Page 35 of The Cornish Inheritance

Mrs. Treloar’s gaze rested on her for a moment. “Is it a little rich for you perhaps? After the simpler nursery fare?” She twisted her face into a smile that could only be described as chilling. What Trefusis saw in her was a mystery. “I’m anxious not to supply the nursery with any foods that might be heating to the blood, lest Yves should become insufferable. You have to be very careful what you feed to boys.”

Oh, how Caroline wanted to ask why she deemed simple bread and butter, and not much of the latter, was sufficient to nourish a growing child. But if she did, it might come out that Yves regularly ate his breakfast in the kitchen with Mrs. Teague. Most likely Mrs. Treloar didn’t know that. Best to play along with her. “An admirable undertaking, Ma’am.”

Aunt Agnes gave another random cackle as though she thought this amusing, or was as batty as everyone seemed to think.

Nat’s hand had relaxed on the edge of the table. “I am sure Hetty is happy she’s out of the schoolroom and no longer has to eat the pap you think suitable for a child.”

Hetty’s eyes widened, probably at her brother’s daring.

Caroline shot him a quick glance. Sitting where he was, with the right side of his face toward his mother, he could be taken for unblemished, his handsome face a little hard, with perhaps a coldness about the mouth. Not, though, the visage of a happy young man.

Mrs. Treloar nodded to the waiting footman, Dickon, in his smartest livery, to clear the soup away. “It is character building to avoid eating to excess while young. Henrietta may thank me later, when she realizes I am to be credited with her retaining her girlish figure into married life.”

Caroline took a swift sideways look at Mrs. Treloar’s scrawny body. Did she want everyone to resemble her? The look on Hetty’s face, as she bowed her head again, spoke volumes. Not a girl who wished to emulate her mother.

For the barest of moments, Trefusis’s eyes rested on Hetty. Just in passing, but in that fraction of a second, Caroline saw something she’d seen once or twice before in the faces of young men. Not that he was young any longer. Lust. Good God. It wasn’t Mrs. Treloar he was after; it was Hetty. Logical, of course. But it looked as though Mrs. Treloar had no idea.

Dickon cleared away the soup bowls and the fish course was served.

“Your favorite, Jan,” Mrs. Treloar said to Trefusis.

Nat’s expression darkened again. Mrs. Treloar couldn’t have made how she favored Trefusis plainer if she’d kissed him on the lips in front of them all.

Nat poked at his fish with his fork. “What kind of fish is this supposed to be?” His voice had taken on a surly, discontented tone, more angry schoolboy than potential man of the house.

His mother, arrested with a forkful on her way to her mouth, frowned. “Dover Sole. I had the menu up from Mrs. Teague and that was what it said. It was what I requested.”

“Overcooked and cold,” Nat said. “I’m going to the Coach and Horses for my dinner.”

Mrs. Treloar’s expression darkened to match his, but there was no other resemblance. “Nonsense. Remain where you are. There is absolutely nothing wrong with the fish. I won’t have it said that a member of this family has to take recourse to a common alehouse for his meals.”

Aunt Agnes scooped up some of the fish. “’Tis passing tasty with this sauce.”

Nat’s jaw clenched more visibly than before. No love lost between the members of this family. Caroline was beginning to wish she’d eaten in the schoolroom with Yves. A lot more peaceful and better company. Hetty didn’t count as she’d barely said a word. Nat didn’t get up and leave, though.

Caroline took a forkful of the fish. “Very pleasant.”

Hetty shot her a smile of thanks. “Tell me, Miss Fairfield,” she tried, keeping her voice low as though she didn’t want to be overheard, “did you find Penzance pleasing?”

Small talk. Hooray. Caroline could do that. “The drive there was most picturesque, as was the town. I was interested by the castle on the little island. Yves told me it’s called St Michael’s Mount.”

“Belongs to the St Aubyns,” Aunt Agnes said, without bothering to swallow her food first. “Distant relations of my mother.”

As Caroline hadn’t heard of this family, it meant nothing to her, so she ate a little more of her fish, which was neither cold nor overcooked.

“It’s possible to cross by the causeway to the island at low tide,” Hetty said, with the air of peacemaker about her. “But I’ve not been. Although I should like to.”

Mrs. Treloar glowered at her daughter. “You will not behave like one of the vapid masses by going to stare at our neighbor’s home.” Her gaze took in Caroline. “And neither will you. I will not have my nephew behaving like the common rabble.”

An awkward silence prevailed. Eating in the nursery with Yves grew more attractive by the minute. Hopefully she wouldn’t be invited to dine with them again. Eating in the kitchen would be better, too.

Hetty came to the rescue. Perhaps she was used to this role. “Mama, I am so excited.” She couldn’t hide the strain in her voice. “I met Mr. Beauchamp when he called, and I’m so pleased he’s invited us all to a ball at his house—in only two days’ time, as well.”

Dickon cleared away the empty fish plates. Even Nat had eaten his.

Mrs. Treloar took a sip of her wine before replying. “He had some absurd idea that Miss Fairfield should go. I am not accustomed to being told by our neighbors to bring our employees to social events.”

Trefusis butted in. “Ma’am, I’ve met Mr. Beauchamp a few times. An astute businessman, it seems, who’s set the Carlyon estate on its feet. It would seem a good idea to humor him as he could be useful.”