Twelfth Night by Pamela Sherwood

Author:Pamela Sherwood [Sherwood, Pamela]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Blue Castle Publishing

Smiling, she turned towards the sound and saw Gervase emerge from behind a stand of young citrus trees. The moonlight played along his familiar features, the strong nose and cheekbones, the clever mouth with its dimpled smile—and she wondered how she ever could have missed how handsome he was. Even in a dressing gown, he conveyed an elegance and a presence that few men could match.

“Well, ma perle—do you like it?” He gestured towards the table before them.

Margaret swallowed. “It’s beautiful, Gervase. But why—”

“Because for much of the last fortnight, we’ve been caught up in our families’ dramas: your sister, my brother, my parents… I thought tonight—Twelfth Night—could be for us.” He smiled, held out his hand. “A little touch of romance in the night.”

Moved, she came forward to take his hand, saw his eyes brighten appreciatively as they scanned her from head to toe. “That’s a very fetching garment.”

She did a slow turn just for him. “Liberty of London. Do you approve?”

“Entirely. You look like something out of a medieval painting. Shall I woo you with Wyatt? Seduce you with Shakespeare? Or,” the warmth in his eyes intensified, “perhaps I should trust my own words for a change, and tell you… that you take my breath away.”

“Perhaps you should trust your own words more often,” Margaret said lightly, feeling breathless herself.

“I’ll bear that in mind.” He led her to the table and pulled out a chair for her. “Champagne, my lady?”

“That would be lovely. Who helped you arrange all this?” Margaret inquired, as she arranged a napkin on her lap. A spray of jasmine lay by her plate; she picked it up and breathed in its heady sweetness appreciatively.

Gervase popped the cork from the bottle with expert ease, then poured a sparkling stream of pale wine into both flutes. “Mrs. Hill, bless her. She’s a romantic at heart, so she was more than willing to lend a hand when I told her what I had in mind.”

He lifted off the lid of the nearest salver, revealing a plate of little pastries. “Her famous cheese tartlets. I suggested something light but festive.”

Another salver yielded an assortment of sandwiches—shaved ham and smoked salmon—cut into tiny triangles, a third a crystal bowl of candied almonds, the fourth a cluster of hothouse grapes and peeled segments of orange.

“Do you like it?” There was a slightly anxious note in his voice.

Margaret nodded and blinked smarting eyes. “Everything looks wonderful, Gervase. No one has ever done anything… quite like this for me before.”

Certainly not Hal, whose habit had been to fetch her refreshments at the parties they attended and then leave her in a corner while he went off with his friends to the card room or some other masculine diversion. She’d told herself to be grateful that he expended even that much effort on her comfort, when he had so little enthusiasm for the match their parents had arranged, but she’d resented his neglect, nonetheless. Even Alex, though always considerate and kind, had not been given to this sort of romantic gesture during their marriage.

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