Free On a Desert Shore by S. K. Rizzolo Page B

that keeps his plants warm. Lewis was far more taken with the perfections of the machinery than I could ever be.”
    He snorted. “You’d better go do the pretty. I’ll speak to you later.”
    â€œAren’t you dining with us?”
    â€œDo you think our host would sit down at table with a Runner? I’m here to play watchdog; that’s all.”
    â€œThat’s the outside of enough. As if you weren’t as much the gentleman as Mr. Garrod. More, I’d say.”
    â€œStubble it, Penelope,” Chase recommended.

Chapter Six
    Dinner was announced, and Penelope went into the dining room on Hugo Garrod’s arm. The dining room was a large chamber paneled in mahogany and dominated by a huge table covered in snowy damask. Two chandeliers hung from a richly decorated ceiling. Along one side of the room opposite the wall of windows, a long sideboard displayed Chinese porcelain and plate. The meal was an elaborate affair with three courses, all offering an array of dishes, including a turbot, a sirloin of beef, and two haunches of venison. Garrod had included some exotic dishes for his guests to sample: spears of pineapple; pepper pot, a meat and vegetable soup; and cassava bread, made, Penelope was informed, from a starchy root that formed a portion of the slave diet on West Indian plantations.
    Penelope was seated next to her host with Lewis placed at the foot of the table next to Marina. Garrod’s daughter sat, her food untouched. Her other dinner partner, a portly merchant, tried to draw her out, but she did not respond. Garrod, though engaged in conversation, watched his daughter. They all did. Penelope had noticed this attention in the drawing room too: Garrod constantly calling upon Marina to step forward and assume her role of hostess. But the girl had hung back, and she hung back still, answering in monosyllables and addressing most of her attention to the food she wasn’t eating. Was she shy? No, it was more than that. Somehow she made everyone at the table feel her presence and exerted a kind of power from withholding herself. One time, and one time only, Penelope saw her look up at the sound of Lewis’ voice speaking to Beatrice Honeycutt, and for an instant the mask cracked. A different young woman peeked out. Then Marina went back to her plate.
    Garrod poured the claret. “A glass of wine with you, Mrs. Wolfe?” He gave one of his wide, disarming smiles.
    She lifted her glass. “Thank you, sir.”
    â€œWould you oblige me by coming to my study tomorrow morning?”
    â€œCertainly. I am eager to start work.”
    â€œNo, indeed, ma’am. You misunderstand. There is not the least urgency. I mean for you to enjoy yourself while you are with us. An hour or two spent discussing our task, nothing more. You shall give yourself over to leisure.” He paused. “I have something planned for this evening that I hope will please you. A small surprise.”
    â€œYou are too kind,” said Penelope firmly. “You have done quite enough for me and Lewis already.”
    She was not sorry when it was time to address the neighbor on her other side, a man about forty years old with a sharp nose, pronounced brow, and inquisitive eyes. Just in time she recalled his name: the Reverend Samuel Tallboys—the local vicar, a noted West Indian scholar, and Mr. Garrod’s old friend. Even though Mr. Tallboys had greeted her politely in the drawing room, she’d noticed that Lewis was accorded nothing more than a nod and a distant bow. Granted, her brother was the illegitimate son of a courtesan who’d had the poor taste to get herself murdered, but that could not excuse ill manners.
    Now Tallboys addressed Penelope. “Hugo tells me you have a daughter, Mrs. Wolfe. You’ve left her in the city. Not too hot and uncomfortable for the child at this season, I trust?”
    â€œNo, sir. Sarah enjoys daily exercise in the park with