Cover

Dedication

For my grandmothers,

one Southern and one Italian/German,

who both instilled a love of food in me.

Chapter One

Chateau de Falaise

Newport, 1895

“You are the most adorably charming man,” the older woman said as she patted Kit’s arm. “This house party would be dreadfully dull without you.”

Since the end of dinner service, Kit had held court in the drawing room, with no less than eight pairs of eyes on him at all times. Over coffee and port, he joked and smiled, nodded and winked. Dazzled everyone in attendance without breaking a sweat.

In fact, charm was his only strength. He’d spent a lifetime perfecting a genuine-sounding laugh, a grin to win over the hardest of hearts. He knew how to put others at ease and make them feel important. Now he did this without even thinking, the effort so rote he’d forgotten why he started doing it in the first place.

And he’d started to hate himself for it.

“While all that is undoubtedly true,” he said to the small group of mothers and chaperones, “I fear it is time for me to return to my room. If you ladies will excuse me.” He inclined his head and stepped back.

“But it’s early yet,” one of the women protested, even though most everyone had retired hours ago.

Kit let his lips curl with a hint of wicked intent. “I never said I intended to sleep.”

They tittered and fanned themselves—as he knew they would—which gave him the opportunity to slip away. The corridors were blessedly empty and the farther he got from the others, the more he was able to relax.

When he finally reached his guest room, he unknotted his bow tie and splashed bourbon in a crystal tumbler, not stopping until the glass was nearly full. The silence calmed him, a soothing respite from talking for six hours straight.

You have no one to blame but yourself.

True. In the beginning, his finely honed skills were his armor, a way to ensure he was never lonely or felt out of place ever again. But the problem with armor was twofold: it was hard to shed and he was vulnerable without it. Who was he underneath? The possibilities were too terrifying to contemplate.

A quiet knock sounded on his door. A tap, actually, as if someone was trying to get his attention while not causing too much noise. It was a familiar technique, one he’d employed often—as recently as this afternoon, in fact.