Amala, and I invade the kitchen and cook a traditional meal. Cook is horrified, but then the recipes aren’t butchered.”
“You can cook?”
His expression must have reflected his doubt. She laughed. “Of course I can. I was always surprised that my fully English counterparts in India seemed to be willing to starve rather than learn the rudiments of cooking. Even my own father told me that a lady needed only to go over the menus, not actually be able to prepare them, but this seemed such a boring experience.”
“Do you find that most of the English ladies you’ve met are boring?”
“Not boring so much as purposeless.”
Luke heard implied criticism in those words. He suspected she also viewed his entire life as purposeless—and in this, she was not off the mark. “Alas, the same can be applied to many people of both sexes in the ton. We’re the product of the prejudices of our class, which sees actual work as something beneath us. Foolish, I know, but that’s how we’ve been taught to look at the world.”
She gave him an apologetic smile. “My late husband’s nephew, Lord Kelton, has made this prejudice very clear. My being in trade is probably my second greatest sin in his eyes.”
“And what’s the greatest?”
“Not giving him money made from that trade.” She laughed, and Luke joined her. Viewed from her perspective, the whole lot of those who clung to shabby gentility rather than work did look like fools.
“I wasn’t always without purpose,” he said. “As a peer’s third son, I was supposed to make my own way in the world. The three most acceptable routes are politics, the military, or the church. I couldn’t see myself making speeches in Commons, and I was always more scholarly than martial. When the war against Napoleon ended while I was still at university, the church seemed the logical choice.”
“You? A country parson?” Disbelief was written on her face.
While understandable, her skepticism hurt. He wanted Carolyn Rydell to think better of him. He smiled to deflect the sting. “I actually saw myself more as the Archbishop of Canterbury—but I acknowledge that I couldn’t have started there. And I would have been happy with a parish in the country. I’m not all that enamored by London. I actually enjoy the slower pace of village life.”
“Then, why are you in London?”
That was a question he’d asked himself more than once. “I have friends here. Activities.” Those didn’t equate to purpose, but it was the best he could do. The small stud farm he’d briefly imagined glimmered—and then was gone.
“What happened to the idea of your entering the church?”
Luke was glad that she wasn’t laughing at the idea. “That opportunity was long ago,” he said. “I mentioned earlier that my life had taken some unexpected turns that have led me to the here and now. I loved my studies at the university. If I was perhaps more interested in the intellectual side of religion, I would have still made a good minister, but I was accused of something so horrible that I was no longer an acceptable candidate.”
And then he told her about Belinda Fuquay’s accusations and his response. He didn’t make excuses; he just gave her the facts of that terrible period of his life when all doors shut and no new ones opened. He spoke with honesty and regret. “I should have married her,” he concluded, “but I imagined the real father would step forward. I had no idea she would do what she did.”
Carolyn reached over and gave the hand lying on the table a quick squeeze. Until she’d touched him, he had no idea he’d clinched it into a fist. Warmth stole through him, relaxing taut muscles. “Why do you think she targeted you?” she asked.
“I’ve pondered that since it happened and have never arrived at a satisfactory explanation. I truly knew her only in passing. Maybe she thought I’d marry her for her dowry. In the end, I’ll never know.” He turned his hand over
“You can cook?”
His expression must have reflected his doubt. She laughed. “Of course I can. I was always surprised that my fully English counterparts in India seemed to be willing to starve rather than learn the rudiments of cooking. Even my own father told me that a lady needed only to go over the menus, not actually be able to prepare them, but this seemed such a boring experience.”
“Do you find that most of the English ladies you’ve met are boring?”
“Not boring so much as purposeless.”
Luke heard implied criticism in those words. He suspected she also viewed his entire life as purposeless—and in this, she was not off the mark. “Alas, the same can be applied to many people of both sexes in the ton. We’re the product of the prejudices of our class, which sees actual work as something beneath us. Foolish, I know, but that’s how we’ve been taught to look at the world.”
She gave him an apologetic smile. “My late husband’s nephew, Lord Kelton, has made this prejudice very clear. My being in trade is probably my second greatest sin in his eyes.”
“And what’s the greatest?”
“Not giving him money made from that trade.” She laughed, and Luke joined her. Viewed from her perspective, the whole lot of those who clung to shabby gentility rather than work did look like fools.
“I wasn’t always without purpose,” he said. “As a peer’s third son, I was supposed to make my own way in the world. The three most acceptable routes are politics, the military, or the church. I couldn’t see myself making speeches in Commons, and I was always more scholarly than martial. When the war against Napoleon ended while I was still at university, the church seemed the logical choice.”
“You? A country parson?” Disbelief was written on her face.
While understandable, her skepticism hurt. He wanted Carolyn Rydell to think better of him. He smiled to deflect the sting. “I actually saw myself more as the Archbishop of Canterbury—but I acknowledge that I couldn’t have started there. And I would have been happy with a parish in the country. I’m not all that enamored by London. I actually enjoy the slower pace of village life.”
“Then, why are you in London?”
That was a question he’d asked himself more than once. “I have friends here. Activities.” Those didn’t equate to purpose, but it was the best he could do. The small stud farm he’d briefly imagined glimmered—and then was gone.
“What happened to the idea of your entering the church?”
Luke was glad that she wasn’t laughing at the idea. “That opportunity was long ago,” he said. “I mentioned earlier that my life had taken some unexpected turns that have led me to the here and now. I loved my studies at the university. If I was perhaps more interested in the intellectual side of religion, I would have still made a good minister, but I was accused of something so horrible that I was no longer an acceptable candidate.”
And then he told her about Belinda Fuquay’s accusations and his response. He didn’t make excuses; he just gave her the facts of that terrible period of his life when all doors shut and no new ones opened. He spoke with honesty and regret. “I should have married her,” he concluded, “but I imagined the real father would step forward. I had no idea she would do what she did.”
Carolyn reached over and gave the hand lying on the table a quick squeeze. Until she’d touched him, he had no idea he’d clinched it into a fist. Warmth stole through him, relaxing taut muscles. “Why do you think she targeted you?” she asked.
“I’ve pondered that since it happened and have never arrived at a satisfactory explanation. I truly knew her only in passing. Maybe she thought I’d marry her for her dowry. In the end, I’ll never know.” He turned his hand over
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