Rupert, he learned, often joined them for supper. His travels around the world to find new fabrics and bring them back to the Farthingale mills in England made it difficult for him to maintain a proper household of his own, he explained. “Besides, there is no hostess better than Sophie. I know I shall always find a good meal and the best company right here.”
The soup course was served by the footmen, a hearty onion soup. They next dug into the main course, an excellent repast consisting of smoked trout, quail stuffed with apricots, roasted potatoes, leeks, and turnips.
Ronan enjoyed hearing of Rupert’s travels, listening intently as he spoke of his more dangerous jaunts.
“I often venture along the ancient Silk Road, or so it has been named, but it is too dangerous in certain spots to ever bring family or friends along. The mountains are quite rugged, bandits abound, and not all tribes are friendly to the merchant caravans that make their way along the road.”
“Indeed,” John said with a shake of his head. “Our nephew, William, got caught in the crossfire between two warring tribes and was quite badly injured during their battle. Fortunately, he survived. But his wounds were quite serious. He’s George’s son. I believe you know my brother.”
Ronan nodded. “The doctor? Indeed, I do. He saved my cousin James. He is a hero to my family.”
Sophie smiled. “We’re very proud of him, even if Rupert and John are still miffed at him for not coming into the family business.”
The two men laughed.
Rupert raised his glass in a toast. “George has saved our hides often enough that we long ago accepted his decision and have been very grateful to him for defying us. To George.”
Everyone raised their glasses and gave a chorus of “Here, here.”
Hortensia was once again eyeing him. “And you, Captain Brayden. Have you had many adventures? You seem a little young to have done much in the war.”
“Hortensia! Honestly. Do behave.” Sophie cast him an apologetic smile.
He took a sip of his wine and then set the glass down before he replied to her question. “Indeed, I served mainly toward the end of the war. But I did see a little action at sea battling Napoleon’s naval forces off the Iberian Peninsula. I was given command of one of the smaller frigates, obviously being too young to be trusted with the finer ships of the line.”
“How old were you at the time?” Dahlia asked.
“I had just turned one and twenty...almost. Our captain was killed early on during one of our engagements. I was second in command, so I took over. The Admiralty decided to leave me in charge despite my young age and promoted me to captain. Our task after the war was to patrol the Mediterranean Sea along the northern coast of Africa and as far as the Aegean Sea. It was quiet for the most part. Not many skirmishes to be had. We were used mainly as a show of force or to battle pirates. Earlier this year, I was called back home and assigned to Parliament.”
“You do not look pleased about it,” John muttered. “But it is obvious the Lord Admiral has faith in you, or he would not have placed you in this important position.”
He shrugged. “In truth, meeting constantly with these politicians is like having a daily tooth extraction. Very different from commanding one’s own vessel. I am used to giving orders and having them immediately obeyed. No questions asked. But in Parliament? No one listens unless it serves their purpose. It is often frustrating and thankless.”
Violet nodded. “Romulus loves to be out at sea. I think that is his true home.”
Ronan shook his head. “No, Violet. You are his home. You are his everything. Wherever you are, that’s where he longs to be.”
“Crumpets,” Heather said in a whisper. “I hope I find that sort of love someday.”
Violet dabbed at her eyes with her table linen. “Thank you, Ronan.”
He turned to Dahlia, suddenly worried the conversation would turn her thoughts to Wainscott again. So he quickly resumed their earlier conversation and began to describe the ports of call he’d visited during his time at sea. “I’ve seen a bit of the world, at times under enemy fire. But it was interesting, nonetheless. Casablanca, Tripoli, Alexandria, Izmir, Thessalonica.”
Heather’s eyes widened in delight. “Oh, how marvelous!”
“But as I said, once the war was over, there was little for us to do but remind everyone of our presence. The most excitement we had was chasing down smugglers and pirates. Much as Romulus is doing now off the coast of Cornwall.”
“Were you ever injured in battle?” Violet asked.
He clenched his jaw, for this was not something he particularly liked to talk about. “A time or two. Nothing serious.”
John eyed him curiously, obviously understanding what the medals pinned on his chest meant.
“Sophie and I intend to travel someday,” the Farthingale patriarch said pensively. “But with so much going on with the family, we haven’t made any definitive plans. Do you have a favorite place of all the ones you’ve visited, Captain Brayden?”
“They all have a charm of their own, and I enjoyed everywhere we sailed. It is almost impossible to choose just one, but if I were pressed, I would have to say Naples. There is something quite spectacular about that coastline.”
Rupert nodded. “I quite agree.”
“I would love to travel to Italy someday,” Dahlia admitted. “Greece, too. I could lose myself for months exploring the artistry of their ancient civilizations. The buildings, the fashions, the sculptures, and paintings.”
“The food,” Ronan added. “Quite the best you’ll ever eat, present company excepted, Mrs. Farthingale. This quail is delicious.”
Sophie laughed. “Mrs. Mayhew is a wonder. She’s been our cook ever since John and I were first married. I don’t know what I’d do without her. Perhaps we shall take her with us on our travels. Imagine the wonderful dishes she could learn to make on such a trip.”
“Indeed,” Rupert said. “And I shall volunteer myself to test out every one of them when she returns. But in all seriousness, if you are ever to go anywhere outside of England, it ought to be to Italy.”
He turned to Dahlia. “Their fabrics are quite splendid, too. The Italian velvets are magnificent, not only for their softness, shimmer, and warmth, but in the way the colors hold to them. The reds, blues, greens, all appear deeper and richer. The cloths themselves are made by hand by artisans in Florence and Verona. They weave on the same looms used back in the time of the Renaissance.”
Dahlia was listening intently, drawn in by her uncle’s discussion.
“The silks from China are also quite exquisite. Did you know the mulberry tree–”
Hortensia groaned. “Rupert, you will put us all to sleep if you do not stop talking right now. I’ve heard your lecture on the origins of silk a thousand times and do not wish to hear it again.”
But Ronan could see that Dahlia’s eyes were alight for the first time since his arrival. It was a bit of a blow to know that she found fabrics more fascinating than him. However, this was entirely the point of their reading that book together, wasn’t it?
She had to learn to trust in love again.
Dahlia set down her fork and turned to her uncle. “Uncle Rupert, I would be interested in learning more. Perhaps we can chat later if that is all right with you.”