Page 37 of The Tempting of Thomas Carrick
* * *
Lucilla called blessings down on Marcus’s head. Her twin had sent Fred back with all she’d requested—clothes, shoes, hairbrushes. Her maid, Jenna, had even thought to pack the jewelry Lucilla preferred to wear with each of the three simple country evening gowns she’d requested.
At the sound of the dinner gong, clad in green silk the color of spring leaves, with a necklace of peridots clasped about her throat and the matching bracelet dangling from her wrist, she left the room she’d been given in what was referred to as the visitors’ wing and made her way downstairs. A glance into the drawing room confirmed that the family did not bother with any pre-gathering there; she continued to the dining room. Quick, light footsteps pattered down the corridor behind her. Lucilla paused before the dining room door and smiled as Niniver joined her.
Shyly returning her smile, Niniver murmured, “Good evening. I didn’t know you would be staying.” She waved for Lucilla to precede her.
“I suspect I’ll remain for a few days. I’ve agreed to help Alice Watts take up the reins of clan healer.” Walking into the room, Lucilla saw that Manachan was already there, seated at the head of the table. A tall, thin man with a somber demeanor stood behind his chair—presumably Edgar, Manachan’s manservant.
Thomas was also there, seated on Manachan’s right, two places down the table; he rose as she and Niniver entered.
Manachan glanced up at her from under his shaggy brows. “You’ll excuse me from rising, Lucilla—if I may call you that?”
Smiling, she inclined her head. “You may.”
Manachan waved to the place on his right, and Thomas drew out the chair. Lucilla moved to take it, noting that Niniver—after a brief nod to her father, who seemed to barely see her—moved to take the chair opposite Thomas, but one place further down.
A footman held Niniver’s chair. She sat, then looked up the table. “It’s good to see you here, Papa.”
Manachan glanced at her; his expression suggested he was debating whether to be annoyed she’d mentioned it, or pleased. He settled for a noncommittal humph.
Lucilla kept her brows from rising. Coming from a large family, she was always curious about how other families behaved, especially among themselves.
Norris arrived. He blinked at Manachan, then curtly nodded. “Sir.” Without waiting for any acknowledgment, he strode around the table and claimed the chair on Thomas’s other side.
Then Nigel and Nolan strolled in. They saw Manachan and stopped dead. The looks on both their faces held more shock than surprise. Nigel recovered first. “Papa!” His gaze traveled to Lucilla, then returned to Manachan as Manachan looked at him. “Should you be down?”
Manachan wasn’t pleased. He let silence stretch for several heartbeats before saying, “I’m here, which is all that need concern you.”
Nigel swallowed. “Yes—of course. We’re…delighted you’re able…”
“It was just a shock to see you.” Nolan walked to the place opposite Thomas. He directed a severe look at his cousin. “We hadn’t realized you’d recovered your strength to this extent.”
“Well, I have.” As Nolan sat and Nigel took the seat on Manachan’s left, opposite Lucilla, Manachan waved at Ferguson, standing by the door, to start serving.
Given that beginning, Lucilla wasn’t surprised that the conversation around the dinner table proved somewhat one-sided. Manachan asked about her parents’ travels, and she duly described them. He then asked Thomas about a firm called Carrick Enterprises, of which, she learned, Thomas was part owner. She listened avidly as Thomas spoke of importing tobacco, sugar, and exotic timbers, and exporting fleeces, hides, and whisky. He mentioned several people—Quentin, Humphrey, and Winifred—who, from Manachan’s wish to be remembered to them, she surmised were family of sorts.
The courses came and went, good hearty country fare more suited to masculine tastes, and well suited to this predominantly male family. The staff were silent and unobtrusive. Lucilla took only a small sip of the heavy red wine, and otherwise drank the clear mountain water. She ate, listened, and observed.
Manachan and Thomas spoke about the weather, and about fishing, shooting, and hunting in general, finally touching on county politics. Nigel and Nolan occasionally offered a comment, the tone of which only emphasized the difference between them and Thomas, which in turn underscored Manachan’s attitudes toward the three. The old man treated Thomas like a youthful peer, someone whose opinions he valued and respected, while his sons he still saw as impertinent children, better seen than heard.
Lucilla reflected that, all in all, Manachan was an excellent judge of character.
Beyond Thomas, Norris ate with his eyes on his plate and his attention somewhere far away; Lucilla’s brother Carter, an artist, often wore the same detached expression at meals. Norris barely registered the changing of the courses, much less the conversations, but unlike Carter’s usually unintentional absorption, Lucilla sensed a deliberateness in Norris’s behavior, as if his mental absence was his response to his family—his way of shutting them out.
She felt faintly shocked at that assessment, yet it rang very true.
In contrast, while Niniver also kept her eyes down and contributed nothing to the conversations, from time to time she would glance up, blue eyes locking on whoever was speaking, before looking down again. Niniver might be silent, but she was listening and observing as avidly as Lucilla; far from shutting out her family, she was engaged, watchful—and concerned.
It didn’t take long for Lucilla to be certain of that last emotion.
As the main course was cleared, Manachan turned to Nigel and Nolan. “And what about you two, heh? What have you been up to?”
Lucilla focused her attention on the pair. Thus far she’d found them difficult to read. Cagey. Slippery.
But Nigel seemed to bloom under his father’s gaze; he relaxed and smiled. “We took a quick trip up to Glasgow, but there wasn’t much of interest there.” He tipped his head to Thomas. “Fell in with Thomas for lunch, then we headed back, and the next day we went to Ayr. We spent a few days there, doing the usual.” Nigel shrugged nonchalantly. “The races were on. In between other things, we took a look at a few nags—that sort of thing. Just got back this afternoon.”
A pause ensued while the dessert was served—Chantilly cream and a heavy charlotte.
