The long bleached table, accented by a glazed jug of blue French irises, was covered with dishes of food. There was a bowl of sliced bananas, melon, strawberries, and oranges all mixed together, a freshly baked loaf of spiced honey bread, a cold salad of shrimp, scallops, peas, and red peppers tossed with a creamy dill dressing, sweet potato pudding, an okra soup that Laviolet had just finished, wild blackberry pie, and a bottle of dry Vouvray wine. Laviolet stood across the table preparing a leg of lamb for supper, smiling to herself as she pretended not to watch Grey and Natalya. They were eating and chatting amiably together, their hands brushing occasionally. It might be whispered about the house that Laviolet's employer was a libertine, but those days were clearly over. Grey St. James was in love; as besotted as the girl, if that was possible! "I couldn't eat another bite," Natalya announced at last, glancing down rather sheepishly at her half-full plate. "I think I may have overestimated my capacity, but who could blame me?
