“Does seem rude to begin without him,” Mrs. Summers was quick to agree, almost as quick as she was to set down her own fork.
They sat in uncomfortable silence, made more awkward by McAlistair’s return with the rolls. Apparently unaware, or merely unconcerned, with the unnatural stillness in the room, he set down the rolls, took his seat and proceeded to eat.
When he showed no immediate signs of illness, Evie sampled a piece of the fowl.
It tasted like…tasted like…she stopped chewing. It didn’t taste like anything but meat. It hardly tasted like anything at all. There was no flavor to it. Not a hint. Not even a suggestion of a hint. It was as bland as the meat he’d cooked in the woods.
Granted, that was preferable to the meat she’d cooked last night, but couldn’t he have added something? Anything? Fish and snake cooked in the woods on a cross-country journey could at least claim to be flavored with adventure. Even that was something.
She looked to the others at the table and found Mrs. Summers frowning thoughtfully at her plate, Mr. Hunter looking expectantly at McAlistair, and Christian, not surprisingly, halfway through his meal.
McAlistair glanced up from his plate and must have noticed that only he and Christian were eating, because he asked, “Something the matter?”
Evie and Mrs. Summers shook their heads in unison, while Christian grunted and shoveled in another mouthful.
Mr. Hunter threw his head back and roared with laughter. “Devil take it, man, what did you do to it?”
Unoffended, McAlistair scooped up another bite. “Nothing.”
“Exactly.” Mr. Hunter stabbed a finger at him. “There’s not a thing on this, is there? Not a pinch of salt, a dash of thyme, even a grain of pepper. You said you could cook.”
McAlistair smiled a little around his mouthful. “It’s cooked.”
“Insofar as it’s not raw, yes.”
“Oh, dear,” Mrs. Summers murmured. “This won’t do.”
“I could give it another go,” Evie offered, eager to take the focus off of McAlistair’s failure. “Something simpler—”
“No.”
The rejection may have stung a bit less if it hadn’t been uttered, loudly, by everyone at the table. She sniffed and set down her fork. “Very well, has anyone a better idea?”
McAlistair calmly cut off another piece of meat. “Mr. Hunter’s turn.”
She saw it then, the sly amusement in his eyes. She’d known he found their reaction to his meal to be amusing, but it was the quick flash of smug victory that told her it was sly amusement, which was an entirely different animal. He’d expected, even planned for his meal to be a failure.
Delighted with the trick, with him, she picked up her napkin to hide her smile.
Mrs. Summers cleared her throat delicately. “Can you cook well, Mr. Hunter?”
Mr. Hunter kept his eyes narrowed on McAlistair. “It appears we’ll find out.”
Twenty-three
Unlike Evie’s offering from the night before, McAlistair’s meal was easily salvaged by a quick trip to the kitchen for salt and pepper. Evie wouldn’t have gone so far as to call the end result savory, but it was edible, even by the standards of Mrs. Summers, who after days of barely eating, managed to clear more than half her plate.
After a spot of confusion over whose responsibility it now was to see to the dishes—settled by Christian’s entertaining, and ultimately ill-fated (for him) suggestion of drawing straws—Evie accepted Mr. Hunter’s offer of a game of chess. She rather hoped McAlistair would join them in the library, but he declined, citing a need to see to the horses.
Evie stifled a pang of disappointment. It was a perfectly valid excuse, she told herself, and feeding and watering a handful of horses was hardly a chore that required an entire evening to accomplish. Surely, McAlistair would join them eventually. In the meantime, she had Mr. Hunter to keep her company. Generally, Evie didn’t relish the company of men she barely knew, particularly uncommonly handsome men like Mr. Hunter. Though she knew it to be irrational, she couldn’t help but look at such a man and be reminded that while she was looking at near physical perfection…he was not.
But to her delight, she found Mr. Hunter to be—if one was willing to set aside the fact that he’d suggested she be used as bait—a man rather easy to grow comfortable with. He was exceedingly charming, and though there was a glibness and polish to him she didn’t entirely trust, she found her stammering easing in the face of his good humor and friendly manner.