Her mother continued to stare at the tuxedoed knot around Smith, as if she could will away the disruption. "The trip was fine. Just fine."
"And how are you settling in?"
To her relief, her mother finally looked away from Smith's table.
"Mercedes Walker is coming down from Boston tomorrow. We're having a bit of a reunion ."
"Jack is here tonight, by the way."
"Really?" This time when her mother scanned the room, her eyes were warmer. She waved in Jack's direction as he nodded.
Grace glanced over at Smith, wondering what had been said between him and Jack and what the problem with the waiters had been. His eyes, as they met hers, were so intense that a rush of awareness went through her. She frowned. If she wasn't careful, she was going to mistake his focus on her for being something more than professional.
Which would only take her further into dangerous territory.
She was paying him to watch her, she reminded herself. It was his job. He wasn't bowled over by her feminine mystique.
Mostly because she had none, Ranulf had gotten that right, unfortunately. Whatever Grace's attributes, she wasn't one of those women who had a lot of sex appeal. Never had been. And her husband's obvious and well-shared disappointment with their love life had only underscored what she'd always believed about herself.
She thought about the kisses she and Smith had shared.
He'd been passionate because he was a passionate man. His reaction had more to do with his own sex drive than with any special quality of hers.
"Grace?"
Her mother's strident voice bought her back to the present.“I'm sorry?"
“I was telling you about my forthcoming trip to Paris. I shall be staying with the Viscomte—"
This time, Grace was careful to pay attention as her mother laid out her plans in minute detail. The only pause came when the waiter brought their entrees. As a salmon fillet was placed in front of Grace, she hid a grimace.
She hated fish.
"You'll like that much better than the beef, darling," her mother said as an identical plate was put down at her place setting. "Now, tell me about the Gala."
"I think it's progressing quite nicely." Grace picked up her fork. She didn't like to lie, but had no intention of speaking the truth.
"Your father always had such a talent for those events. He was responsible for securing Betsy Ross's first flag for auction. Do you remember that?"
Grace let the story she'd heard countless times wash over her. Reminding herself to nod as soon as she heard a pause, she brought her fork to her lips and took the salmon into her mouth. She had to fight to keep from gagging.
Her eyes left her mother's well-preserved face and traveled through the room she knew so well. The place made her think of her father. She'd loved coming to dinner with him all alone. It had started out as a birthday tradition when she'd been younger and, as she'd grown up, they had done it more regularly.
Her father would watch her intently as she spoke, all the while tracing the tip of a silver teaspoon on the heavy linen tablecloth. She could still hear the soft rasping sound of it rising up between them. He would move the spoon in circles while he was listening. When he would speak, he would draw invisible squares, turning the corners as he made his points.
Those moments had been the very best of him, of their relationship. A sense of loss made her put the memories aside for another, more private, time.
She looked over to Smith and stiffened. She sensed that those hooded eyes were seeing through her social smile and her carefully observed manners. He knew, she suspected, that she was exhausted, tense, and lonely. Did he know that she despised the dinner she'd allowed her mother to order for her, too?
"Grace," her mother said sharply.
She turned her head. “I’m sorry. What were you saying?"
"I asked after Ranulf."
Grace's hand tightened on her fork. "Oh, he's well."
"Your husband is such a marvelous man. Did you know he wrote to me?"
"When?" She tried to keep her face smooth. Unlined. Pleasant.
Inside, she was wondering why in the hell Ranulf was reaching out to her mother. Now that they were separated, he should keep to his own family. She made a mental note to talk with her lawyer about it.
"The letter arrived last week. He said that he was going to be in town and that the three of us should get together." The disapproving tone, the one that made Grace's shoulders tighten like a vise around her spine, came back. "I assumed you would have brought him tonight."
"He was busy."
"Well, I did call on short notice. "Will you send him my regards?"
"Of course."
"Now tell me, when will you be having children?"