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Or perhaps he had scowled for so long that his face relaxed into such a displeased expression naturally.
What was undeniable was his utter lack of interest in the dinner table. He seemed to eat automatically and took no pleasure in the flavor, which was a pity because everything smelled delectable. He had blue eyes so pale they were nearing to white, and knobby fingers plagued with arthritis, and I gauged him to be at least ten years Maureen’s senior.
I wondered if perhaps he had been Alpha once, and Maureen’s machinations somehow pushed him to the side.
Derrick was across from me, sitting beside Delilah, who gave the barest nod to me after we’d all been situated. To my left was Mark, and to my right, Henry, which was no doubt an attempt to limit my exposure to Ms. Maureen’s other guests.
Maker only knew why. It wasn’t as if I could rightly claim abduction anymore, not with Nana Bess already spending the cash Derrick paid. Perhaps one or two would frown at the use of a runestone to get me here, but in the grand scheme of things this could be shrugged off as the eccentricities of the wealthy.
I sighed and sipped at the beef-barley soup when it had been served, resolving myself to observe only.
Interested in the woman who was, by all counts, the catalyst that brought me here, I focused on Delilah first. The girl was pretty enough to look at, even with the rounder and more masculine traits she had inherited from her father. She had a blunt nose that a little magic-infused makeup could have smoothed over, but it seemed Delilah Leslie did not wish to hide her features. Her eyes were a startling shade of green, like moss on a stone, and she had her mother’s blonde hair all woven into intricate braids with red ribbons strewn throughout. She was soft lace and ribbon, a counter to her mother’s glittering elegance, and I became grateful to be seated where I was.
“Begun without me, I see,” a loud voice imposed on the meal.
The table froze, all eyes swiveling toward the entryway where a large man stood removing his travel coat. There was something familiar about his glacial blue eyes as he surveyed the dining room. Age was showing itself around his mouth and eyes, and his hair was more grey than black. He had a powerful build barely contained by the suit he wore, and as he tugged on his sleeves, his silver cufflinks glinted in the candlelight. Beside him were two distressed servants, who kept glancing between the new arrival and their mistress. Someone uttered a curse, and it was only after a moment I realized it had been Derrick.
The Constable had gone sheet white and was gripping his spoon with enough force to bend it. Beside him, Delilah’s mouth opened in surprise before she blurted; “Lord Malcolm?”
Lord Malcolm feigned injury. “Delilah, my darling, how many times must I remind you to call me Uncle?”
Delilah’s gaze darted to her mother, who was dabbing at the corners of her mouth with a napkin. If Lord Malcolm had meant for his niece to answer, he didn’t give her time to do so, instead handing his coat and gloves to the nearest servant before stepping fully into the dining room. He surveyed the table with an imperious air and ignored the general stammer his arrival had produced, though I was quite certain his attention fixed on Derrick more than once.
“We hadn’t thought you were coming,” Ms. Maureen said, but she didn’t bother to get up. “It is such a long way to travel from London.”
“That it is, my dear Maureen,” Malcolm said and gestured to a space between Cordova and Harold Norton, which sent the servants into a flurry.
The two men were forced to rise so that their seats could be moved, making room for another setting. Fine porcelain plates, another crystal goblet, and gleaming silverware found their way onto the table in expedient fashion, and the three men sat.
“Pray tell, what changed your mind?” Maureen asked. She was outwardly cool, almost unruffled, but her index finger began a light tapping against the side of her plate.
“My grandson, of course,” Malcolm said with a sharp smile toward Derrick. “Word reached me that he was attending this wedding and since the boy seems determined never to grace Britain’s shores again, I thought it best I make my way to him.”
All eyes turned to Derrick, whose coloring had not improved. Still, he had some hold on his faculties because he reached for his glass with a steady hand. To my mortification, he looked at me, ignoring his grandfather’s pointed stare, and asked, “How’s your soup, Miss Grayson?”
Stammering, I glanced at Lord Malcolm. The older gentleman was clearly displeased. I tried for a smile and focused on Derrick.
“It’s excellent,” I said. “I’m interested in what the chef may have prepared for the main course.”
Derrick took a swallow of his wine and for a moment his eyes glinted with what might have been gratitude. He replaced his glass with the utmost decorum. “I believe there were whispers that it would be lamb this evening.”
The eyes of the table were still on us, but the tension that had been mounting since Lord Malcolm’s intrusion seemed to taper off. I’d never been great at play-acting, but as long as I kept my gaze on either my bowl or Derrick, I found I could do a passable job at ignoring everyone’s attention.
“I’ve never had lamb,” I said.
“Oh, Lordy,” Mark said from beside me. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those vegetarians.”
There was grumbling all around. Evidently everyone was in agreement, though it seemed silly, and I did my best not to remind him that I’d just been complimenting beef-barley soup, of which I’d eaten a great portion. Still, their reaction solidified one of Nana Bess’s age-old adages: you’ll never find a vegetarian werewolf, Nora.
Though I believe the saying was more cautionary in nature, I found it highly amusing given the circumstances.
I reached for my own wine. “Vegetarian? No, not me. Although I have been known to hoard all the potatoes I can get.”
“You’re in luck then,” Delilah said with a smile too bright to be false, “I hear we’re having mashed red potatoes with garlic butter.”
With this, the last of the tension released and Ms. Maureen rang the bell for the next course. The meal progressed with a general hum of conversation, though Mark and Henry seemed to lose interest in me and carried on with their neighbors. I wouldn’t have minded, except Delilah and Derrick kept interrupting my observations with small talk that I was obliged to answer.
I was desperate for anything I could learn. How far away the nearest town was or how many people were expected for this event or even how many servants the household boasted, but every time I steered the conversation that direction, the answers were vague. Derrick seemed to know what I was doing too becuase he continued to give that insufferable smirk.
