Page 76 of A Bloom for a Blacksmith

James shrugged. “The Prince of Orange, of course,” he replied. The way he quirked a brow suggested Darius should have known the answer.

Nodding, Darius said, “He’ll be the king of the Netherlands one day,” he remarked.

“I am counting on it,” James said. “Now, you must tell us how you two met.”

Darius and Stella regarded one another for a moment as if waiting for the other to start. Finally, Stella said, “I was sitting in an olive tree on a small island in the Aegean Sea.”

“I was on a horse underneath it,” Darius stated.

Sarah tittered. “Oh, my. But what about the Ottomans?”

“They hadn’t discovered that island yet,” Stella said, which was the truth. It would be another three thousand years before they did.

“So… love at first sight?” James guessed.

“It certainly was for me,” Stella said, her gaze on Darius.

“Well, she wasn’t pelting me with olives, if that’s what you were thinking,” Darius said, grinning. “I had to make a bargain with her father, though.”

“I was only fifteen when we wed,” Stella said.

“Oh!” Sarah’s eyes were round. “And what of your children?”

After centuries of answering that particular query, Darius was ready with a response. “Our first boy we took in as a ward when he was but a babe, but he, uh, died in battle. Our other two—”

“A son and a daughter,” Stella offered.

“—are alive and well, although they are grown and out of the nest.”

This bit of news seemed to trouble James. About to put voice to a query, he hesitated when the footmen appeared with the second course of roasted pheasant, and vegetables. When James continued to stare at Darius, he said, “I’ll tell you more over port.”

The answer seemed to settle the viscount, and dinner resumed. Once the second course had been completed, the footman appeared with a tray of tarts and a blanc mange.

By the time sweets were consumed, and the last glass of claret had been drunk, it was clear the men wished to continue their conversation over an after-dinner drink.

“Come, Stella. Let’s leave the men to their port and we can have our tea in the parlor,” Sarah said, pulling on her gloves before rising from her chair.

The men immediately stood, bowing as the ladies took their leave of the dining room. “Would you like to hold onto my arm?” Stella asked.

“Bless you,” Sarah said, gripping Stella’s forearm. “I usually don’t sit so long.” She was unsteady until they reached the stairs and she could grip the stair rail.

“Neither do I, but dinner was most excellent,” Stella said. “Your cook is to be commended. I am of the opinion our cook, Mrs. Crabbe, is trying to kill us.”

Sarah tittered as they made their way into the parlor. “They can be rather cantankerous, though yours even has the name to prove it.” She took a seat in the chair her husband had occupied earlier while Stella opted to return to the settee, but at the end closest to Sarah. From the woman’s careful steps, Stella realized that the viscountess had to be older than she appeared. She wasn’t yet a crone, though. Fifty, if the information in A General and Heraldic Dictionary of the Peerage and Baronetage of the United Kingdom for MDCCCXXVI was correct.

A housemaid appeared with a tea tray and set about preparing the cups while Sarah told her they were only in London for Parliament and would return to Kent in late November.

“We shall have to meet for coffee before you leave,” Stella insisted, taking the cup of tea the maid offered.

“I would like that. Very much. I tend to spend too much time in the company of other bluestockings—we have regular meetings at one of the coffee houses every week—and not with the ladies of my husband’s peers,” Sarah said, adding milk to her tea. “I do see them at the entertainments, though.”

“You must be out nearly every night of the Little Season,” Stella remarked.

“Oh, goodness no,” she replied and dipped her head. “His Lordship only accepts one or two invitations a week.” She paused and swallowed. “And we attend the theatre, usually twice whilst in town.” Her next breath sounded as a sob, as if she was having trouble breathing.

Stella was in the middle of taking a sip of tea when she noticed her hostess’s sudden distress. “Sarah, what is it? What’s wrong?”

Sarah shook her head and pulled a hanky from her pocket. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what’s come over me,” she said.