Page 18 of The Chef and the Countess (The Duke’s Bastards #2)

Finnian’s Chop House had seen better days, a carryover from another century. In the last fifteen or twenty years, a new breed of chop houses had opened, serving stews, puddings, rump steaks, mutton chops, and pork chops in a more modern and hygienic setting to the growing working class.

Unlike any other place, Finnian’s seemed frozen in time, its decor and atmosphere a direct portal to the 1790s. Drew couldn’t help but wrinkle his nose at the distinct scent as they settled the cab fare. The sun had set, and the street lamps cast an unnerving glow over the proceedings.

“That’s the stench of dubious meat, probably mere hours from being rotten,” Liam explained. “It’s what makes this pub a haven for those seeking a cheap meal. And it’s also what draws a particular crowd.”

“Like thieves?” Drew murmured.

“And the working poor. I’m unsure we will find Sharpe here. He has taken his meals here for years, though I don’t know why.”

They stepped inside the dimly lit tavern. The smoke from pipes, cigars, and cigarettes hung in the air like a dense fog. The tobacco smell, mixed with the dodgy food and the odors from the working men, made for a toxic mix. Liam often wished he could run a smoke-free eating establishment, as the smoke clung to everything and coated the walls. Keeping the ashtrays empty was enough of a challenge. But placing no-smoking rules would lose him two-thirds of his customers.

“Look, in the corner. I can see his beady eyes from here,” Liam whispered, his voice barely audible.

As before, a muscular bullyboy halted them. “Liam Hallahan and Doctor Drew Hornsby to see Lucian Sharpe,” Liam stated loudly.

Sharpe gave a brisk nod, and the bullyboy quickly checked them before waving them forward.

“Come to collect your pot?” Sharpe stated emotionlessly. Today, he wore another garish suit of blue and green plaid. A black derby hat sat on the table before him. Sharpe wore several gold rings, one with an enormous onyx. With his golden hair and chiseled looks, Lucian—with the appropriate evening wear—could pass for quality at any society occasion. He remained remarkably unscathed for a man from the streets—no visible scars or tattoos (except one on each index finger) to mark him as a rookery boss, and the aforementioned dead eyes, which bespoke of a soulless bastard with no morals.

The more Liam studied him, the more a shocking revelation took root: tall, blond hair, blue eyes— bloody hell . Sharpe couldn’t be the old Duke of Chellenham’s son and another possible half-brother, could he? Most of Chellenham’s offspring had those same features. Liam shook his head, dismissing the disturbing thought, for he didn’t care to discover the truth. Apparently, he would suspect every man and woman with those general golden physical attributes for the foreseeable future. At least the ‘soulless bastard with no morals’ fit the late duke . Back to the matter at hand.

“Keep the pot. I’ve come for Teddy Chisholm, the lad who delivered the stew. Where is he?” Liam asked, looking around the dim tavern. There was no sense beating about the bush. The sooner they were out of here, the better.

Sharpe’s fingers drummed on the table. Next to him was a plate of half-eaten, gristle-filled steak, and boiled potatoes attracting flies. “The boyo is staying with me,” he declared, his tone challenging.

Liam’s heart sank. Then, a fury rose within him. “I told you to leave him alone. He works for me .”

“Not anymore.” Sharpe’s astute gaze landed on Drew. “Why did you bring a sawbones here? Will you need a doctor? Planning to start a fight, yeah?”

Sharpe’s men chuckled. The man sitting beside Sharpe turned sideways, hauling his trousers down partway. “Hey, Doc. I’ve got this carbuncle on me arse, oozing pus and the like. Can you look at it?”

Sharpe’s men laughed boisterously, and Sharpe even smiled slightly.

Drew nodded, showing he understood the joke, as he had no doubt heard it before—many times. “I can lance the boil. All I need is a sharp knife, although I must place the blade into the fire to get it nice and hot first.” Drew pointed to the knife on the table. “That one will do nicely.”

The man grumbled as he hoisted his trousers, and the laughter continued. Sharpe banged the table with his fist, and the men were silenced immediately.

“I want to talk to Teddy. Now,” Liam demanded.

“He’s mine,” Sharpe hissed through clenched teeth. “I’ve staked a claim, and no one will gainsay me.”

Liam ignored the threat. “Any number of boyos living on the streets would gladly work for you. You don’t need this one. Teddy is doing well in school and has recovered his health after his recent stint of living on the streets. He was in a bad way.”

“You’ve looked after him; I’ll give you that. He speaks highly of you. It’s the only reason you’re still standing here.” Sharpe gave a high-pitched whistle.

Teddy came out of the kitchen wearing an apron, giving Liam a sheepish look.

“Teddy, you don’t have to stay here with him. You have a place with me. Timmy and Tommy want you to come home. So do I,” Liam said firmly. “I mean it. You’re a part of the restaurant family.”

“Sharpe’s my father,” Teddy said softly, “Tommy told me you’re his da. I decided I wanted one, too. Time to stop running and denying my past—and my family.”

Liam was utterly shocked. That revelation added a new layer of complexity to the situation.

“It’s true,” Sharpe interjected. “I said he’s mine, and he is. His mother, Meggie Chisholm, told me so years ago. The boyo scarpered off. I’ve been trying to find him these last months.”

“Aye, I’ll bet you were,” Liam snapped. He turned his attention back to Teddy. “He’s lying to you, Teddy. Sharpe will tell you anything you want to hear to keep you here and turn you into one of his pickpockets or worse.” Liam said, effectively ignoring Sharpe.

“Watch your mouth, Hallahan,” Sharpe said menacingly. “Don’t cross me.”

“He’s not lying, sir,” Teddy said. “My mum told me who my da was years back. I tried to deny it. But I figure having a father is better than not having one. Tommy said so, and I agree.” Teddy inclined his head toward Lucian Sharpe. “Besides, he’s the only family I’ve got left.”

“What really happened to your mum, Teddy?” Liam asked.

Teddy looked down at the straw-covered floor. “Prison,” he whispered. “I know I told you she died. I didn’t mean to lie. But I was ashamed.”

Liam took a step closer. “I understand. But you don’t want to be part of Sharpe’s life. He will pull you into his criminal world, like he no doubt did with your mother.”

“Enough of this shite. I had nothing to do with Meggie’s troubles; she brought that on herself, and the lad knows it. Teddy’s staying here,” Sharpe said firmly. “Where he belongs. With his real family.”

“What about school?” Liam asked Teddy, ignoring Sharpe again.

“Lucian said I can keep going. There’s a school not far from here. I’m sixteen, Liam. I can make up my own mind.”

Teddy’s courage and determination shone through, and Liam couldn’t help but feel a surge of pride. But sixteen years old? Teddy seemed much younger, a stark reminder of the toll poverty took on children’s growth due to prolonged malnourishment.

Drew whispered, “He’s of an age to make his own decisions.”

Drew was correct. There was nothing else to say. Liam looked directly at Sharpe. “Teddy is a good lad. Eager to learn and intelligent. When I took him in, his health had deteriorated to such a state that he was bedridden for weeks. He’s grown taller and filled out since. If Teddy is honestly your son, take responsibility and look out for him. Allow him to thrive.”

Sharpe snarled but then gave Liam a brisk nod. Those cruel eyes briefly flashed a rare show of emotion, and Liam understood what it meant. It was an acknowledgment of what Liam said, and a promise to do right by the lad—as much as Sharpe was capable. To Liam, it was as good as he could have hoped.

Teddy stepped forward and held out his hand. Liam shook it. “Thanks, Liam, for everything. Tell Tommy and Timmy I’ll see them soon. Lucian owns this tavern. I told him I could make it better. I’ll use what you taught me at your restaurant. I’ll be all right.”

“You always have a place with me,” Liam replied kindly, his words carrying the warmth of his support. “Remember that. I’ll send along your clothes and books.”

Teddy turned and waved, then disappeared into the kitchen.

“You got your answer, so sod off.” Sharpe dismissed him with a wave of his hand. His sycophants chuckled. Liam understood that most of Sharpe’s arrogant behavior was theatrical. All street gangsters acted the same. Regardless, it incensed Liam. For someone who kept his emotions in check, he was having trouble containing them lately.

Liam lurched forward, but Drew grabbed his arm. “Don’t,” he murmured. Drew understood Liam was about to threaten Sharpe, but it would not be wise. Liam turned to leave.

“Send along his stuff, yeah?” Sharpe called out. “And don’t come back here again unless I say so.”

No worries there.

Drew held Liam’s arm firmly. “Keep walking, ignore him. He is trying to bait you.”

Liam knew that, and he admonished himself for allowing Sharpe to get under his skin. They stepped out on the walkway, and Liam took a deep breath of cleansing air and then exhaled. “Thanks. I would have threatened him. It could have turned ugly.”

“We were certainly outnumbered and—” Drew reeled about. Then took numerous steps toward an alley across the way. Liam swung his gaze in that direction, catching sight of a long wool cape disappearing around the corner.

“Did you see her?” Drew questioned eagerly as he faced Liam.

“No. Just part of a gray cape.”

Drew sprinted toward the alley, and Liam followed him. But the alley was empty and led to a maze of courtyards. “Blast it. She is gone. It could not have been her. In this notorious section of London?”

“Who?” Liam questioned.

Drew lifted his spectacles and rubbed his eyes. “I thought I saw the missing Duchess of Barnsdale, Celia’s friend.”

“Right. You said you treated her last April.”

“I only caught a fleeting glimpse. It may not be her, though. I am more exhausted than I thought.”

“Then let’s get you home. We will have to walk a bit to find a hansom cab. Then I must explain Teddy’s situation to everyone.”

“That will not be easy. And pardon for asking, what did the lad mean when he said you are Tommy’s father?”

Liam exhaled. “That, my friend, is another recent disclosure. I’ll explain on the way.”

* * *

Celia sat at the dining table with the daytime wait staff and the evening pub staff. Everyone was talking animatedly, passing around platters of sandwiches and pouring tea. She had long yearned to be a part of such a scenario, surrounded by family and friends, but it had never come to pass. Her dreams had been cut short by her parents’ tragic and untimely deaths.

Although she had experienced comforting camaraderie at the finishing school with Selena and Corrine, they had all grown apart as friends often did. Granted, their unstable lives did not translate to writing letters and visits. Could she be opening herself up for more rejection from Liam or the people seated here at the table? Yes, she had moments of doubt. But closing herself off emotionally was not an option.

“We should do this every day,” Celia announced.

Everyone quieted and stared at her. “Do what, ducks?” Fiona asked.

“Gather together for a staff meal—all of us. Let us call it—a family meal. Right at this time and place, when the restaurant closes and before the pub opens.” Celia felt her face grow hot. Did she long for a family so much that she revealed her innermost longing to people she had only known for a few weeks? She had gone too far. Embarrassment covered her from head to toe.

Fiona gently patted her hand. “A family meal. I like that. We are a sort of family, yeah?”

Everyone agreed, which eliminated much of her mortification. Warming to the subject, Celia continued. “We can eat leftovers, or for menu purposes try out new recipes or make suggestions for different types of food from our backgrounds.”

“I have a suggestion!” Tommy cried. “Let me go get my book!”

Tommy was back in a flash and handed a book to Celia. The cover was well-worn. “ The Cook’s Oracle, by William Kitchiner.” Celia opened the cover. “Published in 1817? My, that’s going back a few years.”

“I marked the page there.” Tommy pointed to a piece of paper between the pages.

Celia turned to the section. “Fried potato shavings?”

“That’s it,” Tommy said proudly.

“‘Peel large potatoes, cut a quarter of an inch thick or in shavings, dry thoroughly, then fry in lard or drippings.’ That sounds interesting. What would we serve them with?”

Tommy rubbed his chin, deep in thought. “Well, they would go with hot sandwiches on the side of the plate, like when Liam serves toasted cheese and bacon. Or we can serve them in the pub! It only takes a few minutes to cook them. We always have potato skins and shavings left. Why not use them? Maybe we can salt them and put some malt vinegar on them!”

Fiona clapped, and the rest joined in. “Well done, Tommy!”

It was that boisterous scene Liam walked into. His face looked like thunder, which immediately silenced everyone. “What’s this, a bloody tea party? Fiona, the pub opens in thirty minutes. Let’s get a move on, chop, chop. This isn’t a countess’s parlor. Tommy and Timmy, clear these dishes and start the stew prep for tomorrow. Hannah and Enya? Start cleaning the kitchen and readying glasses and mugs. Teddy isn’t returning. He’s staying with his father. Don’t ask me any bloody questions about it now. Get to work!”

The staff scattered, but Celia remained seated. A countess’s parlor? Was that sarcasm directed at her? Celia fumed. “No orders for me?” she asked mockingly. “Scrub the floors, clean out the chowder pots?”

Liam plopped in the chair opposite and unwound his scarf, tossing it on the table. His angry look changed to one of weariness.

With that, Celia’s irritation dissolved. “What happened with Teddy?” she asked gently.

“I sent him into the lion’s den,” Liam murmured. “Lucian Sharpe is an acquaintance I’ve known for years. He came to The Crowing Cock for Walter’s hot pot and the doings upstairs. He’s a rookery boss at Devil’s Acre, a slum area in Westminster. Long story short, I used Teddy to deliver something to him, not knowing they had a shared past.”

Celia waited for him to continue. Liam grabbed a wedge of sandwich from the platter and devoured it. “My gut told me not to send him, but I did. So that’s on me,” Liam continued gruffly. “Get this, Teddy is Sharpe’s son. Or so they say. He wants to stay with his father because Tommy now has a father—or some such reason. What a bloody mess.”

“Is he Sharpe’s son? Could it be possible?” Celia asked, stunned by the turn of events.

Liam shrugged. “He knew Teddy’s mother. Intimately. So, it’s possible.”

“Sometimes, the pull of family can be hard to ignore. From what you’ve told me, Teddy had a rough time. Perhaps he wished for familial contact and stability.”

“He had that here!” Liam barked. “I gave him a home, schooling, clothes, and more besides.”

“He was an apprentice, Liam. You only took him in because Tommy insisted. I am not denying you were kind to him because you were. But you are not his father. Perhaps he wants more from life than what you offered.”

Liam snatched another sandwich wedge and chewed thoughtfully. “Teddy is sixteen, can you believe it? I thought he was no more than twelve. He says he will take Sharpe’s derelict chop house and turn it around. I believe he will do it, as the lad seemed determined. What an unbelievable turn of events.”

“You gave Teddy a purpose in the four months he stayed here. You taught him life and work skills he will put to good use. He was ready to leave, Liam, and took the opportunity of running his own eating establishment. He just used his possible father as an excuse. Do not blame yourself. However, you should have a serious discussion with Timmy and see what goals he wishes to achieve. How old is he?”

“I have no bloody idea.”

Celia shook her head and tsked. “Do you want some advice?”

“Aye, go on.”

“You must take more of an interest in your staff, day and night.”

Liam’s eyes narrowed, giving her such a look of desire that her heart skipped a beat. “I’ve taken an interest in you .”

“That is not the same, although I welcome it. I proposed something to the staff: We share a family meal every night between the restaurant closing and the pub opening.”

Liam’s eyebrows shot upward. “Family?”

Celia shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She had no right to suggest radical recommendations about how Liam ran his business. “I-I-I—blast. I thought the people who work—especially those who live here—would appreciate feeling valued and part of the bigger picture. For some of them, this group of people will be the only family they have. It is like a manor house where the family lives upstairs, and the family of servants lives downstairs. But what I propose is better. Everyone is part of the same group, sharing goals and ambitions and giving support.”

Liam shook his head. “I’m not sure—”

“Let me finish. You should join them, open up, and welcome them into your heart. I know I told you that before, but it’s still true. Sit at the head of the table and get to know them better. Share a laugh and praise them for a job well done where warranted. Talk about food and possible improvements. Do not go to your room immediately after your day is done or come down to breakfast after everyone has eaten. Sit and talk and share a meal with your employees. Your family . Please say you will try it.”

“I eat breakfast with them,” Liam grumbled stubbornly.

“But not every day.”

“I’m not one for conversation.”

“I understand. But you won’t know how it will go unless you try,” Celia urged.

Liam exhaled. “Fine. I’ll give it a go. What in the bloody hell do I talk about?”

“As I said, food. The restaurant. You enjoy those subjects. You can try out new recipes and allow the staff to make suggestions. Tommy already came up with a wonderful idea. We were talking about it when you came in.” Celia stood, brought over the old cookbook, and handed it to Liam. “On the left-hand side, middle of the page.”

“Fried potato shavings?” Liam read the directions. “Interesting,” he murmured.

“Tommy said we could serve them with a hot sandwich for lunch or the pub at night!” Celia enthused excitedly. “Perhaps sprinkle a little vinegar and salt on them. I will bet they would taste good with fried meat or fish.”

“Hmm. Splashing vinegar on them would make them soggy. We could place a dish or bottle of vinegar on the side. In Alexis Soyer’s cookbook, he has a recipe for fried fish that is dipped into flour and water and then submerged in oil and fried until crispy. A few fish and chip shops have opened in the East End, actual sit-down restaurants that serve the fish dish with bread and mashed peas. You can also buy it from costermongers on the street who wrap the fish and potatoes in a newspaper. It’s a cheap, hot dish and very popular.”

“What is a chip?”

“I don’t suppose you came across it in your aristocratic house.”

Celia placed her hands on her hips, exasperated. “Right. And what was that aside about a countess’s parlor, you said earlier? A slam at me?”

Liam gave her a contrite look. “I am sorry. Why I said countess, I have no idea. It was not meant as a slam, as you call it. Not at all. I was cross because of Teddy’s situation and took it out on everyone.”

“I accept your apology. It wouldn’t hurt to say you’re sorry to the staff. I know talented chefs can be temperamental, or so I’ve read in books. That does not have to be you . You are better than that. I know you are.”

Liam nodded, his expression reflective, as if he took in all she had said and considered it.

“Now, I ask again. What is a chip?” Celia questioned.

Liam gave her a quirky smile. He looked so adorable when he did that. “It’s long, thick strips of potato fried in oil. I considered adding it to the menu, but working with hot oil or fat didn’t appeal to me. I believed the dish should be left to the street vendors. I want to serve food a step or two up from the street.”

“I can see that. But if it is catching on beyond street food, perhaps you should consider it,” Celia suggested.

“It would mean someone would have to operate the stove for the frying. A pot full of oil or drippings can be dangerous—and messy. It can catch fire like that.” Liam snapped his fingers.

“You said you were going to hire more people anyway. You can also train someone to fry the thin potato pieces safely and properly. Less waste, too. I imagine they would take a minute or two to cook. Here is a thought: make the fish and chip dish part of the pub’s offerings. Not every night, but occasionally. Or not.”

“I welcome your interest in the business. But fish and chips should not be part of my menu, at least for now. I like the idea of the shavings, though.”

“You know best.” Celia turned to return to her seat, but Liam grasped her hand and brought her toward him so swiftly that she lost her balance and wound up on his lap.

“I like you sitting right here,” he whispered as he nuzzled her neck. “Why are you so concerned about my restaurant?”

Celia leaned back and stared at him. “Because it is part of you. Because I have watched you preparing meals and can plainly see how much you love it. Never have I seen you more alive than when cooking food.”

Liam wrapped a loose tendril of her hair around his finger. Celia’s hair always came loose when working in the kitchen. He gently pushed it behind her ear, then caressed her cheek tenderly. “Never have I felt more alive than now, with you close like this.”

Celia’s heart swelled. “I must admit I feel the same. Also, regarding the business.”

“You like working in the restaurant?” Liam asked incredulously. “Truly?”

“Yes, Chef.”

Liam chuckled. “Put your arms around me.”

Celia did, never breaking contact with his intense and sultry look.

“Now, kiss me.”

Celia blinked. “Kiss you? Here?”

“Yes, in this room.” He placed the tip of his finger against his lips. “Right here.”

“Someone could walk in,” Celia said worriedly as she glanced about.

“That, love, makes it more exciting.”

Liam was correct. A thrill of exhilaration skittered along her spine. Celia cupped his face, studying every aspect, every sharp cut of cheekbone to the dark whiskers already showing through. “You have such beautiful eyes.” She tenderly kissed that enticing mole at the corner of his right eye. “So clear and blue, like a summer or winter sky, depending on your mood.” Celia trailed kisses along his whiskered chin, teasing him. Then, she captured his lips, kissing him ardently. She tangled her fingers through his thick, wavy hair, so silky and longer than most men wore. It suited him.

Liam responded with something like a cross between a moan and a growl. Their tongues clashed as he trailed his hand over her hip, grabbing a fistful of her wool skirt, lifting far enough that he could caress her leg. As their kiss deepened, his hand traveled higher until he reached her upper thigh. She could feel his erection under her. That was exciting, too.

Celia moaned and instinctively spread her legs. The feel of his hand against her bare skin made her grow wet at her feminine core. “Touch me,” she urged between the passionate kisses. His fingers reached her drawers when the door flew open and banged against the wall.

“Liam! Oh, bloody hell. Excuse me.”

Celia sprang from Liam’s lap, blushing furiously as she smoothed her skirt.

It was Fiona, and she looked worried. “Liam, a fight broke out in the pub. The blokes have knives.”