Lord Sebastian's Secret (The Duke's Sons #3)(10)
“Ah, splendid.”
“Ever do any boar hunting?” the marquess asked.
“Never had an opportunity.” Sebastian received a plate heaped with meat. One of the maids offered vegetables, the other a sauceboat.
“I’ve always wanted to try out my great-grandfather’s boar spear,” Georgina’s father continued. He gestured with the knife, now dripping pink juices. “The spears have the crossbar, you know, because a boar will push right up the shaft to gore you, even as he’s bloody and dying.”
“Papa,” said Georgina.
The marquess smiled at her as if she’d encouraged rather than admonished him. “Dreadful nuisances,” he said. He returned to his work, producing flawless slices for the other diners. “A sounder of wild pigs can root up a planted field in no time at all.”
“Not many to be found in my part of the country.” Trying the meat, Sebastian found the taste strong but well flavored.
“That’s a fine old word, eh? Sounder. A sounder of swine. Even better. You’re lucky. We’re plagued by them hereabouts. But they make for good sport.”
“Shooting partridges is sport,” put in his wife. “Or stalking deer. Boar hunting is an occasional, perilous necessity. That old spear will remain on the wall, Alfred.”
It sounded to Sebastian like an old argument. He kept his attention on his plate, with periodic glances at the hovering pugs.
“What would you be doing if you were in London now?” asked Hilda across the table.
No one objected to the change of subject, so Sebastian obliged with stories of the season just past. He pulled Georgina into the conversation with shared recollections, and together, they kept her sisters rapt for quite a time. In the pauses, he sometimes caught a strange phrase from the trio at the marquess’s end of the table. Mitra declared that he “could not guarantee any particular era.” Miss Byngham stated that “the theory is quite unproven.” Georgina’s father repeatedly mentioned someone, or something, called “Offa.” Sebastian couldn’t make any sense of it. He’d thought at first that his host said offal, which had startled him.
Through it all, Georgina’s mother scarcely spoke. She smiled and nodded, obviously not in a bad humor, and occupied herself with a rather idiosyncratic way of eating. For each bite she took in the usual way, she also dropped a tidbit to the dogs at her feet, in a smooth, clearly practiced motion. The pugs did not beg for this largesse. On the contrary, they sat still, shifting only to catch the offerings with a neat precision that struck Sebastian as almost military. They also scrupulously alternated turns. There was no snapping, no jostling. They seemed different dogs from the mob he’d encountered earlier, and he didn’t know whether he was impressed or unsettled by the alteration. What had Mitra said about them being schooled for their purpose?
“Kissing in the shrubbery,” said Hilda.
Sebastian’s attention snapped back to the table. He’d obviously missed a critical turn in the conversation.
“Do be quiet, Hilda,” said Georgina.
The marquess was too engrossed to have heard, but Georgina’s mother was gazing at Sebastian with an enigmatic smile. “Er,” he said.
“A shrubbery is such a pleasant thing, is it not?” the older woman remarked.
She didn’t seem to be angry. Sebastian couldn’t tell what she was, only that with her head cocked to the side, eyes bright and alert, she again reminded him of her pets. What were they doing? He checked on the dogs; they sat at their mistress’s feet, the picture of obedience.
“Are you finished eating, Mama?” asked Georgina.
The marchioness shifted her gaze to her daughter. After a moment she smiled and nodded.
Georgina rose, gathering the female portion of the group with a commanding glance. “Shall we leave the gentlemen to their wine?”
She’d gotten that tone from her grandmother in London, Sebastian thought admiringly. There was no arguing with it.
Miss Byngham looked as if she wanted to. Clearly she would much rather have continued her conversation with Mitra. Emma and Hilda sighed audibly. No one objected, however. As the ladies left the dining room, Georgina glanced back over her shoulder, but if this was a signal, Sebastian didn’t understand what it meant.
He moved down the table to sit nearer the gentlemen and accepted a glass of port. The contrast between his remaining companions struck him as he tried a sip. The Indian visitor was narrow and elegant as a blade, while Georgina’s father was bluff and broad and blond, as English as a fellow could be. He wondered what they could have in common that would justify a lengthy visit.
His host leaned back in his chair, expansive. “So, Gresham, what do you think about reincarnation?” he asked.
Sebastian took another sip of the port, silently repeating the unfamiliar word. He was pretty sure he’d never heard it before. He tried to work the meaning out in his head. Re- was something happening again; that was clear enough. But the rest remained mysterious. There was a flower called a carnation, wasn’t there? Could it signify putting something back into a flower? That couldn’t be right. He’d just have to admit it. “Afraid I don’t know the word, sir.”
The marquess didn’t seem surprised or disappointed. “I’ll let Mitra explain it to you,” he said. “He’s the expert.” With a nod and a gesture, he urged the other man to speak.