"This is most curious," Diana said, fisting her hand at her side. She had an overwhelming desire to slap Patricia, hard. "I do wonder at odd times, you know, why you dislike me so very much."
"Because you've always had everything you wanted. It's not fair, you don't deserve anything."
"At least," Diana said very softly, "I do not play my husband false."
Patricia sucked in her breath. "You liar! Liar!" She grasped her muslin skirt and raced down the stairs, her soft brown curls slapping against her face.
Oh, why, Diana scolded herself, why couldn't you have just kept your mouth shut?
Because the girl is obnoxious, that's why.
Diana decided she should find out where exactly Patricia had come from. Had she been desperately poor growing up? Was this the reason for her unwholesome behavior?
Poor Daniel.
Charles Swanson wasn't at the dinner table that evening. Lucien waited an extra ten minutes, but the man didn't put in an appearance.
"Odd," said Deborah. "We will dine."
"I haven't seen him since early this afternoon," Grainger said.
Edward Bemis merely shrugged. "The last time I saw him, he was working in the study."
There was tension so thick at the table that Diana fancied she could practically see it. If she could have seen it, she imagined the tension would look like thick gray swamp mud. She'd heard there were crocodiles in Jamaica in the swamps there. She shuddered, not really tasting the shrimp and coconut.
Edward Bemis was preoccupied, and said little. Daniel, as was his wont, forked down his dinner with good appetite, merely smiling at Diana when she remarked on his giant's body needing sustenance.
Patricia was sullen; Deborah, like Diana, seemed to sense undercurrents of something not at all pleasant.
Lyon, in odd moments, found himself wondering what Savarol had been like before the advent of the wives. And Bemis, of course. God, he detested the man.
Who had drugged Diana?
Who had strangled Moira?
She'd been buried the day he'd been on Tortola. Diana hadn't said anything about it and he supposed she'd been sleeping during the funeral. Why not test the waters? he thought.
"I understand Moira was buried yesterday?"
Lucien said, a frown marring his wide forehead, "Yes, the poor child. Grainger and I decided that our people shouldn't work. Unfortunately, we have no preacher here. I said the service."
"She was just a slave," Patricia said under her breath, but Lyon heard her, as did Daniel.
"That is quite enough," Daniel said in the firmest voice Lyon had ever heard from him. It was about time, Lyon thought, that the young man gave his wife the back of his hand.
Dido placed another huge platter in the middle of the table.
"That," said Diana with great pleasure, "is Lila's one-pot delight."
"What is it?" Lyon asked.
"Well, those little black things staring at you are raisins. The other ingredients are equally harmless."
Lyon gamely forked down a big bite. He tasted bacon, potatoes, carrots, and other things he couldn't readily identify.
"We will change the dining habits of the London aristocracy," he said, smiling at his wife.
"No, my dear girl," Lucien said. "Don't even think it. Lila remains here, with me."