Page 38 of Some Like It Scot
I drew in a deep breath and slid my knife into the meat, but the slippery thing moved around a little on the plate as if trying to get away.
“It may require a bit of elbow grease.” Logan gestured with his knife. “Depending on Chef’s cooking methods.”
My added fervor only succeeded in sending the pieces diving off the plate.
“Oh!” Humor to the rescue. “Seems this one’s still alive.”
Mr. Logan merely raised an unamused brow. Lord Wake’s lips quirked.
Mark leaned around Mrs. Lennox to add a sneer, his eyes narrowed as if my poor dining skills personally offended him.
“Clearly, we will need to offer added lessons on cutlery use before dining tomorrow, Miss Campbell.” Mrs. Lennox’s hands squeezed together.
“If we have something like steak or pork chops, I’m a little more skilled than when eating”—I swallowed—“pig heart.”
“Just a slightly firmer grasp on the fork there, I think.” Lord Wake leaned in, bringing the sweet scent of cigar smoke with him. “It’s actually quite delicious.”
One of my quieter snorts burst out. “Well, I don’t want to seem like a hog.”
Lord Wake grunted his approval of my wordplay, and certain every eye was carefully watching me mutilate my meal, I tried not to saw the dish in half.
Then the strangest thing happened. Out of the corner of my view, I saw something shoot across the table from the other side of Mrs. Lennox.
A small, baseball-sized something.
My fingers tightened around my fork, which made a squeaky sound on my plate. Was that a pig’s heart?
With a clatter of dishes, the item landed with a crash in Ana’s plate, vaulting her pile of roasted vegetables in various directions.
She screamed and pushed back from the table. “Get it away from me. I can’t stand it.” And then she shot up from the table, knocking over one glass as another started to teeter.
Mr. Logan stood to catch the falling glass, and I rose with him to, well, I wasn’t sure what, but the next thing I knew, Ana’s hands flew up in an attempt to back farther from the heart and she hit Mr. Logan square in the nose. In his shock, he stumbled back into me, knocking both of us off-kilter. My foot twisted against the leg of my chair as Mr. Logan and I fell backward.
Unfortunately, Mr. Logan reached out for something to stop his fall, which ended up being... the tablecloth. It’s amazing how life slows down for these particular misadventures, as if they are scenes from a movie.
Ana was frozen in midscream, Mr. Lennox’s bushy eyebrows rose to attention, Lord Wake reached out as if to catch me, and Mrs. Lennox’s eyes widened to dinner-plate proportions. All while a lone green bean made its legendary flight across the table, haloed in fake candlelight.
Then the moment passed.
With all the grace I’ve never had, I and the chair crashed to the floor with Mr. Logan landing to my side, followed by four sets of dishes, a candelabra with battery-operated (thankfully) candles, and a gravy bowl... which actually had real gravy in it that split its impact between my dress and Mr. Logan’s white button-down.
Thankfully, my most cushiony side landed first, followed by the rest of me, so apart from a little pain in my derriere and the icky sensation of gravy running across my knees, I was fine.
Mr. Logan didn’t fare as well. He sat up with a green bean dangling over his forehead, gravy from his chin to his naval, and twin blood trails from his nostrils. A culinarymonsterpiece?
Not the time for puns, but they had a tendency to pop into my head regardless.
Ana seemed equally as horrified, because she took one look at Mr. Logan, raised her hands in the air with another scream, and fled the room. Lord Wake rushed to my assistance while Miss Dupont made her way to Mr. Logan’s, and Mr. Lennox reached to grab a glass of wine that had shifted places on the table from the tablecloth rotation.
“I... I cannot believe this... this...” Mrs. Lennox’s voice raised with the color in her cheeks as Ana’s sobs filtered down the hallway. “Pandemonium.”
She stormed from the room after her daughter, slipping on a bit of food, probably pig heart, as she went.
So much for Edwardian composure.
Lord Wake steadied me to my feet and then moved to assist Mr. Logan, while Miss Dupont waved a napkin in front of Mr. Logan’s face, trying not to get near his nose. Poor Mr. Logan’s face, apart from the gravy bits, was as red as his bleeding nose.
“I... I assure you. I have never had something like this happen to me in all my life.”
