The Arrangement Read Free

around his throat. This costume was morning dress, not evening dress, of course, but he looked as out of place in my decayed room as a Thoroughbred would look in a pigsty.
    I looked at my decidedly out-of-fashion afternoon gown and thought gloomily that I probably looked as drab and unattractive as my surroundings.
    Nicky had preceded me and was standing next to the earl in front of the fire, talking animatedly about his pony. He looked very neat and I was thankful to see that he had put on his church clothes.
    “There you are, Mama!” he said when he spied me standing at the door. “I have been telling his lordship all about Squirt.”
    “That is nice, Nicky,” I said. “I believe dinner is ready.”
    “Oh good,” Nicky said happily. “Shall I go and help Mrs. Macintosh?”
    “Yes, sweetheart, if you please.”
    I glanced quickly at the earl and said, “If you will come with me, my lord?”
    We walked out of the drawing room and progressed, side by side but not touching, to the room that lay directly next to it off the central hall of the house. As soon as we walked in the door I noticed that Mrs. Macintosh had put out wineglasses. I never had wine with my meal.
    I gestured the earl to the seat at the head of the small table and sat down. Nicky came into the dining room carrying a bottle of wine.
    “Mrs. Macintosh found some old wine of Papa’s,” he said brightly as he set the bottle on the table in front of Savile. He turned his beautiful little boy’s face to the earl and said blithely, “Won’t that be nice?”
    “Very nice,” the earl said in his deep and courteous voice. “I shall appreciate a glass of wine after a day spent fighting the snow.”
    Mrs. Macintosh appeared carrying a tureen of soup, which she placed in front of me. As she returned to the kitchen to fetch the bread, Nicky came to stand beside me so that he could carry the bowl of soup I was filling to our guest. Then he returned for his own bowl.
    Mrs. Macintosh returned with the bread as I was filling my soup bowl. Nicky looked at me, waiting expectantly. I folded my hands, bowed my head, and said, “Thank you, Lord, for your gifts of the day and for this food which we are about to eat.”
    “And thank you for bringing our guests safely through the snowstorm,” added my kindhearted son.
    The earl’s voice joined ours as we said, “Amen.”
    I always said a prayer of thanksgiving before meals.
    There had been a time when I was not certain from one day to the next if a meal was going to be on the table at all.
    Prayers finished, Nicky picked up his spoon and applied himself to his soup. I picked up my spoon, but before I began to eat, I took a deep breath and made myself look across the table, directly into the face of my enemy.
    Savile’s dark gold, beautifully cut hair glowed in the candlelight. His eyes looked as if they were light brown. His facial bones were long and cleanly chiseled.
    I had been right in my earlier assessment, I thought. He was a Thoroughbred all right.
    He tasted a spoonful of the soup and his eyes flew up to meet mine.
    I couldn’t stop myself from smiling. “Not bad, is it?”
    “Not bad?” He took another spoonful. “It’s ambrosia!”
    “I know about ambrosia,” Nicky said. “I learned about it from Mr. Ludgate. It is the food of the gods.”
    “Very good,” the earl said approvingly. Nicky beamed.
    I didn’t know whether to be pleased that Savile was being kind to Nicky or annoyed that my son’s presence had failed to annoy him.
    “Who is your cook?” Savile asked me.
    I told him a little about the Macintoshes.
    “I have a garden in the summer and Mr. Macintosh saves all the vegetables to use in his winter cooking,” Nicky said.
    “How splendid,” the earl replied with a friendly smile. “There are not many boys responsible enough to help their mama with the gardening.”
    “Nicky doesn’t help me,” I said coolly. “I don’t garden; I haven’t the time. He does the garden all