CHAPTER 13
Discovery at Gabbies Pub
Alix would have preferred to spend her evening with the terrier, instead of obeying the unanticipated summons from Lily's husband for dinner out. She had hoped for a quiet evening and wished only for a book by the fire, once she soaked in a warm bath to ease the swelling of her knee. Though that would not be possible, she had managed to give a good scrubbing to the stowaway that she had slipped into the house beneath her cloak. He had gorged on biscuits and cream at tea and then promptly curled up in a corner and gone to sleep. So far he seemed to be an engaging little fellow, but she did not know how long she could keep him hidden from the household. Although she had bathed him scrupulously, the chambermaid would notice any shedding hair, and the butler would wonder at her sudden penchant for walking at all times of the day.
Still, she could not simply put him out. Even with a clean and snowy white coat, he was so gaunt that every bone was apparent through his fur. He was lame in one hind leg and traveled on three, although she could find no obvious injury.
What she had at first suspected was a miserable tail tucked between his legs had turned out to be only a pitiable stub. He had not much to show for himself, except inquisitive ears shaped like a bat's, a pointed snout with an adorable black button nose, and a pair of chocolatey round eyes filled with curious hope.
The drive to the restaurant seemed to take forever. Alix endured the thick silence stoically. At least Nicholas seemed more interested in the passing scenery than in pursuing a conversation. Once, she thought the driver had gotten lost, because they seemed to go in a roundabout direction, but then she saw the river when he finally brought the carriage to a halt.
Even inside, at the table, Nicholas seemed more intent on his dinner than on her company. Her anxiety increased incrementally as the silence between them deepened. Was he waiting for her to spark conversation? Would Lily normally ignore him, since there was no apparent audience of a crowd to impress? She kept her hands beneath the table so he would not see her fingers tangle in the napkin while she strove to mimic her sister. Was his scrutiny whenever he chanced to look her direction as sharp as it seemed? His gaze settled on her briefly and then returned to his plate as he cut into his fish, but she saw that he had taken note of her covert observation.
"I thought it'd be nice to enJoy a quiet dinner for a change," he finally said in explanation of his unwarranted invitation.
Despite the mundane assertion, Alix was convinced that he had baited a trap. At the onset of their unprecedented engagement, she had expected the driver to swing the coach by Scotland Yard. When it brought them instead to the restaurant on Queensboro, she was uncertain if this place, with candlelit tables and music courtesy of a strolling violinist, was one that Lily preferred. Carefully, Alix sipped her wine. Had Nicholas hidden a smile when he'd returned his attention to his dinner? Was he entertained by her puzzlement, or did he find the way she sipped her wine secretly amusing? Discomfited, she nervously plucked a morsel from her bread and then hesitated, because the act had regained his attention.
His austerity eased. "Your fish will get cold." "It was a little too hot."
He blinked at her inane assertion and chose a drink of wine to consider it. "You like the chardonnay, at least," he noted, motioning the waiter forward to top off her glass. "It's a Moisson d'Epernay; I thought you'd enjoy it."
"Of course," she conceded easily, but propped up her assertion with a purposely astringent smile.
It seemed to unsettle him enough that he returned to his former critical regard. "Although I confess I've never noticed your preference before."
Alix nearly choked on the bite of fish she was swallowing.
Who could believe that Lily had no preference for a good white wine? Did her sister not know that she was half-French, for God's sake? She struggled to keep the striped bass from sticking in her throat as she yearned to drink the suddenly suspect chardonnay. She swallowed again, desperate to find a quick resolution to her new dilemma.
"It's good to try something different occasionally," Lily's husband continued pleasantly. He waxed on his topic while finishing his fish. "Everyone has room to learn something. Take me, for example. Should anyone ask me about art, I'd have little to discuss, unless in consideration of maritime history. Of course, I had the standard courses in school, but faced with any of those old exams now, I'm afraid I'd give a lackluster performance." He waited expectantly. "You took art in school," he presumed with a wave of his fork. "Who would you consider, if I were to ask you, your favorite artist?"
The fish found a painful place to park in her attempt to squeeze it down her throat. Alix imagined fainting from lack of air, too afraid to wash down her bite. Nicholas studied her un- touched glass and then lifted his own in an unspoken challenge.
"I . . . ," she managed to reply, swallowing a fearful gulp of air that drove the fish down far enough for her to swallow. "I don't know."
He did not believe her. His expression flattened in disappointment as he drank a liberal chaser of wine.
"I mean," Alix clarified, wondering if she was stifling his attempt at polite conversation with her reluctant reticence, "it would depend on the type of art, wouldn't it?"
His initial surprise turned thoughtful, and then he nodded in concession. "Yes, I suppose it would. Anything, I guess. Why don't we stick with painting?"
Was this a trap related to her request for a painting kit? She had not found anything bearing Lily's signature on his Westminster walls. Feeling a snare ready, she grasped at one of his books for an example. "Well, there's that Italian fellow, Michelangelo Caravaggio. I suppose he's famous."
Satisfied, Nicholas signaled for the next course. One waiter brought a fresh choice of wine, while others changed their plates. "Michelangelo . . . wasn't he also a sculptor?"
Alix was unable to decide if he was being facetious or whether he was honestly confusing the two different artists because of their common given name. He waited expectantly while sampling red wine for the next course.
"I don't think so," she ventured carefully. She had no idea how deeply Lily was dedicated to the arts. "At least, your book didn't address sculpting."
Her answer perturbed him. Setting down his empty wineglass, he motioned for their waiter. "Are you certain?" he insisted pointedly. "Isn't he the one who painted the ceiling of the chapel in Rome?"
He appeared to be genuine, but Alix did not see how anyone could confuse the two men, when their works were lifetimes apart. "Perhaps you're thinking of the infamous Master Simoni," she proposed gently.
"I distinctly recall his name as Michelangelo." "Michelangelo was their common name. Merisi da Caravaggio was not even born during Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni's lifetime," she clarified glumly, hesitant to reveal more. "You see, his name was in the book."
"Ah," Nicholas replied, with a subtle air of discovery.
"It was all in the book," Alix quantified hurriedly, attempting to rescue her shattered facade. She pushed Lily's bored smile upon her face. "Of course, I wouldn't ordinarily remember such excruciating details, if I hadn't just read it recently." She finished by tittering her sister's dismissive giggle and hoped disaster had been avoided. At least, there did not seem to be any constables rushing forward.
The new wine with the entree of roast beef and baked pastry posed a new dilemma. If Lily did not like white wine, dare she try the red? Did Lily find this pastry pleasing and care for sauce? Did she eat roast beef with horseradish or something else?
"What else did the book say?" Nicholas prompted, tasting his pastry.
"Book?" Alix surfaced from a sip of wine she had not meant to take. Guiltily, she relinqu