Page 14 of His Perfect Bride
At the tread of footsteps and the clinking of dishes, he opened his eyes to find the new cook entering the room carrying a tray laden with soup bowls, the first course of their meal.
The cook was a rotund fellow with a fleshy face, orange-red hair, and a long curling mustache, and he looked as if he enjoyed eating his food as much as he enjoyed cooking it. He went by the French name of Gustave and added a few French words into his otherwise Scottish dialect.
Jackson took another deep breath and scrambled for a way to change the subject. But he’d never been socially adept, had always been awkward in conversing with people, had never known what to discuss when it wasn’t related to his building or engineering projects.
Fortunately for him, Augusta had no trouble with talking. “I am keenly anticipating all of the courses you’ve planned, Gustave.”
“Oui, Mademoiselle.” He butchered the French words so much so, that when Jackson caught Augusta’s gaze, he could see the humor there.
Both he and Augusta spoke fluent French. In her world traveling, Augusta had also learned several other languages. He’d lost count of which ones and how many. But she was like their father in her abilities.
Gustave was wearing a long white apron over a tight black suit. His expression was somber, and he was concentrating on the tray, as though he feared spilling the soup.
“I am contemplating hosting a small dinner sometime soon.” Augusta unfolded her linen napkin. “Would you be able to provide cuisine for…say, ten to fifteen guests?”
Jackson had barely started to calm his racing pulse, and now at Augusta’s proposition, his heartbeat tapped irregularly again. He was hardly ready for a dinner with just his sister, much less ten to fifteen people.
“Oui.” Gustave placed a bowl of soup in front of Augusta, either beef bouillon or French onion, if the dark liquid was an indication. “I should be delighted to do so.” The lilt of Gustave’s Scottish accent was undeniable.
Jackson opened his mouth to protest the dinner plans, but Augusta spoke before he could. “Just a few neighbors, Jackson. You wouldn’t deny me the opportunity to get to know them, would you?”
She picked up her soup spoon and poised it above her bowl. Then she cocked her head and waited for his answer.
How could he deny her anything? He couldn’t. And she knew it.
Regardless, he couldn’t stomach the prospect of one of the guests bringing up the bridge, asking him about the accident, or inquiring into his plans for the repairs. And invariably someone would.
He’d halfway lost his temper with Augusta when she’d mentioned it. How could he remain collected and in control of himself if other people were barraging him with questions about it?
No, having a dinner party was a bad idea.
He started to shake his head.
“You’ll stay right by my side all evening.” She dipped her spoon into the soup. “And I’ll be the perfect hostess.”
She was implying that she would take care of all the awkward moments and be sure to direct the conversation away from difficult topics. Essentially, she was giving him another push to start living again, and deep inside he knew he needed to let her push. Why, then, was the next step so daunting?
“Then it’s settled.” Augusta rattled off the names of several of the neighbors and clearly knew more about them already than he did. “We’ll host the dinner on the Friday evening of next week.”
He quickly calculated the days. Ten. Maybe in that time he’d find a way to get out of attending.
Six
Sage admired the drawing on the piece of paper she’d found behind one of Jackson’s bookshelves.
After the past few hours of cleaning and organizing his study, one thing had become clear. Jackson was a very talented man. His diagrams of various items were meticulous. His sketches of bridges were extremely detailed. And his mathematical equations were elaborate and took up whole pages.
When Augusta had boasted about how intelligent Jackson was, Sage had assumed the doting older sister was exaggerating. However, if anything, Augusta had under-represented Jackson’s abilities.
Another thing that had become very clear after living in Jackson’s home for over two weeks was that the man was utterly and hopelessly disorganized. He left clutter in his wake everywhere he went and was always so buried in his papers and books and models that he never seemed to notice anything else.
With the dinner party taking place over the coming weekend, Jackson’s messiness was interfering with Augusta’s desire to have the house in complete order. Not only was she planning the menu and seating and entertainment for that evening, but she had also continued her steady purchase of items to decorate and fill the mansion. The choices were limited in what was available, but Augusta had brought home framed pictures, potted plants, mantel clocks, candlestick holders, vases, and more.
Although Sage accompanied Augusta from time to time, Augusta had taken to running errands by herself most days. Sometimes she was gone for such long hours that Sage had begun to worry, especially because when Augusta returned, she seemed frustrated or worried or perhaps both.
Sage had been tempted to ask if something was wrong, but she hadn’t felt the same freedom to cross social classes that she had during their ship voyage.
Part of it had to do with the way Jackson had put her in her place a week ago at the evening meal. Augusta had later apologized for her brother’s rudeness and had invited her to supper again the next night, but Sage had made excuses to stay away and had instead eaten with Gustave in the kitchen.
