Velvet by Jane Feather

Author:Jane Feather [Feather, Jane]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi, azw3
Tags: Romance, cookie429, Kat, Extratorrents
ISBN: 0553564692
Publisher: Fanfare
Published: 1994-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

16

“I don’t want this. It’s all crust.” Jake pushed a piece of bread to the farthest extremity of his plate, his lower lip trembling.

“It’ll give you strong teeth,” Gabrielle said with determined cheerfulness. “Shall I put some more apricot jam on it?”

“I don’t want it!” The child flung out a wild hand to ward her off. “I hate crusts.”

“It’s French bread, Jake,” Gabrielle said, still patient. “French bread has a lot of crust.”

“I don’t like French bread!” Jake picked up the despised bread and hurled it to the floor, tears spilling from his eyes. “I want an egg. I always have an egg for tea … with soldiers.”

“Soldiers?” Nathaniel exclaimed, pushing himself away from the door where he’d been leaning in ever-visible irritation.

“Strips of bread and butter,” Gabrielle told him. “To dip in the egg. Surely you had soldiers with boiled eggs as a boy.”

“I’m very sure I didn’t,” Nathaniel declared with disgusted vigor. “I’ve never heard such whimsy!” He came over to the table and hacked another chunk off the baguette. “I’ve had enough of this, Jake.” He plonked the chunk on the child’s plate. “Now eat that, at once.”

Jake sniffed, but seemed to sense that he’d pushed to the limits of his caretakers’ indulgence. “I want some jam.”

“Please,” his father demanded.

Jake snuffled again and produced the required courtesy in a barely audible whisper.

Gabrielle spread jam lavishly on the bread and glanced at Nathaniel’s grim features. She jerked her head toward the window at the back of the room, and he nodded and accompanied her away from the table and its disconsolate occupant.

“He’s dead tired, Nathaniel,” Gabrielle said quietly. “He can’t help being like this. Can’t we stay overnight here? We could leave at dawn.”

Nathaniel scowled, staring through the window down at the inn’s stableyard. Since landing at noon, they’d bought an ill-sprung gig and undernourished nag from a local farmer who’d been only too happy to exchange these pathetic commodities for an excessive sum of silver. Any questions he might have asked were stillborn when Gabrielle flashed her laissez passer with aristocratic hauteur. The gig had carried them uncomfortably for twenty miles with Jake whimpering in Gabrieile’s lap and Nathaniel cursing the scrawny nag along the mud-ridged lanes.

Early evening had brought them into the village of Quineville and Le Lion d’Or, where Nathaniel intended they should dine and exchange the gig for a postchaise that would double the speed of their journey to Paris.

He turned from the window and directed his scowling gaze at the child drooping over his plate at the table. “He can sleep in the chaise, surely.”

“He needs a proper bed for a few hours,” Gabrielle said, softly insistent. “He’s still dreadfully weak after the crossing.”

“The longer we hang around on the roads, the greater the danger,” Nathaniel slammed one fist in the palm of his other hand and turned back to the window.

“I don’t want this milk,” Jake wailed. “It tastes horrid.”

“For Christ’s sake!” his father muttered.

“It’s French milk, love,” Gabrielle said, going over to the child, struggling to smile through her own weariness.

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