“Paris? I assume you are fluent in French?”
“Absolument! C’est presque ma langue maternelle.” She grinned.
“Bien joué.” He dipped his head and smiled back. “Tu m’as convaincu.”
Lottie hated the warmth that flowed through her at their bantering. They did truly have much in common. Their best friends were married to each other, they both loved history, and they both were fluent in French.
This is what she’d expected when she left France to take up what she thought would be a wonderful new life with Mama.
They studied the menu, then placed their order. Now that the preliminaries were out of the way, Lottie felt a bit more relaxed. Mr. Westbrooke possessed the skill and charm to make her feel at ease. Perhaps they could have a friendship of sorts after all since nothing more was possible.
“What made you move from London to Bath?” Mr. Westbrooke broke the silence with an awkward question.
She didn’t like the idea of lying to him, but she was certainly not going to tell him the true story. “I found when I returned to London from France, I was not comfortable there.” She shrugged. “So noisy, dirty, and smelly.”
He nodded. “Another thing we agree upon. I only visit London when I absolutely must. Like a few times a year when my mother expects the family to assemble for holidays and, of course, her birthday.” He studied her for a minute. “Do you miss your family?”
“I only have my mother.” She scrambled to think of more to say. When she’d met Addie and Pamela, they accepted her story that she and her mother had a break in their relationship, and she left London. Too ashamed of her background when she first made their acquaintance to add to the story, she told them no more. Since then they accepted her friendship without further questions.
“I’m sorry,” Mr. Westbrooke said. “When did you lose your father?”
I never had him to lose. He was probably someone passing through the night.
“I never knew him.” There, the truth. Before he could continue with the questions, she jumped in, “And your family? Do you have siblings?”
The waiter placed dishes of shepherd’s pie in front of each of them, along with a platter of jellied eels and kippers in the center of the table. Lottie scrunched up her nose.
“You don’t care for eels?”
Lottie shook her head. “No. I definitely do not like jellied eels. Or kippers, either.”
Mr. Westbrooke shook out his napkin and placed it on his lap. He picked up his fork and said, “To answer your question, I have two brothers, no sisters.”
She always wanted a sister or even a brother. Just someone else she could share her childhood with who would always be in her life. “I am envious. I would have loved a sibling.”
He laughed. “There were times when I would have packed them up and sent them off to France.”
“Are you the eldest?” The shepherd’s pie was delicious, and she almost found herself groaning with pleasure.
He shook his head. “No. My brother, Charles, Viscount Hastings, is the eldest. Then comes my brother, Peter, and then me.” He continued to eat not realizing he just sucked all the air out of the room and turned her world completely upside down.
“Your brother is a viscount?” she said holding her fork between the plate and her mouth.
He shook his head. “In some ways. It is a courtesy title from my father, the Earl of Huntingdon.”
Lottie lowered her fork and fought the nausea rising in her stomach. “Your father is an earl?”
“Yes. But I am a lowly Mr. Westbrooke.” He shook his head and smiled. “Thank heavens. I would not want the responsibility and confinement of a title.”
A loud buzzing began in her ears and Lottie felt as though his voice came from a distance. This man was a member of the ton. One of the Upper Ten Thousand. He came from nobility. His blood was bluer than the ink she used for her correspondence. She pushed her food away.
“I say, Miss Danvers, are you all right? You seem to have gone quite pale.”
She used all the training she’d had over the years on how to conduct oneself in polite company and offered a smile. “I am quite well. It turns out I am not as hungry as I thought.”
&nb
sp; He continued to study her. “Perhaps it’s the sight of the eel and kippers. I can have the waiter remove them.” He turned and signaled for the man to approach their table.