Page 23 of The Chef and the Countess (The Duke’s Bastards #2)

Celia sat upright in bed, wearing her wool skirt and a simple white blouse. Acting as a patient did not appeal, and she only stayed in her room today because Drew insisted. Browsing through “Shilling Cookery for the People” by Alexis Soyer, the book that gave Liam’s life a decided purpose, she stopped at the front of the book and read:

Therefore you will perceive that nothing more disposes the heart to amicable feeling and friendly transactions, than a dinner well-conceived and artistically prepared.

Was this how Liam had found his joy? Could cooking be the only thing that touched his heart? It was a rather depressing thought. Celia always believed that if someone had a passion for a particular hobby, career, or object, surely that would translate to life itself and the people in one’s life. What did she know about passions since she lived such a sheltered life, with hardly any interaction with anyone besides Carlton and a few servants?

A sharp knock at the door tore her from her troubled thoughts. “Come in.”

Liam entered. The wind had tousled his hair, and he wore an apron under his coat. “There is someone to see you. The Earl of Winterwood.”

Celia blinked rapidly, completely shocked. “Here?”

“Aye. I’ll send him up. Use my parlor. I must return to the kitchen. We open in twenty minutes. I can’t spare anyone to serve tea, but I’ll ask Timmy to bring a few sandwiches. The water closet behind my bedroom has a cupboard with dishes. You’ll have to serve water.”

Celia had no idea Liam had his own WC in his flat. “Yes, I will do that. Thank you.”

Liam turned to leave, then stopped. “The family meal is at half past five. Can you attend?”

“I will be there,” she replied softly.

Liam disappeared into the hall.

Celia set the cookbook aside and stood. Taking her time, she made her way to Liam’s flat and stood in the doorway. A few minutes later, Franklin Gardiner, brushing snow from his shoulders, entered the hallway.

“Good day, my lord. Let us meet in here.” Celia stepped aside.

Winterwood removed his hat and bowed. “Thank you for receiving me, my lady.” The new earl followed her into Liam’s flat.

“You can hang your coat on the hook, my lord.”

“If you don’t mind, I will keep it on, my lady.”

After they sat across from each other, Celia asked, “What brings you here, my lord?”

“A telegram, my lady. From Mr. Hallahan. But it was more than that. I sent a cablegram to my wife soon after you departed, giving her the condensed details of what I had discovered of the late earl’s estate. She sent back a scathing rebuke of my behavior towards you, and I have come to make amends.”

Timmy knocked on the door, entered, and brought the platter into the parlor. “Thank you, Timmy. Please place it on the table.” He did and hurried away, closing the door behind him.

Celia stood slowly, holding her side.

“Are you injured, my lady?” the earl asked worriedly.

“Not severely; I will heal. I cannot offer you tea or coffee as there are no facilities here to prepare it, and everyone downstairs is hard at work serving the luncheon crowd. I can offer water.”

“That is satisfactory, my lady.”

Celia located the cupboard Liam had spoken of and grabbed two small plates, mugs, and paper napkins. She also found a tray. After filling the mugs with water, she strode into the parlor, taking small, careful steps.

Franklin Gardiner jumped to his feet and hurried toward her. “Allow me to take the tray.”

Celia gladly gave it up. Once seated, his lordship took the small plate and placed the sandwich wedges on it.

“You mentioned amends, my lord?”

“Yes. Allow me to apologize. I followed Mr. Sanderson’s suggestions because he assured me that was how peerage estates were settled. He promised me your family would look after you and that this was how it’s done. What do I know about such things, being from Canada? We are a commonwealth country but do not follow such strict rules of society.”

“Not to agree with Mr. Sanderson, but as a solicitor to the earldom, he followed the letter of the law, such as it is. His primary concern was keeping the earldom intact for you as the new earl. A dowager countess with no dowry or mention in the will is not deemed important.”

Winterwood tsked. “That is not just. I had no idea. As my dear wife said, ignorance is no excuse.” He chewed his sandwich thoughtfully. “Mr. Hallahan said your uncle left you on Mr. Hallahan’s doorstep. I was horrified to hear that, my lady.”

“It was my cousin, Viscount Shinwell, but my uncle did nothing to stop it. My aunt, my only blood relation, is away wintering in Italy. I am thankful Mr. Hallahan allowed me to stay and work here. Otherwise, I would have had nowhere else to go.”

The earl’s eyes bulged in shock. “You are working at this restaurant? Oh, that is not to be borne. As my wife stated, you are a Countess of Winterwood and should be afforded all assistance and respect. I could not agree more. ‘Make it right,’ her ladyship demanded, and I follow her edict in all things.”

Celia could not believe this. She could scream and cry and reprimand the earl for not ‘making it right’ in the first place. Then again, what would be the point? He had only followed the solicitor’s advice. The entire peerage primogeniture system needed massive reform. “My lord, how do you intend to do that if there is not much money in the estate? I’ve seen the books. You have a family to look after and an earldom to keep afloat.”

“I do at that, my lady. However, there may be a silver lining for my family—and for you.” The earl sipped his water. “Mr. Sanderson put the cottage up for sale as soon as you departed. I am unsure why it is referred to as a cottage, as it seems more of a large-sized residence. Well, a Scottish lord expressed an interest. Or is it laird?” Winterwood scratched his chin thoughtfully. “Yes, it’s laird. Nonetheless, he wants it for a hunting retreat, or so he said. Mr. Sanderson, wily as he is, discovered the laird is also interested in the timber on the property. It is worth quite a lot. There were negotiations back and forth, and the laird has put forth an offer. Twenty-five thousand pounds, can you imagine? Most of that amount is for the timber.”

Celia was stunned. She’d never dreamed the property was worth that much. Several thousand acres were included with the actual residence. “I cannot imagine,” she murmured.

“Mr. Sanderson said I could keep the property and work the timber myself, but that would be a costly outlay for men and equipment, let alone building a lumber mill. It’s money that I do not have, not even with my late cousin’s modest investments.”

“Why are you telling me all this, my lord?”

“Because I wish to share the proceeds with you, my dear lady.”

Celia’s mouth dropped open, but she swiftly closed it. “How?” she whispered.

“Mr. Sanderson has worked a deal with Roderick MacAdam, the aforementioned Scottish laird. The earldom will receive a yearly stipend of six percent of the profits from MacAdam’s lumber business. I wish to split it down the middle: the cost of the cottage, timber, and three percent of the lumber. That will be twelve thousand five hundred pounds to you.”

That much? Plus three percent on the lumber? Holy crow! “Does Mr. Sanderson know you are here, my lord?”

“He does, my lady, although he tried to talk me out of it.”

She could well imagine. “Your offer is generous and much appreciated. I have a counteroffer.”

The earl’s eyes bulged again.

“I will accept nine thousand pounds and nothing more. That should have been my dowry or the settlement Carlton should have left me in his will or at least the two combined. Besides, my lord, you have an heir, a family, and the manor house, which is in a shocking state of disrepair. The yearly profits for the lumber should remain with the Winterwood earldom.”

“Are you certain, my lady? The lumber venture could prove to be lucrative.”

Celia could live quite comfortably on the interest of nine thousand pounds. “I am sure. And please, call me Celia.”

The earl gave her a beaming smile. “Then you must call me Franklin. What shall we do next?”

“Will you be in London for long, Franklin?”

“I came to gander at rentals here in the city besides visiting you. I do not think I wish to rent an entire town house, however. I have seen a few already. I find them too ostentatious. My lady wife will concur.” Franklin sighed, his vulnerability showing. “I am not cut out to be an aristocrat. And attending Parliament in the House of Lords? The prospect has me quivering with fear.”

“I will do all I can to assist you. My dear friend, Doctor Drew Hornsby, has a viscount father and a duke uncle in the House of Lords. I am sure they would be glad to show you the ropes, as it were.” Celia smiled. “Drew also has a flat for rent in Gloucester Square; if that is not available or suitable, we can find you another.”

“I am glad I came to see you,” Franklin smiled. “I do hope we can keep this acquaintance.”

“We shall be good friends. Wait and see.”

“I am exceedingly pleased. Now, you must hire a solicitor and have him contact Mr. Sanderson with the details.”

Solicitor? Again, she would have to confer with Drew. “I will do that as soon as possible. Why not stay for a meal, Franklin? Mr. Hallahan is quite talented. I believe shrimp and haddock dishes are on the luncheon menu.”

Franklin clapped his hands together. “I adore haddock! Being from Nova Scotia, seafood makes up a great part of my meals. Will you join me?”

Should she? Why not, indeed?

* * *

Hannah hurried into the kitchen. “Two fish cakes, table four!”

Liam wrote on his floor map and turned toward the stove.

Hannah leaned in and whispered, “It’s for that earl. Celia’s with him.”

Celia, sitting down and breaking bread with Winterwood? Why? Liam shook his head and flipped over the shrimp and haddock cakes sizzling in the cast iron frypan. She had too kind a heart. Liam turned toward the nearby prep table, slid the cakes onto two plates, and then served the vegetables, drizzling them with warm dill sauce.

“Table four!”

Hannah grabbed the plates and exited the kitchen. Liam had no time to contemplate what was happening, for the servers called out more orders.

He glanced at Fiona, busily making sandwiches. “How are the fillings holding up?”

“So far, we’re fine. At least for the next hour.”

Someone pounded at the rear entrance door. Liam definitely needed more help in the kitchen. “Fiona, see who that is. Please.”

She returned with a man carrying a large box. “It’s toff food!”

“And I’ve got another box this big out in me cart,” the man stated.

Bloody hell. What was he going to do with all this? Usually, only a tray or two were sent maybe twice a week, not boxes filled with food. “Set them on the table there. Where did it come from?”

“The Duke of Chellenham. He said it was from a banquet that was canceled. It’s from some aristo acquaintance or some such.”

The Duke of Chellenham, Damon Cranston, the half-brother he had yet to meet—or accept.

Drew and Mitchell had told him that Chellenham was a decent sort despite his aristocratic manner. Liam should make it a point to meet the man before the February meeting where he was to discuss The Hallahan Initiative and the funding of it. What a pretentious name for a charity venture. Regardless, he would mention arranging an introduction with Chellenham the next time he saw Drew. “Thank the duke for me.”

The delivery man touched his forelock and left the kitchen to bring in the other box.

“Fiona,” Liam said after the delivery man departed, “In between your sandwich orders, see what’s inside the boxes.”

“I don’t have any now. I’ll check.” Taking a small paring knife, she slit the tape on the box and open the flaps. “Cor, blimey. It’s a feast for a queen. There’s a saddle of mutton here! Battenburg cake, that’s what they call that checkered cake, aye?”

“Aye. Slice off a piece. Is it fresh?”

Fiona tore off the corner and ate it. “Oh, that’s lovely, that is.”

She then approached him, holding out a small piece. He opened his mouth, and Fiona popped it in. It melted on his tongue. It was absolutely delicious. “Slice some of that for the tea trays,” she said.

“There are also what look like almond cakes, Bakewell tarts, and savory crackers. We should serve some of this tonight for the family meal.”

“See if Enya can come in here for a moment. I’ve got to place the meat in the iceboxes or larder.”

“Right-o.” Fiona hurried out into the restaurant and located Enya.

With Enya tending the stove, Liam got to work emptying the boxes: roast pork, duchess potatoes, dinner rolls, mustard pickles, baked trout with a sauce, mince pies, and more.

Right. He’d have to offer some of this on today’s menu because there was too much food to fit into cold storage.

“Enya, are all the orders up to date?”

“For the moment.”

“Go and fetch the servers. We will switch some of the items on this afternoon’s menu.” Enya departed.

Hannah stuck her head in. “Two chowder, table five!”

Liam waved her into the kitchen. “Is that it for the orders?”

“Aye, but more people are coming in.”

Liam served up the chowder. “Come right back. There’s a quick meeting.”

Liam wrapped the uncooked fishcakes in parchment paper and placed them in the icebox. Enya, Hannah, Daisy, and Fiona were waiting for him when he returned.

“The cod and shrimp fishcakes are off the menu. Tell any new customers there is baked trout in a—” Liam opened the sauce container, dipped a spoon in, and tasted it. “-—lobster sauce with duchess potatoes and the carrots we already cooked. Charge one shilling for it.”

Fiona whistled. “That’s pricey. Are you sure?”

“The food is above what we usually serve, so I’m charging top prices. Fiona, use the tarts, mince pies, cake, and whatever else you find for the tea trays. I need you to unpack everything and, in between orders, make an inventory of what we have left. Back to work!”

The women scattered, and for the next two hours, Liam and his wait staff were run off their feet. After the trout was gone, he heated a few portions of the roast pork. Finally, as the clock approached half past five, Liam turned off the stoves.

Fiona handed him two foolscap papers. He scanned the list. The amount of food the upper crust provided for a banquet for maybe a dozen or so people was obscene. What would have happened to this food? Perhaps the servants would have some, but the rest? In the bin. Aristocrats did not eat leftovers—God forbid.

His icebox was stuffed to the gills. He could not place another crumb in there if he tried. “Looks like mutton is on the menu tomorrow. Fiona, fetch the cod and shrimp cakes from the icebox. I’ll cook that for the staff meal.”

Timmy and Tommy came through the back door. “Glad you’re here, lads. We’ve had a busy day. Start washing the dishes, yeah? Then bring clean plates and mugs into the staff dining area.”

By quarter to six, the entire staff, day and night, sat around the table. Liam placed the food on platters or in serving bowls. Celia entered the room, and Liam rushed to her side, taking her coat and hanging it on the wall.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Better, thank you.”

It was not exactly a warm reply, but he could not blame Celia, considering his actions—or lack thereof—this morning. Liam pulled out a chair next to him, and she sat.

The platters were passed around, and friendly conversation broke out.

“Oh, I almost forgot. Celia, a telegram arrived for you an hour ago,” Enya said. She reached into her apron pocket and handed it to Celia, who sat beside her.

Celia opened it, gasped, and then exclaimed, “It’s from my aunt! She wants me to join her in Italy!”