“She’s not wrong,” Roxley said, much to William’s surprise. “I actually look forward to meals now, if you can believe it.”
Incredulous, William stared at his father for a moment. “Well, I suppose I’ll have to decide for myself.”
“But before you do, I’d like to hear your opinion on Sarah’s potential suitors,” William’s mother said. Everyone groaned, including Roxley, but she was determined. “There’s Viscount Belmont, Mr. Hastings, the Earl of Penwood, the Earl of Endry, Mr. Cummings, Mr. Dunnings, Mr—”
William stared at his mother while she continued to tick names off on her fingers. Five minutes later, he understood exactly why Sarah and Athena were so glad to have him home. They clearly hoped his presence would help distract their mother from her desire to get them settled by focusing more energy on him.
Ha! Not if he could help it. Although he really did pity his sisters. He knew how relentless Mama could be, and unlike him, they weren’t able to run away. But there was something wonderfully entertaining about watching someone else deal with her matchmaking efforts for a change.
William waited until she was done before saying, “I’m sorry, I forgot the first few names. Could you please repeat them?”
The viscountess knit her brow but proceeded to do so while everyone else glared at him. Athena looked like she’d like to grab the nearest throw pillow and hit him over the head with it. He suppressed a chuckle.
“Well?” his mother finally asked once she’d gone over all the names again. Tea had been served in the meantime, and a plate filled with interesting looking pastries had been placed on the table before him.
William picked one up, took a bite…
Oh dear God in heaven.
Rich cream laced with a hint of lemon burst from within the fluffy dough and filled his mouth with blissful pleasure. He groaned – groaned – and closed his eyes in acknowledgement of the divine moment.
“Good. Isn’t it?” Athena asked.
When William opened his eyes, she was watching him slyly while sinking her teeth into her own piece of perfection.
He nodded. “I don’t think I’ve ever had anything this good before.”
“Papa insists Mrs. Lamont must be a witch,” Sarah said while she selected a treat and passed the plate to her father.
“It does seem like the only logical explanation,” Roxley said, his eyes almost rolling all the way back in his head when he took a bite of the pastry he’d picked.
William ate some more and immediately lamented the loss of the treat once he’d finished off the last bite. “Why aren’t there more?” he grumbled.
His mother chuckled. “Because it would spoil our appetites for dinner. Have some tea, dear, and tell me your thoughts.”
“It’s incredible,” William said. “If everything Mrs. Lamont makes is as good this, you must be the envy of all of London.”
“Try England,” Roxley said.
“And I wasn’t referring to the pastries,” the viscountess said with a hint of impatience. “What I wish to know is which man you think might be best for Sarah. And possibly for Athena as well.”
“Please leave me out of this,” Athena grumbled.
“I don’t see why my opinion should matter,” William said. He picked up his cup and sipped his tea while offering Sarah a look of apology.
“He – the man she marries – will become your brother-in-law,” Mama explained. “You’ll have to spend time with him at family gatherings and—”
“To be clear,” William said, determined more than ever to put an end to this arduous conversation, “my only concern is for Sarah’s happiness. She could choose to marry a troll, and I’d still be cordial to the fellow.”
Athena snorted with laughter, earning a stern look of disapproval from both parents.
Sarah’s lips twitched. “Thank you, Will.”
“A troll indeed,” their mother sputtered. She looked monumentally put out.
“Right then,” William said, deciding to take advantage of her brief silence. “I think I shall go wash up and prepare for dinner.”
“I’ll do the same,” Athena said.
“Me too,” Sarah added.
“See you in roughly one hour,” William told his parents.
He followed his sisters into the hallway and was halfway up the stairs before his father’s startled expression registered. The poor man was now Mama’s only audience, and William fleetingly wondered if he ought to feel some remorse over this. So he paused, glanced back down at the parlor door, and finally chose to continue his climb. Roxley loved his wife to distraction. He’d chosen to spend the rest of his life with her. And there was no way in hell William was going back in the parlor right now.
Instead, he took his time reacquainting himself with his bedroom. The books he’d enjoyed as a child still sat on top of his dresser in a neat collection of sentimentality. The pocket watch he’d received from Grandfather John on his fifteenth birthday gleamed in greeting when he opened the top drawer. A smile curved his lips as he pulled the watch into the palm of his hand. Grandfather John’s sweet tooth had been undeniable. He would have loved those delicious pastries. The flavor still lingered on William’s tongue, prompting him to ponder the woman who’d made them.
With a smile and a shake of his head, he returned the watch to the drawer for safe keeping and pulled out a neatly folded shirt. She was probably much like all the other cooks he’d ever seen: middle-aged and plump with a cheerful disposition. And most likely married to a very happy man, William decided with a grin.
This opinion did not change when he joined his family for dinner and savored his first bite of seafood mousse topped with dill and lemon. Or when a plate containing perfectly grilled slices of beef tenderloin was placed before him. The succulent meat melted in his mouth along with the baby potatoes and baked vegetables. And when the dessert arrived…
Ah, but it was yet another culinary masterpiece – a chocolate cake of some sort filled with nuts, so moist and sweet he wished he had several more stomachs to fill.
“Judging from that look on your face, I gather you will be staying a while,” his mother teased.
“If you’re wise,” he told her dryly, deciding not to ruin the mood by addressing his plans for departure, “you will lock Mrs. Lamont away before someone steals her.”
“I think you ought to meet her,” Athena said.
Roxley coughed while their mother and Sarah both stared at her in dismay. William felt as though he might be missing something – a joke perhaps?
“I’m sure William has more important things do,” Roxley managed to say while still clearing his throat. “Like calling on his brothers.”
“It was just a suggestion,” Athena muttered.
“And we thank you for it,” Mama said in that firm tone meant to put an end to a subject, “but Mrs. Lamont takes her cooking extremely seriously. I’m sure she would hate to be disturbed.”
The pointed look that followed gave William pause. He frowned. Something was up. His mother’s tight smile, Roxley shifting the conversation to what William’s exact duties had been at the embassy in Lisbon, the attention Sarah was giving her plate, and the mutinous look in Athena’s eyes all suggested they were hiding something.
Naturally, he meant to learn what it was. Which was why he allowed his father to invite him to his study for an after dinner drink, indulged him in whatever topics he wished to discuss, enjoyed a cup of tea afterward with his mother and sisters in the parlor, then excused himself and headed for bed.
Once in his room he waited until he was sure the rest of his family had retired as well, and then headed straight for the kitchen.
There was something immensely satisfying about having the kitchen all to herself once the rest of the servants had gone up to bed. Eloise loved it. The Townsbridge House kitchen was large, beautifully fitted with everything a cook or a chef might desire. This was her favorite time of day – after the hustle and bustle – when she could prepa
re the next day’s meals, partly in her head and partly by jotting down some of the items she’d have to purchase the following morning.
A smile stole across her lips as she sat at the work table with her notebook and pencil. She never trusted another person to shop on her behalf. This was something Grand-père Victor had taught her. Every part of every meal was her responsabilité, and as such, it was up to her to select the finest ingredients possible.
Taking a sip of the sweet mint tea she’d prepared, she made a few notes. If she was going to prepare her grandfather’s specialty, she’d have to buy some fresh mushrooms. Perhaps some asparagus too. And a vanilla pod, if she was able to find one, for the dessert.
Eloise had almost finished jotting down the items when a soft scrape drew her attention. She looked up and paused. A man stood in the far corner of the room, just inside the doorway. Tall, with chiseled features, dark hair, a firm mouth, and a curious gaze, he was both handsome and intimidating all at once.
“Who are you?” Eloise blurted, even though she suspected she already knew the answer. Simmons had mentioned the arrival of the youngest Townsbridge son, so she supposed this would have to be him.
“Who are you?” he asked, echoing her words without giving an answer.
Eloise set down her pencil and stood. It was the polite thing to do, not to mention that he might not seem quite so tall if she weren’t sitting. Of course she was wrong about that. She realized this as he crossed the floor, growing in size as he approached.
It was tempting to take a step back, to retreat and add distance. But that would only reveal how unnerving she found him. Her heart fluttered against her breast. It would show weakness while giving him the upper hand.
So she straightened her spine instead and raised her chin. “Mrs. Lamont,” she told him. “I am la cuisinière. The cook.”
He stared at her so long she started to wonder if she had flour in her hair or a smudge of sauce on her cheek. And then he smiled, slow and with wolfish delight.
A shiver raced through Eloise. She balled her hands into two tight fists. To respond in any way, if even with the briefest pleasure of his regard, was unconscionable and dangerous.
“You made those incredible cream pastries I tasted this afternoon?” he asked. She nodded. Once. “And dinner as well?”
“Oui.”
Amazement brightened his eyes to a rich shade of walnut. “I must say, I’m thoroughly impressed. More so now that I’ve met you.”
Eloise frowned. It bothered her that she always had to prove herself on account of her age. Lady Roxley had been hesitant, too, about hiring her, and Eloise had practically been forced to beg for a chance to show off her skills.
“Not what you expected?”
“Not at all.”
She flattened her mouth. “Well, you’re not what I expected either.”
The words were out before she could stop them, hanging in the air like a challenge. Why had she said that? What on earth was she thinking?
“Explain.” He crossed his arms and arched a brow.
Eloise fought to maintain her composure. Somehow she’d lost all common sense and walked straight into battle. And of course she was far too stubborn to back down now. So she ignored the voice of reason encouraging her to retreat.
Instead, she said, “Having met your brothers, I imagined you would be just as polite and charming as they are. Instead you barge in here—” a slight exaggeration, she had to admit “–intruding on my domain, as if it is your right to do so.”
Mr. Townsbridge blinked. “So you know who I am.”
She crossed her arms and gave him a very deliberate head-to-toe perusal. “It isn’t hard to figure out.”
“Then you must know I live here.” He was speaking to her as if she were an infant now.
Eloise supposed she deserved it, but his manner still made her jaw clench. “Fleetingly, perhaps. As a guest.”
“Townsbridge House is my home when I am in England. It is the only permanent address I have.” He leaned forward. “I’ve certainly spent more time here than you. In response to that other comment you made, you should know that I intend to roam about as I see fit, Mrs. Lamont. No room in this house is off limits to me. Not even…”
Eloise gasped. Her eyes widened while heat rose to her cheeks.
“The kitchen,” he finished with a devilish smirk.
Anger flared within her, hot and prickly. The cad had been about to say, not even yours. She knew it as surely as she knew how to ice a cake or bake a soufflé. The arrogant mockery in his eyes was proof enough.
Initially, she’d wanted him gone because he’d been too attractive. The last thing she wanted was for some foolish fancy to get in the way of her work. Except she’d been wrong to worry. Mr. Townsbridge was a beastly man – certainly not the sort who’d ever inspire more tender feelings within her.
A pity, since it meant his looks had been wasted.
Eloise grabbed her shopping list. “I think it’s time for us to bid each other good night.”
“If that is your wish,” he said, turning away as if he’d lost interest in her. “I’ll just fix myself a quick snack before I head back upstairs.”
“The devil you will,” Eloise exploded.
She froze as the words she’d spoken settled around her. Mr. Townsbridge swung back and pinned her in place with the most intense gaze she had even been subjected to.
“My,” he murmured, “you are a feisty thing.”
Eloise gulped. Remember your place. “For—” she cleared her throat and tried again “—forgive me. That was intolerably rude.”
A slow smile slid into place on his face. “I probably ought to apologize too. For the teasing. It clearly made you uncomfortable.”
She managed a stiff nod. Spending more time in his company was an incredibly bad idea, but the thought of him or anyone else rummaging through her cupboards was somehow worse.
Which was the only reason why she found herself saying, “Allow me to fix you a plate.”
“Thank you. But I can manage.”
“Not if you wish to leave this kitchen in one piece you can’t.”
He laughed, quite suddenly and with a shocking degree of mirth. Eloise pressed her lips together until her own laughter forced them apart.
“I can vividly imagine you chasing me with a rolling pin or a frying pan,” he choked.
“The carving knife has just been sharpened,” she said.
“Good God. You’re not just a spitfire or a good cook, you’re also a bloodthirsty hellion.” He stepped back in mock terror. “No wonder my parents and sisters were trying to hide you. They must have feared for my life.”
“They certainly have better sense than to try and meddle with my supplies.” Although the truth was, Eloise had come to adore the family. They were kind and generous. She’d even begun considering Lady Athena her friend after they’d started spending their Sunday mornings together. And she appreciated the brief chats she occasionally had with Lady Roxley whenever the viscountess wished to check up on meal plans.
Giving Mr. Townsbridge a wide berth, Eloise pocketed her shopping list and went to the cupboard. “Will a lemon cream puff do?”
“Make it two and we have a deal,” Mr. Townsbridge told her.
Eloise deliberately kept her back toward him as she smiled. “It’s your waistline, monsieur, not mine.”
“The things you say,” he muttered with a hint of wonder. “You’re quite unlike any other servant I’ve ever met.”
Collecting a plate, Eloise retrieved the tin containing the leftover pastries and pulled off the lid. Risking a glance in his direction she told him wryly, “I’m French. Meekness is not in my blood.”
A spark of awareness flared to life in his eyes, prompting her to drop her gaze quickly. She finished preparing his plate and handed it to him. His thumb brushed hers and her heart leapt. This was wrong, this response she was having toward him. Nothing about it made sense when only moments ago she’d be
en ready to hit him.
Avoiding further eye contact, she busied herself with putting the tin away. “I have an early morning so I must be off now.”
“Won’t you keep me company while I eat?”
Eloise swallowed. “Non.” She closed the cupboard and forced her feet to move toward the door. Reaching it, she paused to say, “It was interesting to meet you, Mr. Townsbridge. I hope you enjoy your snack.”
She turned away.
“I trust your husband is also in my parents’ employ?”
“No. I’m not…” Too late, she realized what she’d revealed. Cooks were always referred to as Mrs., no matter their marital status, and keeping Mr. Townsbridge in the dark about hers would have served as a useful line of defense. If she’d been wise enough to leave him wondering, that was, or even better if she’d lied.
“Duly noted.”
The comment chased her out of the kitchen and into the servants’ stairwell, all the way up to her room on the top floor of the house. She didn’t pause for breath until she was safely inside with the door shut. Good heavens. The way he’d said that, with seductive promise, was enough to set her ablaze.
She patted her cheeks and expelled a deep breath.
No.
She absolutely could not allow herself to be alone with that man ever again. Not only because of the threat he posed to her job but because of what she feared he might want. And judging by how quickly he’d replaced her indignation with amusement, she worried he had the skill to acquire whatever he might desire.
Which meant she would have to avoid him at all cost.
Accustomed to rising early for work, William woke before six the following morning. Stretching his arms up over his head, he thought back on the previous day’s events and smiled. Mrs. Lamont had been a delightful surprise. She’d obviously wanted to smack him for some of the things he’d said and how he’d behaved, and frankly he could not blame her. But that hadn’t made her ire any less thrilling.
William sat and swung his legs over the side of the bed. Her playful side had been alluring. The sense of humor she’d revealed, a combination of sarcastic wit and self-deprecating quips, like a cool refreshment on a hot summer’s day. With a few clever retorts, she’d made him laugh more openly than he could remember doing since he was a child. She’d been fun, her company allowing him to escape for the briefest of moments the staid restraint he invariably felt subjected to on account of his position.
The Townsbridge's Series Page 23