Page 44 of The Secret Identity of the Lord's Aide
“I don’t suppose the three of you wish to accompany Lord Linfield and I for dinner at this establishment?” Everett said suddenly, his words blaring out through the night. “We’ve had a bit of an accident with one of our horses and wish to spend an hour or two warming ourselves with a pint and stew.”
Lord Linfield felt as though he’d been punched in the gut. He’d been meaning to explain the intricacies of his attraction to Lady Elizabeth back at Everett’s estate, but now he was faced with her, the full, non-fictional version of her. He assumed his endless attraction to her wasn’t lost on Lord Beauchamp. He felt exposed, stretched out. A bumbling fool.
Lady Elizabeth and Irene exchanged glances. Peter looked fit to leap out of his skin with excitement. Perhaps he hadn’t eaten at a restaurant in his life.
Irene spoke first, unafraid to say anything out of turn, it seemed. “I think we’ll have to accept your invitation on this drizzly night, Lord Beauchamp, no matter how improper it may be.”
“Thank you so much,” Lady Elizabeth said, stuttering.
“Then it’s settled!” Everett said, giving Lord Linfield a look that he couldn’t quite decipher. “Come along. A table for five, my goodness. What a treat.”
Lord Linfield followed the four of them to the rear, watching as Lady Elizabeth peeked back at him, looking almost incredulous. His brain flashed with the image of her at the base of his bed, as Barney had whined, blood twirling down his leg. The look on her face, then, had been so intimate. Lord Linfield had felt he was peering into the back areas of her soul.
The waiter seated them in the back of the restaurant, at a long, thick maple table. Lord Beauchamp offered one of the heads of the table to Irene, of all people, making her blush as he said, “Please. The editor of The Rising Sun must be featured at the head.”
“Goodness me.” Irene sighed playfully. “What a grand gesture, Lord Beauchamp.”
Somehow, Lord Linfield found himself directly across the table from Lady Elizabeth, with Lord Beauchamp to his left at the other head of the table, between them. Peter sat beside Lady Elizabeth, his fingers drumming softly on the edge of the table. It was clear the boy was anxious. Lord Linfield couldn’t tell if he should give the boy more attention or less. It was unclear what would make him feel more comfortable.
“My goodness, that stew smells incredible,” Everett said, making his eyes skate down the menu. “Ms Follett, given that you’ve worked at the nearby paper for what I assume to be many years, you must have dined here quite often.”
“I’ve conducted a fair share of interviews here,” Irene said, her cheeks glowing red. “It’s always a bit easier to get the truth out of them after a pint, if you understand what I mean. No matter their position at Parliament, their artistry, what have you. Everyone enjoys a decent pint, it seems. And then, they open their mouths, and my pen is ready.”
“Quite true. Quite true,” Everett tittered. “Why, just earlier this day, it seemed Lord Linfield and I were struck with more bouts of truth than ordinary, if only because we’d softened ourselves up with a few pints. Isn’t that correct, Lord Linfield?”
Nathaniel couldn’t help it: he peeked up at Lady Elizabeth the very moment Everett said this. He felt as though she could peer in through his eyes, capture his feelings. But surely that was impossible?
“Silly me, and look, I’ve forgotten my pen!” Irene sighed, rolling her eyes back. “Who knows what kinds of secrets I might have been able to scribble down between courses!”
The waiter arrived and took their order: three pints for the men, just water for the ladies. Lady Elizabeth again flashed her eyes towards Nathaniel, before turning her attention back to Peter. Nathaniel sensed closeness between them, one he couldn’t quite comprehend. It was almost as if Lady Elizabeth was a kind of older sibling to Peter, rather than an employer.
“Where did the two of you first meet?” Nathaniel found himself asking, gripping his beer and lifting it.
Silence hung over the table after his question. Everett cleared his throat, sensing the awkwardness. As was his custom, he tried his darnedest to blare through it, trying to be too whimsical to let the strange tension catch up to him.
“Surely you didn’t meet at a debutante ball, like Lady Elizabeth and I did?” he began. “My goodness, you should have seen her. Lady Elizabeth, you were quite a sight in those days. And all the more beautiful now.”
“How could you possibly remember it?” Lady Elizabeth said, laughing in that good-natured way of hers. “I know you had eyes for someone else. I never could quite catch it. But your mind was elsewhere, Lord Beauchamp.”
“Although, I suppose, it wasn’t entirely long until you found someone of your own,” Everett continued, his smile stretching wide. “I remember the lad well. The lad you began your courtship with. Conner, wasn’t it?”
Again, there was a horrific silence at the table. Although Lord Linfield didn’t know the details of Lady Elizabeth’s courtship, he certainly knew well enough not to bring it up. It seemed a topic that Lady Elizabeth herself hardly verbalised. Everett blinked several times, turning his eyes over the crowd. They landed upon Irene, who was shaking her head ever so slightly. This was her warning.
“Well, of course, not everything works out,” Everett continued, trying to blare through it.
Lord Linfield gazed at Lady Elizabeth then, conscious that her cheeks were brighter red than he’d ever seen. Peter reached across and patted her on the back, an act he was trying to conceal from the rest of the dinner guests. Irene coughed slightly after sipping her water. Again, silence stretched between them. All Nathaniel longed to do was say something to rectify Lady Elizabeth’s apparent embarrassment and sadness. Certainly, she didn’t deserve it.
“Well, whoever that man was, or is,” Lord Linfield began, “it’s entirely clear to me that he didn’t deserve someone like Lady Elizabeth. A more remarkable woman and writer, I’ve never met in my life.”
Lord Linfield raised his drink, surprised at how easily the compliment had slipped from his mouth. Everett gaped at him for a moment, his eyebrows low.
“A writer, eh?” he asked. “Just like our Ms Follett?”
“Quite,” Irene said, bowing her head low. She gave Lady Elizabeth a meaningful look, which Lady Elizabeth didn’t match. “It’s prime time for her to stop hiding her talents.”
“If it’s all the same to all of you,” Lady Elizabeth began, her voice husky. “I’d like to move along to another topic. Thank you.”
Again, silence brewed over the table. Lord Linfield felt wretched, knowing that he’d nearly revealed her L.B. persona to Everett and Peter. Of course, this went against the bounds of their contract, something he certainly didn’t want to do. But beyond that, he didn’t want to embarrass her or make her the centre of attention—something she certainly didn’t adore.
