Stirring Up the Viscount

by Marin McGinnis

  “Not to worry, Mrs. Milsom. I am most impressed with you. You are, I have to say, the first cook who has stood up to Julia and her rescues. I am not entirely sure what she’ll do with that. She’ll either hate you forever, or accord you a grudging respect. I rather think it will be the latter, but it might take a while.”

  Theodora raised her head, surprised. “Thank you, my lord. I think. I really am fond of animals, but I don’t particularly like them in the kitchen. Lu...um, animals were never allowed in my husband’s house.”

  He cocked his head and studied her. “Your husband’s house. Not yours?”

  “No, my lord. Not mine.”

  Theodora picked up a hand towel off the counter and wiped her face, as much to hide as to get the muck off. When she pulled the towel away, the viscount continued to gaze at her. He came closer and gently took the towel out of her hand.

  “You missed a spot,” he whispered, and dabbed at her chin with the towel. He followed it with his thumb, gently rubbing it along her jaw line, and then over her lips. She was stunned into silence, and let him do it.

  He held his thumb to her lips and leaned closer. At the sound of a footfall in the hall, she jumped back, only to fall on her arse again as her foot slipped on the puddle behind her.

  “Oh!” She looked up at the viscount, who was clearly struggling not to laugh, as Miss Dove and Mr. Derrick entered the room. Marvelous. Just the two she wanted to see her sitting on the floor at his lordship’s feet. They stood off to the side and smirked.

  Lord Caxton held out a hand to help her to her feet, apparently unaware of the newcomers.

  “Come on then, Mrs. Milsom,” he said. “Up you go.”

  She grasped his hand and allowed him to bring her to her feet. “Thank you, my lord.” She brushed off her skirts. She moved away before he could touch her again and looked past him to the pair by the door.

  “May I help you, Miss Dove? Mr. Derrick?” The viscount whirled around, a sheepish expression on his face.

  “Having a little rest, are you, Mrs. Milsom?” Miss Dove asked, all syrupy sweetness. She moved closer and thrust her bosom beneath the viscount’s nose. He blinked and backed away.

  “Don’t be impertinent, Dove,” he snapped. “What are you two doing down here in the middle of the day?”

  Miss Dove looked startled, as if a pet dog had suddenly tried to bite.

  Mr. Derrick chuckled to himself, seemingly pleased at his lordship’s reaction. “We were instructed to inform you that Lord and Lady Longley will be dining out this evening, Mrs. Milsom.”

  “What? Where?” Lord Caxton asked.

  “They did not say, my lord.”

  “Hmmph. They didn’t say anything to me about this.” He turned to Theodora. “Do you need help, Mrs. Milsom? I should go and speak with my parents.”

  “No, thank you, my lord. I am perfectly well.”

  Lord Caxton gave her a shallow bow. “Very good. I will send Fairfax down if there is any further change to the dinner plans.” He strode out of the room, not acknowledging Miss Dove or Mr. Derrick. Miss Dove’s face was suffused with heat, like a stove about to burst.

  Theodora smiled placidly. “Thank you for informing me, Mr. Derrick. Now if you’ll both excuse me, I do have quite a bit of work to do.”

  Miss Dove glared at her and spun toward the door. Seeing Mr. Derrick standing there smirking, she grabbed him by the arm and pulled him out of the room.

  Theodora watched them go, amused. She shook her head and began to clean up the mess.

  ****

  Theodora saw little of the viscount over the next few weeks, for which she was grateful. He made her very nervous. It was not only his obvious suspicion of her, but what Theodora assumed was an attraction as well. He never failed to seize upon an opportunity to make her talk about her past, but she thought she had successfully diverted him. Rather, he diverted himself. She ran a finger along her bottom lip, remembering the last time he had touched her.

  He was so different from Lucien. His coloring light where Lucien’s was dark, his manner much more gentle. Where Lucien was thin and angular, the viscount was solid, muscular. More like an oak than a pine. But they had one thing in common: they were men. She had ample reason not to trust the one and could not risk trusting the other.

  When she was not trying to stop herself from thinking about the viscount, her life slipped into an easy routine. The Tenwicks were very easy to work for, and she rarely saw most of them. On their half days, Bess and Millie tried to convince her to go to the village with them, but she resisted. She didn’t want to be seen outside the house in case anyone was looking for her. Besides, she needed to save her money. One night at dinner she had overheard the footmen talking about their uncle, who had recently emigrated to America.

  “How interesting, Jimmy!” Theodora remarked in an effort to deepen the conversation.

  “I’m Jesse, Mrs. Milsom.” Both the footmen smiled mischievously.

  Theodora blushed, looking from one to the other. “Oh. I am sorry.”

  Millie piped up, “Don’t be foolin’ her, Jim! She’s tryin’!”

  The boys had the grace to look sheepish. “Sorry, ma’am. I’m Jimmy.”

  Theodora smiled, still unsure which was which since they did have an impish streak.

  Millie glared at Jimmy and steered the conversation back to their uncle. “So where in America did he go?”

  “A big port city called Boston, I think, right, Jess?” Jimmy replied. “He worked up in Newcastle on the docks, so he thought he could find the same kind of work there. Took him a couple of years to earn the money for passage.”

  Although Theodora was pleased to learn Boston might be a good place to start to look for her brother, her heart sank. She could not wait for years—if Lucien knew, or even suspected, that she was alive, he would come after her, and she needed to be far away.

  She tried to look nonchalant and took a bite of her chicken. “Years? Goodness. How much did it cost?”

  “Oh, he took our cousins with him,” Jimmy said. “Must have cost them five pounds apiece, I reckon.”

  Five pounds? She could do that in only a few months, if she saved every penny, plus something to live on when she got there.

  “Are you from Newcastle, then, Mrs. Milsom?” Rossie asked. “You sometimes sound a bit like me mam.”

  “What?” Theodora said absently, her mind still calculating her savings. “No, I’m from Tynemouth.” Her fork paused on its way back to her mouth when she realized what she’d said, and everyone looked at her curiously. “Um, I haven’t been there in many years,” she said to her plate and took another bite.

  “Did your da work in the shipyards, then?” asked Rossie.

  Theodora had already revealed too much, but she couldn’t refuse to answer—Miss Dove was already looking at her with a calculating expression—so she nodded. “Yes. He was in the shipyards.” At least it wasn’t a lie, she thought—he owned them.

  Attempting to forestall further conversation on the topic, she put down her fork and pushed her chair back. “If you’ll excuse me, I’d like to get a start on tidying up. I’m a bit tired this evening.” Millie and Bess popped up to help her, and the conversation at the table shifted to something else. Theodora could feel Miss Dove’s eyes on the back of her head.

  Chapter Ten

  Berniece Dove had allowed the conversation at dinner to flow around her after the cook’s declaration her father had worked in the shipyards near Tynemouth. Berniece knew many a man who did so—she had entertained one or two of them before she had secured this position at Longley Hall. Her father had grown up near there as well; the son of a clerk in the Mason Shipyards, he knew the area well.

  She was not entirely certain why she cared. Although arguably the best cook Longley Hall had ever seen, Mrs. Milsom—if that was her name—was a shifty-eyed miss, and Berniece knew she was hiding something. But she had also seen the way Lord Caxton looked at her, and if she were to succeed at becomin
g the next Lady Longley, she needed to get rid of, or at least discredit, the woman she was increasingly seeing as her competition.

  On her next half-day, she headed into Durham to see her father. After many years on the docks, his health had started to fade, and he couldn’t keep up with the work. He put all of his savings into a small lodging house and pub not far from the cathedral. A far cry from his initial calling as a clergyman, but he made a comfortable living. Berniece used her own key to let herself in and climbed the stairs to his rooms just over the bar. Her father sat at the kitchen table, a cup of coffee, a plate of eggs, and the newspaper at his elbow.

  He smiled when he saw her. “Ah, Berniece, luv. What brings you here this morning?”

  Berniece planted a kiss on the top of his bald head and poured herself a cup of coffee from the pot on the stove.

  “I can’t visit me da for no reason?” She straddled the chair opposite her father and sat. His brow wrinkled as he noticed the unladylike display, which was precisely why she did it. She really shouldn’t goad him so, but she couldn’t help it.

  This time he failed to rise to the bait. “You? No. I am happy to see you, dearie, but you always have a reason that has little to do with seeing your old da.”

  She smiled. “Did you ever hear of a family called Milsom, from Tynemouth?”

  He was quiet for so long she was beginning to think he had fallen asleep, when he said, “Hmm. No, not from Tynemouth. There was a Milsom from Newcastle who married Mason, who ran the shipyards.”

  Berniece nabbed a piece of toast off her father’s plate and nibbled on the corner. “When was that?”

  “Oh, right about the time I married your ma, I think. Miss Milsom was a comely lass,” he said a bit wistfully.

  Berniece did a quick calculation in her head. That Miss Milsom was obviously too old to be the cook. “Were there other Milsom children?”

  “No, just the one girl. She had two children, though—a lad and a lass. Last I heard the lass married some barrister down in London.”

  Berniece chewed absently on the toast and stored away the information. The cook couldn’t be a Milsom from Tynemouth. She discounted the notion that whoever Mr. Milsom was, he could have been from somewhere else. She just knew the woman was lying.

  ****

  Jonathan found himself increasingly drawn to the kitchen. He made excuses to wander downstairs, in search of elevenses, or a pastry, or God knew what else. She drew him in, this woman, even as she kept him at arms’ length. He suspected she had no idea of her allure, no notion she was stirring his very soul with every glance, every dish she prepared.

  One afternoon, he entered the kitchen after a ride around the estate. He had helped one of the tenants repair a fence, so he was covered with dust and sweat. He removed his coat, tossed it back over his shoulder, and loosened his cravat with his other hand. He didn’t care how he looked, just knew he had to see her. As his eyes adjusted to the light, he found his sister sitting at the table cradling some small creature, while Mrs. Milsom and the kitchen maids circled around her.

  As he walked in the kitchen staff jumped, and young Millie’s eyes widened at the sight of him. Mrs. Milsom, he was pleased to note, reddened from her high collar to the roots of her hair. After a moment of staring at the vee in his shirt, she blinked twice and looked away.

  Julia rolled her eyes as he approached. “Jonathan, what on earth are you doing, coming downstairs in such a state?”

  “I have come in search of...a glass of water. Might I trouble you for one, Mrs. Milsom?” He watched the cords in her graceful neck swallow, then she nodded.

  “Of course, my lord.” She bustled over to a cabinet and removed a glass, then poured water into it from an earthenware jug on the table. She ventured closer and held out the glass to him, cautiously, as if he might rip her hand off. He gently took the glass and drank deeply, one eye on her face, which was riveted on his throat. She swallowed again and turned away.

  “Lady Julia,” she said, “how many of these creatures do you have out in the garden?” She gestured to the bundle of fluff in Julia’s arms, which appeared to be a baby rabbit. Julia was ladling something into the animal’s mouth with a spoon.

  “There are three others, but the mother is feeding them. This one was getting shoved aside by its siblings. It was going to die, so I rescued him. Isn’t he adorable?” She leaned down over the thing and cooed, Millie and Bess following suit.

  “Whatever are you going to do with it?” Mrs. Milsom asked, with a practicality that made his heart flutter. She really was perfect, he thought, then sternly told himself to stop grinning like an idiot.

  Julia put on her most adorable face—the one she had perfected on their father, who could now say no to very few of her requests, no matter how ridiculous—and aimed it at Mrs. Milsom.

  “Mr. Doyle found me a crate, and I’ve added straw and an old petticoat for a bed. I was wondering if I might leave it in the kitchen? I can’t leave him in the barn or the cats would get him.” Her eyes widened to the size of saucers, and she smiled endearingly. It was all Jonathan could do not to laugh. “Please?”

  Millie added her own pleas. “May she, Mrs. Milsom? I’ll look after it. I promise!”

  Mrs. Milsom blinked again. Jonathan was beginning to wonder if she had something in her eye, and if she might let him help remove it, when she glared at him.

  “Are you quite well, Jon?” Julia asked.

  Jonathan pulled his gaze away from Mrs. Milsom and looked at his sister. “Yes, of course. Why?”

  She snorted in amusement. “Because you just sort of whimpered. Rather like this rabbit here.”

  “Did I? Must have something in my throat.” He cleared his throat dramatically and tried to prevent himself from blushing.

  Julia shook her head in amusement, then turned a beseeching face back to the cook. Mrs. Milsom looked from Julia to Millie and back, then sighed. “Oh, very well. But mind you keep it out of the food, Millie. And as soon as it’s capable of looking after itself, you’ll need to let it go.”

  Julia handed the animal to Millie and jumped up to embrace Mrs. Milsom, and as she did so, he caught the barest semblance of a smile on the cook’s lips. His little sister was a charmer, and she always got her way in the end.

  “I’ll just go get the crate, then. Thank you!” She flounced off, leaving poor Mrs. Milsom with a dazed expression.

  She looked over at him. “Did I truly just agree to keep a wild rabbit in my kitchen?”

  He laughed. “Yes, you did. I suppose that after the kitten incident she decided to try another tactic.”

  “Well, apparently it worked.” She gave him a half smile, but even that was enough to dazzle him. Oblivious to her effect on him, she turned to Millie and Bess. “Millie, go find Lady Julia and do something with that rabbit. Then wash up and start dinner preparations, please.”

  The girls bobbed a shallow but polite curtsy and proceeded to do as she asked. She wiped her hands on her apron and returned her attention to him.

  “Is there anything else I can do for you, Lord Caxton? More water, perhaps, seeing as you’ve spilled most of it down the front of your shirt?”

  He looked down and realized she was right. His shirt front was sticking to his skin, and he was suddenly quite uncomfortable. He set the glass on the table and ran a hand through his sweaty hair.

  “Actually, I suspect I’m in need of a bath.”

  She blushed and opened her mouth—to protest a statement he hadn’t uttered, he was sure.

  “But although the notion is highly tempting, I don’t think I will require your assistance.” He grinned when her mouth snapped shut in embarrassment. As Julia ran back into the room with her rabbit crate, Jonathan gave Mrs. Milsom a shallow bow and a cheeky grin, and took his leave. She was not immune to him. The realization pleased him more than it should.

  Chapter Eleven

  Theodora tried to ignore the viscount and his frequent forays into her kitchen, but it was becomin
g increasingly difficult. As the baby rabbit grew, so did her attraction to the man and her affection for the other members of the household.

  Although she met with the countess nearly every day, she had yet to see the earl, let alone speak with him. Now she busied herself with preparations for the earl’s birthday. Lady Longley had requested she prepare an intimate dinner for twelve. Theodora wasn’t entirely sure how a meal for twelve people could be intimate, but she would do her best. The earl’s youngest sister, who apparently lived only a few hours away, would be joining them, along with her husband and young children. There were also some local gentry who would be in attendance.

  Theodora relied heavily on her cookery books for her preparation, as she had never before cooked a fine dinner for so many people. Fortunately Mrs. Appleton had allowed her to hire a girl from the village to serve as an extra kitchen maid.

  She rose at four o’clock on the morning of the party. As she hurried downstairs, she mentally planned her steps for the day. First was tea, but she heard singing as she approached the kitchen. She stopped and listened; the voice was familiar, but it did not belong to any of the kitchen staff. She gingerly pushed open the door, and there was the countess, wearing Theodora’s apron, her hands covered in flour from the pastry she was kneading on the table. Theodora must have made a sound, because the countess stopped singing, and her head snapped up. She smiled sheepishly.

  “So, Mrs. Milsom, you have discovered my guilty secret,” she said.

  “My lady, what on earth are you doing in here, and at this time of the night?” Theodora moved toward the table.

  The countess brushed her cheek with a hand, leaving a streak of flour. She laughed softly and shrugged. “I love to bake. I know I told you Mrs. Appleton made the pastries, but she doesn’t. She really is utterly hopeless in the kitchen. The truth is I make them. Most evenings after you retire, or in the morning before you wake, I come down here to bake and to think.”