gray trousers did nothing to add the illusion of more height. However, the felted beaver top hat more than made up for that oversight. The little fellow seemed to be arguing with his more imposing associate, gesticulating wildly as he spoke.
Julianne swallowed back a smile. She suspected the man would be mildly entertaining in the manner of all those who are addicted to the sound of their own voices.
She didn’t watch him long. After a second glance, his companion was far more interesting. Tall and broad, the man was easily Jacob Preston’s match for size. But while Jacob was dark, this man’s pale blond hair was all the more striking because he wore only black, topped by a rather theatrical cape instead of a double-breasted frock coat like his friend.
His features were sharp and raw-boned, his nose handsomely hawkish. Deep grooves were carved between his pale brows and his jaw seemed solid as granite. Then he smiled at his smaller friend and his face changed from that of a brooding demon to a beneficent archangel. Still warlike in countenance, but now blessed with the quality of lightness as well.
Julianne’s belly fluttered slightly in response to the sight of a singularly attractive man.
“Find someone you’d like to tip the eye?” Jacob said as his gaze swiveled from the newcomer to her and back.
“Of course not. I’m simply trying to discover if one we seek might be here.” Julianne buried her nose in her ale, pleased to discover it was rich and yeasty as warm bread. She was saved from further explanation when the girl returned with their pie. Its wholesome aroma reminded Julianne she’d skipped breakfast. She forked up a bite of the flaky crust and steaming gravy. “Delicious.”
Jacob pulled a three-tined fork from his vest pocket and did the same. The white metal didn’t shine with the same patina as silver, but neither was it rough pewter, like the forks the tavern had provided.
“Do you usually bring your own tableware when you dine out?” she asked.
“Always.”
“Why?”
“A friend of mine is studying to be a physician. According to George, there are tiny little beasts called ‘germs,’ so small we can’t even see them. He says that’s what causes sickness in London, not the foul air of the Thames. At any rate, George claims these germs live everywhere, moving from person to person like minuscule lice.” Jacob looked around the room at their salt-of-the-earth dining companions. “At least, when I bring my own fork, I know whose mouth it has been in.”
“Ugh! Trust you to ruin my meal.”
“Nonsense. I’m sure yours is fine. George has been known to be wrong about a good many things. Eat up.”
Because the delightful smells had made her so hungry, Julianne did—but only after she scrubbed her fork with her coarse napkin for the space of about a minute.
In case this George person was right about tiny little beasts called germs.
C HAPTER 5
“Y our money’s no good here, Digory,” Malcolm said, plunking down sufficient coin on the bar. “This one’s on me.”
“Much obliged, Ravenwood.” Lord Digory stopped talking long enough to quaff down half his drink. It left a foamy mustache on his protruding upper lip, which he licked clean with a smacking sound. “Lady Digory is being swayed by those pestilential temperance busybodies. There’s not a drop of spirits in the house. She still allows me wine with dinner, but I ask you, what’s the world coming to when a man can’t have a wee dram in the comfort of his own parlor?”
“In that case, we’ll make the next round whisky,” Malcolm said, signaling to the barkeep. “Make it your best single malt, Tobias, and step lively.”
The man scuttled behind the bar where the better bottles were kept. The light-skirted barmaid passed by Malcolm and his companion without a second glance, intent on following her employer.
Malcolm had considered the wench a time or two when the Order met at the tavern. She was comely
Julianne swallowed back a smile. She suspected the man would be mildly entertaining in the manner of all those who are addicted to the sound of their own voices.
She didn’t watch him long. After a second glance, his companion was far more interesting. Tall and broad, the man was easily Jacob Preston’s match for size. But while Jacob was dark, this man’s pale blond hair was all the more striking because he wore only black, topped by a rather theatrical cape instead of a double-breasted frock coat like his friend.
His features were sharp and raw-boned, his nose handsomely hawkish. Deep grooves were carved between his pale brows and his jaw seemed solid as granite. Then he smiled at his smaller friend and his face changed from that of a brooding demon to a beneficent archangel. Still warlike in countenance, but now blessed with the quality of lightness as well.
Julianne’s belly fluttered slightly in response to the sight of a singularly attractive man.
“Find someone you’d like to tip the eye?” Jacob said as his gaze swiveled from the newcomer to her and back.
“Of course not. I’m simply trying to discover if one we seek might be here.” Julianne buried her nose in her ale, pleased to discover it was rich and yeasty as warm bread. She was saved from further explanation when the girl returned with their pie. Its wholesome aroma reminded Julianne she’d skipped breakfast. She forked up a bite of the flaky crust and steaming gravy. “Delicious.”
Jacob pulled a three-tined fork from his vest pocket and did the same. The white metal didn’t shine with the same patina as silver, but neither was it rough pewter, like the forks the tavern had provided.
“Do you usually bring your own tableware when you dine out?” she asked.
“Always.”
“Why?”
“A friend of mine is studying to be a physician. According to George, there are tiny little beasts called ‘germs,’ so small we can’t even see them. He says that’s what causes sickness in London, not the foul air of the Thames. At any rate, George claims these germs live everywhere, moving from person to person like minuscule lice.” Jacob looked around the room at their salt-of-the-earth dining companions. “At least, when I bring my own fork, I know whose mouth it has been in.”
“Ugh! Trust you to ruin my meal.”
“Nonsense. I’m sure yours is fine. George has been known to be wrong about a good many things. Eat up.”
Because the delightful smells had made her so hungry, Julianne did—but only after she scrubbed her fork with her coarse napkin for the space of about a minute.
In case this George person was right about tiny little beasts called germs.
C HAPTER 5
“Y our money’s no good here, Digory,” Malcolm said, plunking down sufficient coin on the bar. “This one’s on me.”
“Much obliged, Ravenwood.” Lord Digory stopped talking long enough to quaff down half his drink. It left a foamy mustache on his protruding upper lip, which he licked clean with a smacking sound. “Lady Digory is being swayed by those pestilential temperance busybodies. There’s not a drop of spirits in the house. She still allows me wine with dinner, but I ask you, what’s the world coming to when a man can’t have a wee dram in the comfort of his own parlor?”
“In that case, we’ll make the next round whisky,” Malcolm said, signaling to the barkeep. “Make it your best single malt, Tobias, and step lively.”
The man scuttled behind the bar where the better bottles were kept. The light-skirted barmaid passed by Malcolm and his companion without a second glance, intent on following her employer.
Malcolm had considered the wench a time or two when the Order met at the tavern. She was comely
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