Alex viewed her enthusiasm with a sense of wonder. It was refreshing to see someone so overtly intent on enjoying life rather than affecting a more fashionable ennui. The world was full of new things to discover, one simply had to look beyond the front door to find them. Sophie, it seemed, understood that.
His thoughtful smile spread to a full-fledged grin as he watched her pop an eel into her mouth, chew for half a second, then blanch. Her chin dropped without her lips separating and Alex got the distinct impression she was attempting to keep the food from coming into contact with as little of her mouth as possible. That, or she was gagging with her mouth closed.
“Here.” He reached into his pocket and retrieved a handkerchief, but she shook her head. Then, to his utter astonishment, she squeezed her eyes shut, gripped the edge of the table with her hands and chewed—very, very quickly.
It was the most adorable thing he had ever seen.
She swallowed, gasped, and reached for her mug of ale, downing half the contents before speaking. “That was horrible. Truly horrible,” she laughed. “I can’t imagine why Mr. Wang carried on so about them during the trip over.” Her brow furrowed a bit, and she twisted her lips. “I think he might have been having me on.”
“Perhaps,” Alex conceded, still chuckling. “Or perhaps he likes them. A great many people do, you know.”
She made a disgusted face. “Do you?” she asked with clear disbelief.
“Good Lord, no, they’re awful. I just thought you might like to try something new.”
“Oh,” she said, a little taken back at his thoughtfulness. “I did. I mean, I do. I never pass up the chance to try a new dish.” She reached for some bread. She couldn’t quite get the taste of eel out of her mouth. She had the bread halfway to her lips before she stopped and added, “Unless it’s made with brains. I realize calf brains are a delicacy, but I don’t much care for the idea of eating an animal’s head.”
“Perfectly understandable,” he assured her. “Would you care to try something else? Mrs. McLeod would be delighted to introduce you to a few Scottish dishes, I imagine. Ever had haggis?”
After several of said dishes, Sophie commented that such food might be the reason the Scottish were so renowned for their strong builds. Alex looked at the array of dishes still on the table with a dubious eye. “It’s sturdy fare, I’ll grant.”
“More to the point, a person would have to be sturdy to eat this sort of fare on a regular basis and survive.”
“I hadn’t thought of that. An unusual means of culling the herd, but effective, I warrant.”
“Hmm. Pass the bread, would you?”
Alex handed her his share. “You’d be one of the first to go.”
“I’m afraid so. I haven’t a drop of Scottish blood in me.”
“Pity,” Alex decided. “They say Scottish lasses are a delightfully fiery lot.”
He gave a meaningful glance toward the kitchen where the laughter of the McLeod daughters could be heard over the sound of clinking pots and pans.
Sophie rolled her eyes. She’d met the McLeod women earlier. They were friendly, congenial, and decidedly sturdy.
“Tell me more about your father,” she prompted.
Alex looked at her with surprise.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to upset you. If you prefer—”
“Not at all. I’m not upset in the least, and I don’t mind speaking of my father. I’ll never understand this odd habit people have of pretending the dead never existed.”
Sophie nodded in agreement. “It can be difficult, but in some ways it’s insulting to their memory not to at least try.”
“Your mother and sister were killed in a carriage accident before you left England, weren’t they? Is it difficult for you to speak of them?”
She looked up in surprise. “I hadn’t realized you knew about my sister.”
“I believe Lady Thurston told me,” Alex replied smoothly while calling himself a dozen kinds of cad for the lie. “She’s an old friend of your Mrs. Summers.”
Sophie nodded. “Yes, of course, Mrs. Summers mentioned that.”
“Will you tell me of her, and your mother?”
Sophie found that with Alex she could speak of her lost loved ones without feeling overwhelmed. She told him some of her and her twin sister Elizabeth’s more ridiculous antics and how they’d tried once, at age eight, to switch identities. They spent an entire day believing they had fooled everyone until one of the upstairs maids pointed out that they had two very different haircuts.
She spoke of the way her mother used to visit the nursery every day to take tea with them and how at night she would crawl into the giant bed Sophie and Elizabeth shared, sit between them, and read stories aloud. When they had outgrown children’s books, she brought novels instead, refusing to give up the tradition, and read a chapter each night.
“I miss her terribly,” Sophie mused quietly. “But I miss Lizzie more. Do you think that’s awful?”