The Sherbrooke Bride - Catherine Coulter [90]
The Dowager Countess of Northcliffe wasn’t a twig to be snapped in a stiff breeze, yet she saw the steel in the girl seated in her chair—her chair—and was forced to reassess her position. Her son wasn’t saying a word. He wasn’t defending her, his own dear mother. The dowager drew in a deep breath, but she was forestalled by Hollis, who said very quietly, “My lady, cook has prepared a special nutty bun for you this morning, topped with frosted almonds and cinnamon. It is delightful, truly, and she is waiting breathlessly for your opinion. Here, my lady, do sit here in this lovely chair that gives such a fine view onto the eastern lawn. You can see that the peacocks are strutting this morning. I have always thought it the best-placed chair at the table.”
The dowager wasn’t certain what to do. It was her sham daughter-in-law who decided her. Alexandra said quickly, clapping her hands in excitement, “Oh, I should very much like to see the peacocks, Hollis. Are their tails fully fanned? How wonderful! Ma’am, would you mind if I sat there this morning so that I can look at them? I had remarked before that the placement of that chair was marvelous.”
The dowager said, all three chins elevated, “No, I wish to watch them this morning. They are amusing. Well, Hollis, I am waiting to be seated. I am waiting for my nutty bun.”
Douglas was impressed, very impressed. He looked toward Alexandra, but her head was down. That impressed him as well. No crowing from her, no gloating at this small but quite significant victory. She’d managed, with Hollis’s help, not to turn the breakfast room into a battleground. He said then, “After breakfast, Alexandra and I are going to Branderleigh Farm to buy her a mare. Sinjun, would you care to accompany us?”
Sinjun had a mouthful of kippers and could only nod. It was Melissande who said gaily from the doorway, “Oh, how delightful! Tony, shouldn’t you also like to buy me a mare? I should like a white mare, pure white, I think, with a long thick white mane.”
She looked so exquisitely beautiful that Douglas’s fork remained for several moments poised an inch from his mouth. Her morning gown was of a soft pale blue, plain, truth be told, but nothing more was required. Her hair had a blue ribbon threaded through the thick fat black curls. She looked fragile, delicate, immensely provocative.
“And a new riding habit, Melissande?” Sinjun said. “Pure white with perhaps a bright green feather in your hat? Oh, how lovely you would look. And seated on a lovely saddle atop a white mare, ah, you would look like a fairy princess.”
“White makes her look sallow,” Tony said matter-of-factly as he stirred the eggs on his plate. “It was with great relief I realized she wasn’t required to wear any more white once she was married to me.”
“Sallow! I am never sallow! Doesn’t that mean that I would look a nasty sort of yellow? No, it is absurd. I am never, never sallow.”
“Are you not, Mellie? In this instance, your mirror isn’t telling you the truth. You must learn to trust your husband. I have exquisite taste, you know. Why, I was planning to toss away all your girlish nightwear. No more white. I was thinking of bright blues and greens—all silk and satin, of course—and slippers to match. What do you think, my love?”
Melissande was in something of a bind. “I am not ever yellow,” she said, “but I should much enjoy new things.”
“I thought you would. After we have visited Strawberry Hill for as long as I wish, why then, we will go to London and you will flail young male hearts with your incomparable beauty and your silks and satins.”
“But I want to go to London now, Tony!”
“Should you like a scone, my dear?” asked the Dowager Countess of Northcliffe.
Douglas was looking at Melissande. He was also frowning, Sinjun saw. She smiled into her teacup.
“You must show everyone your lovely watercolors, Mellie,” Tony said, watching his bride delicately