Aunt Elizabeth was reserved and reasonable, he could detect an underlying current of animosity between the two females.

Thus, after seeing his wife spend with a shudder of passion, calling his name before he, too, released, Alex cradled her in his arms. Then he broached the subject.

"Would you allow Aunt Elizabeth to assist you in —" Before Alex had even finished his question, he felt Clarity stiffen.

"Do not ask me what I think you are going to ask me," she protested, bristling like an alley cat.

"But she is experienced. She can help your next dinner party to go more smoothly."

Clarity slammed her palm onto the rumpled sheet.

"I would rather we had an uneven number of guests and ate nothing but boiled cabbage than ask for her help. Don't you understand? Everything would have been fine if she hadn't interfered."

"The Atholl brose was your idea, wasn't it?" he reminded her gently.

"Yes, but —"

"And the meats presented on the sideboard?"

"Well, yes, but with younger guests, the ladies wouldn't have minded getting up from the table to choose. If it's good enough for the queen," she insisted.

"The queen can make her guests stand on their heads and eat roast horse if they wish, but that doesn't mean we should try to make them dine on thin broth, stand for their meat, and drink whiskey-spiked porridge."

"The brose was supposed to be strained," she said mulishly. "Anyway, I thought it was tasty, if unusual."

"Guests don't come to dinner for the unusual ," he pointed out, stroking his fingers along her arm, hoping for the return of her good humor. "Aunt Elizabeth had to change the meat order for that very reason. Dinner served to guests must be practiced, tested, and approved."

"Then the gristly beef and stringy chicken were not from Lidgate's," she said. "I knew my mother wouldn't recommend such average fare. Your aunt switched the butcher and invited guests who were at each other's throats. I tried to provide superior food and invite our contemporaries, both friends and would-be friends."

"I know you did."

"Don't speak in such a fashion, as if you're patting me on the head. Why did you think it acceptable for your aunt to intercept my invitations and open them?"

"I told you, it was the wax," he said.

"The wax?" she repeated.

"It was the wrong color."

Clarity closed her eyes and growled like a she-wolf. When she opened them, he could see the anger glittering in their cobalt depths.

"The wrong color! The seal was the wrong color!"

She was yelling and behaving like a child, so he covered her mouth with his hand.

"It wasn't Hollidge green," he explained.

"Mm mmm mmm," she mumbled against his palm.

"Please don't yell," he beseeched before removing his hand.

"It was my favorite blue," she insisted, her tone still too loud. "My Diamond blue wax. Am I required to use green?"

"Aunt Elizabeth thought we should show unity as the Viscount and Viscountess Hollidge."

"I used your seal. That should have been sufficient. My parents don't always use the same blasted wax. Did yours?"

He recoiled at her vehemence. "I don't know."

"If you don't know, you shouldn't assume your nosy aunt knows either. I enjoyed writing those invitations, using one of the first wedding presents my mother gave me, decadently thick cream-colored card stock with my new initials embossed upon it. The task of writing and signing each one gave me great enjoyment." She wriggled away from him. "And your aunt ruined it!"

"Where are you going?"

"To sleep in my own room in my own bed."

"Clarity, please —"

"I am insulted, not only by Lady Aston but by your complicity. You should have told me she had opened my outgoing mail and altered my invitations. Nor should Mr. Berard have given them to her in the first place. I am your wife and mistress of this household, not her."

With that, she scrambled away as he tried to reach for her. In a flash, she was at the door that connected their rooms.

"Good night, Lord Hollidge!" And she slammed the door behind her.

Alex lay on his back, looking at the top of his canopy for a long while. Even though they'd shared a bed for mere months, not even a whole year, he felt her absence keenly.

She was undoubtedly correct. He ought to have told her about the invitations. Moreover, he hated for her to be upset. And with her pride having been well and truly bruised, he predicted in the morning, she would be sulking and sullen.