“I find that you were right, sir,” she remarked politely. “I shall be the better for some food.”
He strolled over to his chair and sat down. “You look as though you need something to warm you,” he said. “Will you drink burgundy with me, or ratafia by yourself?”
“Thank you, my lord, I will drink water,” answered Miss Challoner firmly.
“As you please,” he shrugged and leaned back in his chair, lazily watching her.
The entrance of a liveried man, followed by one of the inn-servants created a welcome diversion. The discreet-looking man began to serve them, and surprised Miss Challoner by addressing her in her own tongue.
“I always travel with my own servants,” explained the Marquis, observing her surprise.
“An agreeable luxury, sir,” commented Miss Challoner.
She made an excellent dinner, and maintained a flow of easy conversation for the benefit of his lordship’s servant. The Marquis emptied his bottle of burgundy, and sent for a second. Miss Challoner’s heart sank, but the wine only seemed to make his lordship readier of tongue. There was a certain air of recklessness about him, but he was far from being drunk. Miss Challoner, dreading the inevitable tête-à-tête, lingered over the sweetmeats. When she at last ended her repast, the Marquis signed to his servant, who, in his turn, directed the French hireling to clear away the covers. Vidal got up and lounged over to the fire again. Miss Challoner stayed where she was, only pushing her chair back a little way from the table.
“Will your lordship require anything further tonight?” asked the servant.
“Nothing,” Vidal answered.