Theodora eyes widened at this admission, and her mouth fell open. “So that is why the oven is often warm when I come downstairs! I had wondered, but Millie told me I was imagining things.”
The countess laughed again. “Apparently I am not as stealthy as I thought.” She returned her attention to the mound of dough on the table, her hands expertly kneading out the bubbles. “My mother was the same way, but even my sisters don’t know we spent hours in the kitchen after everyone else was asleep, learning to bake from our cook. We had such a wonderful time.” Her eyes grew misty. “I tried to instill the same habits in Julia, but she is such a slugabed and only interested in animals and books.”
Theodora came closer. “What are you making, my lady?”
“The earl’s favorite, apple tarts. I make them every year on his birthday, and sometimes when I am just feeling the need to pamper him.”
Theodora smiled as she considered this unusual state of affairs. The countess continued, a dreamy look in her eye. “He works so very hard, and he doesn’t really like being an earl. He told me once that he wished he’d lived a hundred years ago, so he could have been a pirate.” She gave a throaty laugh. “Oh, he would have made a very dashing pirate!”
She smiled wistfully and shook her head. “But sadly, he was born too late, and he has other responsibilities, so I reward his travails by making him apple tarts. And in other ways.” She grinned. “I hope you will keep my secret, Mrs. Milsom? It just wouldn’t do to have too many people know I am up to my neck in flour every night.” She winked.
Theodora smiled. “My lips are sealed, my lady. I think it’s wonderful. I have always found cooking very therapeutic, myself.” The countess gave her a strange look, so she changed the subject. “May I help you?”
The countess shook her head. “Oh no, thank you. You must have come down here so early for a reason. I should have these ready to pop in the oven in a moment, and then I will get out of your way.”
“You are not in my way, my lady. I just need to start the soup, and the veal and ham pie.”
“May I make the pastry for the pie?” The countess asked hopefully.
Though it was improper in the extreme to treat a countess like a kitchen maid, Theodora could not resist the older woman’s expression. “Certainly, my lady, if you wish. I would appreciate your help.”
Lady Longley smiled gratefully. “Thank you.”
The two of them worked in companionable silence for a while. Theodora sautéed the vegetables Millie had chopped the day before, then added the broth Alice, the temporary kitchen maid, had prepared. She cast surreptitious glances at the countess, who hummed softly as she sliced apples and arranged them atop the tart dough. She had never met a woman quite like Lady Longley; if only their positions were altered, she suspected she could call the woman a friend.
The countess abruptly pulled her out of her reverie by clearing her throat. “Can you tell me what caused you to take this position, Mrs. Milsom? I can tell from your manner that you were not raised to be a cook. You were a gentleman’s daughter, I think.”
Her back to the countess, Theodora stiffened. She could sense her ladyship waiting patiently. Somehow, she felt compelled to tell her, at least part of the story. She was getting so very tired of lying.
“I was, yes.” She resumed stirring the soup and did not look behind her. “My father was a ba...” Theodora stopped, realizing it would give too much away if she revealed she was a baron’s daughter. “A gentleman, from Northumberland. I married, and it was not a good marriage.”
The countess asked softly, “You were widowed?”
Theodora wondered if she was lying when she said, “Yes, quite unexpectedly.”
She was quiet for a moment, the only sounds the countess placing the tarts in the oven and starting to mix the dough for the pie. She tried to avoid saying more, but the silence was deafening, and she couldn’t help herself. “I, well, I found myself in a difficult situation, and this position was an answer to my prayers.”
She turned then and pleaded softly, “I beg you, my lady. Do not ask me any more. I wish I could tell you, but I cannot.”
The countess smiled sympathetically. “Thank you for telling me as much as you did.” She remained quiet as she rolled out the pie pastry, then looked up again. “I hope, though, that you will feel you can confide in me, if you ever need to do so. I may be able to help. Being a countess does have some advantages, after all.”
“Thank you, my lady. You have been very kind, and I am more grateful than I can say.”
****
Lucien tried to put his life together after the fire, with little success. With the house completely destroyed and his wife dead, he moved to his club. He drank heavily, and his rudeness to patrons and staff alike was monumental. Although he had never been a popular man before, he was positively shunned now. Only his prominence in the legal community and, he suspected, his fortune kept the United University Club from throwing him out on his ear.
He sat in his preferred armchair one evening, a glass of whisky in his hand. He stared into the flames in the hearth and thought of Theodora. Mostly he thought of the days after they first married, as they traveled the continent. His little wife had shown herself to be a remarkably passionate woman, though one would never have known that to look at her. With her dark hair and pale, almost translucent skin, she was ethereal. He was thus surprised to find Theodora had been a woman of deep sensuality, and he missed her in his bed more than he ever thought possible.
“Ravensdale!” Through his alcoholic haze, Lucien dimly heard his name. He raised his head and squinted in the general direction of the sound.
“Sorry to hear about your house, old man,” said the voice, as its owner sat in the chair opposite.
Lucien recognized one of the barristers from his chambers, Ian Welch. No, Welles. Something like that. It didn’t matter. He grunted in response and hung his head over his glass.
Welles was not deterred, unfortunately, and kept speaking. “Terrible thing about your wife too, of course. Terrible thing. Beautiful woman, she was.”
Lucien’s head snapped up, and he growled. Or at least he thought he did. Welles did not react at all but continued to babble. He tried to focus on the liquid in his glass. If he held it just so, he could almost see her. His brain grabbed hold of something Welles said and he turned to look at the man.
“What did you say?”
“In your cups, are you?” Welles observed, nodding his head. “I’ll just leave you to it, then, shall I?”
With a speed Lucien hadn’t realized he possessed, he was out of his chair and had grasped Welles around the neck and pulled him to his feet.
“What did you say?” Lucien repeated.
Welles sputtered in outrage.
Lucien ignored him, pulling the cravat tighter around the man’s neck. “Tell. Me. What. You. Said.”
A crowd was starting to form around them, but Lucien barely noticed. Welles blanched, fear filling his eyes.
“I said I saw a woman who looked very much like your wife on the day your house burned!”
“Where? Where did you see her?” Lucien’s hands tightened on Welles’ cravat, and the man started to turn purple.
“At King’s Cross!”
Lucien let go and shoved Welles back into his chair. Welles coughed and rubbed his neck. “You’re insane!” he said, before he was surrounded by other men who muttered sympathetically.
The club manager hurried up to Lucien, bristling with indignation. “You’ve gone too far, Ravensdale! You’re no longer welcome here.”
“I was leaving anyway,” Lucien muttered. “Get out of my way.” He shoved the man aside and stumbled from the room.
Chapter Twelve
Theodora had a rare solitary moment in the kitchen the afternoon of the earl’s party. She was mincing parsley, the maids attending to other duties, when Miss Dove sauntered in. She looked around the room expectantly, her stomach sucked in and her bosom straining a
gainst her gown. She sighed and relaxed her posture when she realized Theodora was the only person present.
Theodora chuckled to herself as Miss Dove flopped into one of the chairs. She reminded Theodora of a girl she’d met during her season, who always acted as if she were the only person worth noting in the room. “Is there something I can help you with, Miss Dove?”
She waved her hand airily. “I am simply desperate for a cup of tea.”
Theodora suddenly felt uncharacteristically contrary. “Really?”
The woman arched her thick, blonde brows. “You are the cook, are you not? I believe it is your job to make me a cup of tea when I require it.”
“Indeed. Where I come from, it is customary to say ‘please’ when making such a request,” Theodora said calmly.
“Well, la ti da! Ain’t we Miss High-and-Mighty?” Dove eyed her with obvious disdain. “Well, where I come from, lady’s maids are higher than cooks, so you best make me a cup of tea, or I’ll tell her ladyship, I will.” She leaned back in her chair and balanced her solid ankles on the table.
Theodora winced at the utter lack of decorum and was trying to figure out how to tell the woman to make her own bloody tea without getting herself sacked, when Mrs. Appleton appeared in the doorway. The housekeeper’s lips were pursed in severe disapproval, as she had apparently heard at least part of the exchange.
“And where I come from, Miss Dove, a lady’s maid does not annoy other members of the staff, does not sprawl in chairs with her ankles showing, and does not come down for tea in the middle of the day when her ladyship has not dismissed her.”
Miss Dove’s face reddened, and she returned all four legs of the chair to the floor with a thump.
Mrs. Appleton continued, “Lady Longley asked me to fetch you, as she has changed her mind about her gown. I suggest you wait to take tea with the rest of us this afternoon.”
Miss Dove gave Theodora a foul look as if her set-down was Theodora’s fault. She meekly said, “Yes, Mrs. Appleton,” and slunk out of the room.
Mrs. Appleton watched her go, then turned to Theodora with a grimace. “She’s trouble, that one. You haven’t made any friends today, I fear.”
Theodora sighed and brushed a stray hair out of her eyes. “It’s of no matter. I’ve met her type before. I have no interest in letting her walk all over me.”
Mrs. Appleton looked pleased. “Too right, Mrs. Milsom. She’ll make your life hell, though. Trust me, I know.”
Theodora smiled. “Well, never mind. You must have come in here for something, Mrs. Appleton. What can I do for you?”
Mrs. Appleton sat down at the table, her hands folded in front of her, but her eyes twinkling. “Might I trouble you for some tea, please?”
****
Jonathan followed the sound of female chatter to his mother’s chamber. The door was open, and his mother was perched on the chair before her dressing table while her maid did her hair. The two of them were chatting animatedly about something while Julia read quietly on the bed, ignoring them.
“Oh, come in, Jonathan,” his mother said. “Dove was just telling me an amusing tale about one of the villagers.”
Jonathan spared only a glance at his mother’s maid as he entered the room. The buxom Miss Dove regarded him from under long blonde lashes, a sultry smile playing on her lips, as he strode past her to his mother.
“Mother,” he said, “I just wanted to see if you preferred to give Father our gifts together this evening.”
Her eyes sparkled mischievously. “I shall give him mine in private, Jonathan, so you may give him yours whenever the opportunity presents itself.”
“What did you get him, Mother?” Julia asked, clearly paying less attention to her book than Jonathan thought.
“Never you mind,” the countess said pertly, regarding Julia over her shoulder in the mirror. She turned her attention to her own reflection and smiled. “Thank you, Dove, that arrangement looks marvelous. That will be all.”
“Yes, milady.” Miss Dove turned slightly to face Jonathan, then performed a deep curtsy which amply exposed her attributes right under Jonathan’s nose. He tried not to look, but it was rather difficult.
He finally pulled his gaze away, only to find Julia smirking at him from across the room. He took an interest in his shoes and waited for Miss Dove and her shapely backside to leave the chamber.
Julia laughed. “Mother, you really need to talk to Dove about her gowns. I thought Jon was going to lose his nose in her cleavage.”
Jonathan started to protest, but his mother held up a finger. “She seems to have set her cap at you, Jon. I have not said anything because I haven’t wanted to make her uncomfortable.”
She frowned at a guffaw from behind her. “Very nice, Julia. She’s a very skilled maid. I should hate to lose her. I hope she has not taken liberties, Jonathan?”
“I assure you, Mother, I am quite capable of handling a servant’s unwanted attentions. She has done nothing but contrive to put her bosom under my notice at every opportunity. To be honest, she doesn’t have to do much, Mother. It’s rather hard to avoid, isn’t it?”
Julia snorted, and Lady Longley attempted to hide a smile. “Very well, I will speak with her tomorrow.” She rose and held out a hand to each of her children. “Shall we go downstairs? I would imagine your father is getting quite tired of listening to his sister’s childrearing stories by now.”
“By all means, Mother. I could use a glass of sherry and a dose of Aunt Abigail.” Jonathan winked.
His mother patted him on the arm. “Oh, you. She hates it when you call her that.”
“Which is precisely why I do it.” He grinned.
****
Dinner was a lively affair. The earl delighted in being the center of attention for reasons which had nothing to do with being an earl. The Tenwicks had not seen the earl’s sister Abigail in some time, despite how close she and her family lived. The entire family had always possessed a healthy sense of humor. Each of them, too, had married for love rather than position, but ironically, each of them had married very well anyway. Abigail had married a marquess, Gwyneth had wed an earl, and Josephine, the eldest, a duke.
Gwyneth and Josephine had been unable to attend the party and had sent extravagant gifts in their stead. Jonathan sat next to Abigail, about halfway down the table. The youngest of the siblings, she was only a few years older than Jonathan. Perhaps as a result, Jonathan and Abigail had always got on famously. Several years before, Lady Longley had sponsored her season after the death of the earl’s mother, so the entire family had gone to London.
“Jonathan, dear boy,” Abigail began.
“I am no longer a boy, Aunt Abigail.” Jonathan rolled his eyes.
Abigail grimaced. “Oh, don’t call me Aunt Abigail, especially in that tone. It makes me feel about a hundred and three.”
“Which is exactly why I call you that, of course.” He smirked, and she swatted him with her serviette. “I see that motherhood has not tempered your feisty attitude.”
Abigail, who had given birth to twin boys the year before, laughed. “Oh, no, indeed not. With those boys, feistiness is necessary for survival.”
Not wanting to get into a lengthy conversation about how wonderful the boys were—it was quite true, of course, but Abigail was rather long-winded on the subject of her offspring—he changed the subject. “Are you enjoying your soup, Abigail?”
“It is quite delicious, and don’t think I didn’t notice you changed the subject, Jon.”
Jonathan chuckled and applied himself to his own first course.
“I understand that you have a new cook?”
Jonathan wiped his mouth with his serviette, and nodded. “We do. I thought Mother quite insane to have hired a cook sight unseen, but Mrs. Milsom is a culinary genius.” Beautiful and a curiosity as well, he thought, but did not say that to Abby. She was one of his favorite people, but she was also terribly inclined to gossip.
“Judith said that her re
ferences were impeccable. Surely that was enough for you?”
“References can be forged, of course. Mother cannot seem to remember the names of them, and she does not want to embarrass Mrs. Milsom by asking.”
“Jonathan, you are such a suspicious person. Why can you not simply take people at face value? She is clearly a talented cook. This soup really is divine.” She took another sip and sighed.
“Because, Abby, people are much more complicated than you seem to think. She is hiding something. I can tell.”
Abigail gave him a sideways look. “Since when have you ever had enough interactions with a cook to tell if she’s hiding something?”
Jonathan cleared his throat. “I was curious, that’s all. She showed up in the middle of the night with no notice. We almost ran her over with the carriage!”
“I’ll warrant you didn’t stop to help her, either, did you?”
Jonathan’s cheeks warmed. “Well, no. We didn’t know who she was.”
Abigail tsked. “Was Julia with you?”
“Yes. She wanted to stop. I said there was no need.” He cleared his throat again. How had this turned into an interrogation?
“Jonathan.” Abigail looked down her nose at him and patted his hand, as if he were a particularly idiotic but good-hearted pupil. “I know you mean well, and that your biggest concern is your family’s health and safety. But sometimes you just need to trust people.”
“But…”
Abigail raised a hand to silence him. “I know, I know. My brother is too trusting, so you need to compensate for that, but Jon, you have to have a balance.”
Jonathan was silent for a moment. “Perhaps you are right, Abby. I will try to be more trusting.”
Abigail clapped her hands in satisfaction. Now he felt like a dog that’d just caught the treat she’d thrown him. He sighed. The women in his family could be exceedingly trying, but they were nearly always right.
****
Jonathan and his father sat in the drawing room after their guests had left and the rest of the family had retired. Lord Longley was most pleased with his birthday, and the presents he had received. Julia had written a piece of music and had played it for him after dinner. Abby and her husband had given him a new horse, as his preferred mount was beginning to be a bit swaybacked. Jonathan had no idea what his mother had given him and was not entirely sure he wanted to know. He could not help but be aware of how his parents adored each other; he had caught them kissing more than once. Unlike most couples of their rank, they shared a bedchamber, and when they were together within it, the door was nearly always locked. Their mutual adoration was the inspiration for his own present, which he pulled from its hiding place under the settee.
Stirring Up the Viscount Page 7
