Chapter 3: The Dinner Table's Hidden Fire
The grand dining hall of the Manoban mansion had always made Jennie feel smaller than she was. It was not the physical dimensions of the room—though those were impressive enough, with its vaulted ceilings and the weight of generations pressing down from the gilded frames on the walls—but rather the sheer presence of the Manoban family itself. They seemed to expand to fill whatever space they occupied, their collective confidence so thick it hung in the air like cigar smoke.
Tonight, that presence was concentrated at the long mahogany table, where the family had gathered for what Lady Manoban had grandly proclaimed as "an intimate evening among close kin." Intimate, in the Manoban lexicon, meant twenty courses, two additional guest families, and a seating arrangement designed to maximize social advantage.
Jennie sat to Kai's right, her hands folded in her lap, her posture so straight that her lower back had begun to ache. The corset she wore was new, a deep emerald silk that her mother had insisted would bring out the gold in her eyes, and it was doing its job admirably—if that job was making it difficult to take a full breath.
Across the table, Leonid sat in quiet contrast to the opulence around him. His evening coat was charcoal, his cravat tied with a casual precision that suggested he had better things to think about than fashion. He was listening to his mother with an expression of polite interest that Jennie recognized as a mask. She had seen the real Leonid—the one who whispered instructions in her ear on dew-covered trails, the one whose hands had left ghosts on her hips. This version, the polished gentleman who nodded at appropriate intervals and murmured the appropriate responses, was a costume.
"Leonid, darling," Lady Manoban said, setting down her glass of Bordeaux with a delicate clink, "I was speaking with the Duchess of Ashworth last week, and she was absolutely effusive in her praise of you."
Leonid raised an eyebrow. "Was she? I don't believe I've had the pleasure of meeting the duchess."
"Her daughter, however, has had the pleasure of meeting you." Lady Manoban's smile was razor-sharp beneath its velvet coating. "Lady Catherine Ashworth. You danced with her at the Whitmore ball last spring."
"Ah." Leonid's expression remained carefully neutral. "The one with the laugh like a startled hen."
Jennie bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. Kai, beside her, seemed not to notice, too busy carving his venison with focused precision.
"Leonid." Lady Manoban's voice carried a warning. "Lady Catherine is a perfectly lovely young woman from a perfectly respectable family. Her father controls half the shipping in the eastern counties."
"Then she'll have no trouble finding a husband without my assistance."
"Your assistance, as you so charmingly put it, is precisely what I'm trying to secure." Lady Manoban leaned forward slightly, her diamonds catching the chandelier light. "You are six and twenty years old, Leonid. Most men of your station have married and produced heirs by now. I have been patient, I have been understanding, and I have been—"
"Remarkably persistent," Leonid finished for her, a hint of genuine amusement finally breaking through his mask. "You have been remarkably persistent, Mother."
"Because someone must be." Lady Manoban gestured toward the other end of the table, where Kai and Jennie sat. "Look at your brother. Engaged, settled, about to celebrate his nuptials with a beautiful bride from an impeccable family." She beamed at Jennie with the warmth of a woman who had already planned the guest list for the wedding. "You should take a page from his book."
Kai looked up from his venison, clearly startled to be included in the conversation. "Indeed, brother. A wife settles a man. Gives him purpose."
"A wife gives a man a reason to stay home and make more Manobans," Leonid said, but his voice was light, almost teasing. "I'm not certain I share the ambition."
Lady Manoban's smile didn't waver. "The right woman can change your mind."
"The right woman is extraordinarily difficult to find." Leonid lifted his wine glass, taking a slow sip. His eyes, dark and unreadable, flickered to Jennie for a fraction of a second. "I'm afraid most of the eligible ladies I meet are rather... interchangeable."
"That's because you don't give them a chance." Lady Manoban pressed on, relentless as a tide. "You're too busy hiding in that mansion of yours, avoiding social obligations, and—" she paused, her eyes narrowing with maternal intuition— "carrying on with that woodland crowd of yours."
"I haven't the faintest idea what you mean."
"I mean that I receive letters, Leonid. I hear things. There was a rather unsettling rumor about you and the under-gardener's daughter at the Carrington estate."
Leonid's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "The under-gardener's daughter was being harassed by the footman. I intervened. Nothing more."
"So you say."
"So I know."
The exchange was a familiar one, a dance of wills between mother and son that had been playing out for years. Jennie found herself watching Leonid with an intensity she couldn't quite explain, trying to read the story beneath his carefully composed exterior.
Kai leaned over, his voice low and warm in her ear. "Mother always does this. She gets it in her head that Leonid needs to marry, and she won't let it go for weeks." He squeezed her hand briefly. "I'm sorry. This must be terribly dull for you."
"It's not dull," Jennie said, and she meant it in a way Kai couldn't possibly understand.
"Regardless," Lady Manoban continued, raising her glass as if toasting her own persistence, "I have taken it upon myself to host a small gathering at the end of the month. Nothing too elaborate—just a few families, some music, a bit of dancing. And I have made certain, Leonid, that several of the most eligible young ladies in the county will be in attendance." She smiled, triumphant. "Consider it an opportunity to broaden your horizons."
Leonid set down his wine glass with careful deliberation. "Mother, I appreciate your concern for my matrimonial prospects. I do. But I must confess myself curious—why the sudden urgency? I am not yet so old that I require a nursemaid."
"Because I will not be here forever," Lady Manoban said, and for a brief moment, something genuine flickered beneath her polished surface. "And I would like to see my son settled before I go."
The table fell silent, the weight of her words pressing down on them all. Even Kai paused in his carving, a somber expression crossing his face.
Jennie felt a pang of sympathy for Lady Manoban, despite herself. There was something desperate beneath the woman's social maneuvering, something vulnerable that the diamonds and sharp smiles couldn't quite hide.
"Very well," Leonid said finally. His voice was soft, but it carried to every corner of the room. "I will consider it."
Lady Manoban's face brightened. "You will?"
"I will consider attending your gathering. I make no promises beyond that."
"That is more than I hoped for." She raised her glass in a small toast, her eyes glistening. "To new beginnings."
"To new beginnings," the table echoed, though Jennie noticed that Leonid merely lifted his glass, his eyes meeting hers over the rim. In that glance, she saw something that made her breath catch—a challenge, a shared secret, a promise of conversations yet to come.
Conversations that would have nothing to do with eligible young ladies or matrimonial prospects.
Beneath the table, hidden by the damask cloth and the careful angles of their chairs, something brushed against her ankle.
Jennie stiffened. She tried to keep her expression neutral as Kai continued his meal, oblivious, while Lady Manoban launched into a detailed account of the upcoming hunting season arrangements. The touch was light, almost incidental—the merest brush of leather against silk—but it sent a shock through her body that was anything but casual.
She didn't dare look at Leonid. Instead, she stared at her plate, at the half-finished arrangement of glazed carrots and roasted pheasant, her pulse thrumming in her ears.
The touch returned. This time, it wasn't a brush. It was a deliberate, slow sweep of his foot against her ankle, tracing up the curve of her calf before settling back against her heel.
Jennie's fingers tightened on her fork. She could feel the heat rising to her cheeks, could feel the way her breath had gone shallow and uneven. Across the table, Leonid was discussing hunting horses with remarkable composure—"The gray I bought from the Armstrong stable is spirited but biddable, though I'll need to address her pacing before the season opens"—as if he wasn't mentally undressing her through the soles of his shoes.
"If you ask me," interjected Lord Harrow, a portly nobleman seated three chairs down, "the secret to successful riding is confidence. I've broken more horses than I can count, and I've never met one that couldn't be controlled with a firm hand."
"An admirable philosophy," Leonid agreed, his voice silky. His foot traced another lazy circle around Jennie's ankle. "Though I find that a gentle touch often achieves more than force. Especially with a creature that's unaccustomed to being handled."
Jennie nearly choked on her wine.
"Are you all right, darling?" Kai asked, touching her arm.
"Fine," she managed. "Just went down the wrong way."
Kai smiled, that warm, guileless smile that had convinced her two years ago that she was the luckiest woman in England. "Drink slowly. There's no rush."
No rush. If only he knew.
She risked a glance at Leonid. He was watching her with those dark, fathomless eyes, a faint smile curving his lips. He knew exactly what he was doing. He knew the effect he was having on her, knew that she was vibrating with a tension she couldn't name, and he was enjoying every second of it.
Under the table, his foot pressed more firmly against hers, a secret conversation playing out in the language of contact.
"This hunting season will be quite eventful," Lady Manoban said, her voice breaking through the haze of Jennie's awareness. "We'll have the Carringtons, the Ashworths, the Lovells, and of course all the local gentry. It's a wonderful opportunity to strengthen ties and make new connections."
"Especially for you, Jennie," Kai added, his hand finding hers again. "You'll get to meet everyone who matters in the county. I'll make sure to introduce you to all the right people."
The right people. The proper connections. The path she was supposed to follow, laid out for her with such careful precision.
Leonid's foot slid higher, tracing the inside of her calf with featherlight pressure.
"I look forward to it," she heard herself say, though she had no memory of deciding to speak.
Kai beamed. Lady Manoban beamed. Everywhere around her, people were beaming with satisfaction at the way the conversation had turned, at the social machinery grinding forward as it should.
But Jennie was somewhere else entirely. She was on that misty trail, feeling Leonid's hands reshape her. She was in this dining hall, feeling his foot trace secrets up her leg. She was caught between two worlds—the bright, ordered world of Kai and convention and duty, and the shadowed, dangerous world of Leonid and desire and wanting things she shouldn't want.
The dinner continued around her, a blur of silver and candlelight and conversation. The foot at her ankle eventually withdrew, but the damage was done. Every nerve in her body was alive with awareness, attuned to Leonid's presence across the table.
As the meal drew to a close, Lady Manoban rose, her chair scraping against the marble floor. "Shall we retire to the drawing room for coffee and cigars? The gentlemen may join us when they're ready."
There was a general shuffling of chairs and napkins, a chorus of pleasant murmurs and laughed concessions. Jennie rose with the other ladies, her legs unsteady beneath her, and allowed herself to be borne along by the current of silk and perfume toward the drawing room.
In the doorway, she glanced back.
Leonid was still seated at the table, his wine glass curved in his hand, his eyes following her with a hunger that made her breath catch. He didn't smile. He didn't nod. He simply watched, like a wolf assessing its prey.
Then the crowd of ladies swept her forward, and the moment was gone.
But it wasn't gone, not really. It was living in her skin, in the echo of his touch, in the memory of those dark eyes fixed on hers across the table. It was a secret she carried with her into the drawing room, into the night, into the quiet hours before sleep finally claimed her.
And in the darkness of her morning room, standing before the window with the moonlight silvering her hair, Jennie allowed herself to acknowledge the truth she had been running from all evening:
She was in love with her fiancé's brother.
And she had no idea what she was going to do about it.