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Suddenly an elbow rammed into his side. He turned, surprised, to see Mrs. Kitteridge motion with her eyes to Miss Peacham on his other side.
“Talk to her,” she whispered out of the corner of her mouth.
“Ah. Yes.” Face flaming, he pivoted to Miss Peacham. She blinked, glancing at him in surprise. He opened his mouth to speak.
But nothing came out. What the devil was he supposed to say to this woman? He knew nothing about her, after all.
Suddenly he heard Mrs. Kitteridge’s voice in his head:Miss Peacham and her baking. Of course.
He cleared his throat. “You like to bake.”
Miss Peacham blinked. “Er, yes. I suppose I do.”
He nodded. And she nodded. And his mind went blank. Had he exhausted the subject of her baking already? Damnation, he was hopeless.
But Miss Peacham continued to look at him, as if she fully expected him to continue his line of questioning. Beginning to panic, Daniel looked over his shoulder at Mrs. Kitteridge, as if to asknow what?
She let out a nearly imperceptible sigh but smiled brightly and looked across him to Miss Peacham. “His Grace has voiced his particular interest in the history of Synne. He was quite fascinated to hear of your dear aunt’s part in it all, and how she financed the Beakhead Tea Room by baking for the king himself. He has the utmost respect for independent women of business, you know, and mentioned his dear wish to learn more about your aunt.”
Mrs. Kitteridge seemed adept at not only making up stories on the spot that were not the least bit true, but she did it in a way that even he was almost convinced. To his surprise, Miss Peacham turned glowing eyes on him.
“You truly wish to know more about my dear Aunt Bea?”
After only a moment’s stunned pause, he said with what he thought was impressive gravity, “Yes, I certainly would.”
Which, it seemed, was all it took for the woman to launch into an energetic monologue on her aunt and the history of the Beakhead. He listened as raptly as he was able, trying to ignore the small relieved sigh and chuckle on his other side.
Just as Miss Peacham was explaining how her aunt had taken her in when she was a child and immediately began her indoctrination into becoming a baker, the musicians took their places at the front of the room. Miss Peacham, whose manner was decidedly warmer toward him now, smiled brightly.
“Perhaps we might continue our conversation later in the evening.”
“Er, yes. Yes, that would be lovely,” he managed.
As the woman began reading over her program, Mrs. Kitteridge leaned in close. “Well done, Your Grace.”
He stared at her. “But I didn’t do anything.”
“You listened,” she explained. “Sometimes that is all it takes.”
“Listening I can do,” he mumbled. “It’s the questioning in order to get to the listening that I’m sadly lacking in.”
She laughed softly, her brown eyes twinkling at him. “Just as well you hired me on, then.”
The effect on his body from the loveliness of her expression and the intimate murmuring of her sweet voice was total and immediate. Heat flooded him, making certain aspects of his person uncomfortable in the extreme. He flushed hot, shifted…
And immediately regretted the abrupt movement as his thigh protested mightily. He winced, rubbing the thing, all the while silently cursing it.
“Are you in pain, Your Grace?”
He grimaced. Of course, Mrs. Kitteridge would have seen. “I’m fine, madam,” he managed, praying she would let the subject go.
She nodded, turning her attention to the front of the room as the musicians began tuning their instruments, and it seemed his prayers would be answered. Unfortunately, he had left Miss Peacham out of that particular heavenly request. Having noticed his and Mrs. Kitteridge’s exchange, she spoke up.
“Have you gone sea-bathing yet? The cold is invigorating and helps with injuries.”
“Ah, no,” Daniel mumbled as mortification washed over him. “I’m not certain I would be at all comfortable wading out in such a public place.”
“Oh, well, if that is your concern.” She shifted to look around Daniel. “Mrs. Kitteridge, you must direct His Grace to the small inlet on the far northeastern tip of the Isle. You know of it?”
