He responds by reaching over and filling my empty wineglass. I notice that there are already several empty bottles of the house red, a bitter swill that might as well be vinegar. “You’ve got catching up to do. Drink up.”
The fireplace warms the small room, which otherwise has no heating. I keep my jacket on, leaning back to let the fire warm me. The English aristocracy seem to think suffering is glamorous. How else to explain the addiction to everything cold and drafty? I think it must be a throwback to their ancestors, who had titles but not the money to back it up. Of course, with the current interest in all things royal, those days are over—if you’ve got a title and a country estate, you’re milking it for all it’s worth.
My phone pings with a text.
INDIA: Job well done. She looks bloody fantastic.
ME: Thx! Did major damage on parents’ cc today, ha!
INDIA: Worth every penny.
I look up from my phone to smile at India, and Edward catches my eye. He blows me a kiss.
“What took you two so long?” asks Flossie across the table.
“We were shopping,” I explain.
“Did you buy anything good?” she asks, turning to Libby.
“I don’t think there are any clothes left in town! Dresses, shirts, trousers—everything.”
“Libby hasn’t gone shopping in a long time,” I say.
“Charlotte has demanded I donate my jeans to an old-age home and burn all my flannel shirts,” she says.
“I don’t know, flannel is kind of retro,” says Flossie. “Like, in a good way.”
“Right?” says Libby, turning to me and smiling. “See? I wasn’t a fashion disaster, I was fashion forward. Everything old is new again.”
“You looked lovely then and you look lovely now,” India says kindly. Libby gives a small smile, blushing and looking pleased.
“She’s shy, eh?” Tarquin says as India leads the conversation on the other end of the table.
“Yeah, we have a loud family. She fades into the background and lets us all tear each other to bits like a pack of wolves. Plus, she’s self-conscious.”
“I have no bloody idea why,” he says, taking a gulp of wine as if it were water. “Put in a good word for me? I’m going to try my luck.”
“Ha! You’ll need it.”
I make a show of playing along with Tarquin and ribbing him good-naturedly, but in actuality, I find him a boor. He’s the worst type of aristocrat: entitled, smarmy, and convinced that everything coming out of his mouth is brilliant. Luckily, he mistakes insults for flirting.
He cocks his head, looking at Libby thoughtfully. She’s quietly sitting at the end of the table, taking tiny sips of her wine and watching India, Flossie, and Edward as if observing a tennis match.
“Yeah, I’m going to hit that.”
“You’re a pig.” He thinks I’m joking. I’m not.
“What about you?” He leans in closer. “You and Eds? A little side helping of dessert?”
“Jesus, Tarkie, you’re on fire tonight. Have you got any shame?”
“C’mon!”
“It’s none of your damn business—but, no, if you must know.”
“Really? Surprising. Hoping to lock him down first?”
I’m tempted to throw my drink in his face. I ignore him.
“So, Edward,” I call from across the table. “You and Libby are in the same maths class, yeah? How’s old Jonesy?” Professor Jones is only in his forties, but he carries himself like he’s a thousand years old, wearing thick spectacles and using a walking stick. His hair is already completely gray.
“Still impossible. That man is a proper sadist.”
“Libs, you should tutor Edward. Libby is an absolute whiz at maths,” I explain.
She blushes. “I’d hardly call myself a whiz.”
“Stop being so modest—you’re a genius. I dread that class next year.”
“Are you having problems in maths?” Libby asks Edward.
“Always,” he laughs.
“I’d be happy to help you, if you like?” She looks over at me, as if for affirmation, and I nod at her, smiling. I know she’s drowning in homework, but she’s still willing to take time out of her schedule to help others—I love this about her.
“I wouldn’t want to trouble you,” he says, refilling his wine and then offering it to Libby. She accepts half a glass.
“It wouldn’t be any trouble,” she says.
“There!” I say. “It’s settled!”
The waiter arrives to take our orders. He’s an older Italian man with a suffocatingly thick accent—somebody I’ve never seen before. It leads to a comedy of errors: lots of pantomiming and raised voices.
“If they don’t speak English, shouting at them isn’t going to help,” I say to Tarquin.
“Bloody foreigners.”
“I’m sorry, isn’t your family German?”
“The King is German. Everybody is German.”
“I see,” I say, trying to stop myself from rolling my eyes.
When the waiter gets to Edward, he does a double take.
“Prince!” he exclaims. “Eduardo!”
Edward flushes a little bit. A mild flash of annoyance skitters across his face, but in an instant, it’s gone, replaced by a wry smile. “Sí, sí,” he says. “Eduardo. That’s me.”
After he walks away, Libby leans over to Edward, quietly saying something I can’t hear. He gives her a grateful look and nods. “It is. Thank you.”
She smiles back. Victory! They’re getting along.
I feel like Libby is finally enjoying herself, which helps me relax in turn. I spend the rest of the meal laughing with my side of the table—drinking wine, uploading Snaps of my food, and inhaling my pasta carbonara. One of the major advantages of field hockey practice five times a week: I can eat boatloads of pasta—my favorite—without it affecting me. While I hate waking up early, that perk alone is worth the price of admission.
After dessert, I push away my half-eaten plate of tiramisu. I haven’t even thought about Libby in over an hour, after angling my chair away from her to joke with David. I look back and see her and Edward deep in quiet conversation, their chairs turned toward each other and their heads leaning down. Libby is ticking things off her fingers one by one. I strain my ears and catch her saying the words “Pareto principle.” They must be talking about study habits.
If you walked in the room and looked at them, you’d have no idea that tonight was the first proper conversation they’d ever had.
I smile, happy they’re bonding—even if it’s over something as boring as their studies.
“Why are you grinning like a maniac?” David asks.
“Am I? No reason.”
Everything’s proceeding exactly as planned.
A few hours and several glasses of wine later, we all walk back to campus together.