Page 4 of The Chef and the Countess (The Duke’s Bastards #2)

It was past seven when a knock sounded at Liam’s door. “Yes? What is it?” he shouted. He sat in his oversized chair, eating a bowl of stew, trying to unwind. His night manager, Fiona, ran the card games and supervised the pub in the evenings. Liam was done for the day and did not appreciate being disturbed.

Enya stuck her head in. “Sorry. I knocked at the new girl’s room. She didn’t answer. I have stew for her. I thought you had better come with me to check on her. I may need your help.”

He should have sent the stranger on her way, but he loathed the way her cousin had treated her. Also, she’d looked tired, weary to her fragile bones. Liam couldn’t toss her to the cobbles. This was all he needed—to have some woman pop off in one of his rooms. Having someone die on the premises was terrible for business.

Liam shot to his feet and stomped down the hall. He rattled the doorknob and swung open the door. It banged against the wall with great force, but the woman hardly stirred. The room was in semi-darkness as the gas lamp was nearly spent, so Liam headed toward the wall sconce and turned the knob. The gas hissed as a yellow flame cast a dull illumination over the area. All he could see was a pile of blankets on the bed. She must be under there somewhere.

He strolled to the bed, clasped her shoulder, and shook her none too gently. “Wake up!” he barked.

There was no reply.

He shook her harder. “I said wake up.”

Again, no response.

He placed his fingers against her neck. She was alive. Thank God for that. “Miss Gillingham!” he yelled.

The reply came as a soft moan. Then a sneeze.

Feck it all. Liam grasped the blankets and tossed them aside. Miss Gillingham was still wearing her clothes and shivered so intensely that Liam could hear her teeth chattering.

“You’re sick!” he boomed accusingly.

“Only a little,” Miss Gillingham sniffled. “I need rest—just a couple of days. Then I will be ready to work.”

Liam rolled his eyes. This outsider could pass on her illness to the rest of his staff, then where would he be? “Enya, fetch Tommy.”

Enya passed him the tray and hurried down the hall.

“Sit up. Can you?” Liam asked in a clipped tone, exasperated at this turn of events.

“I will try,” the woman replied weakly.

Liam placed the tray on the dresser, reached into the mound of blankets and quilts, grasped her under her arms, and hauled her upward until she sat straight. His arms brushed against the sides of her breasts, and a jolt of desire shot through him, causing his heart to thump faster. Where in the hell had that come from? He swiftly released her and grabbed the tray.

“Pull the blankets over you.” She did, and then he laid the tray on her lap. “Now, eat.”

His commands were brusque to his own ears, but Miss Gillingham upended his routines. Besides, he was worried about her. She wasn’t well, that much was obvious.

Tommy ran into the room. “Sir?”

“Get bundled up, lad. Go to 48 Gloucester Square and find Doctor Drew Hornsby. If he’s not home, wait for him. Bring him here.” Liam tossed the boy a coin, and he caught it. “Here’s a shilling. Bring back the change, mind. Get along now.”

Tommy departed, and Liam turned to face Miss Gillingham.

“I do not need a doctor, Mr. Hallahan—”

“My name is Liam. And you bloody well do, Celia. Besides, I can’t have the staff getting sick. Do you follow?”

Sighing, she nodded as she took a spoonful of the stew and ate it. Then she took another. This wasn’t some doxy or girl from the lower classes. Her mode of speech and refined manners showed that, as did the fact that she was related to a viscount, no matter how detestable. He noticed the plain gold band on her finger in the glint of light. “You’re married?”

“A widow.”

That readily explained her reduced circumstances. Now widowed, she was reliant on her family. Only they wanted nothing to do with her. The fact that Shinwell had dragged her here showed a decided lack of respect for Liam and his business, but more importantly, an absence of respect for his cousin. If there was one thing Liam could not abide, it was the mistreatment of women and children. He had witnessed enough of that while growing up on the streets.

He glowered at Celia. Sweat beaded on her forehead, and she was having difficulty eating. His concern for the lady ratcheted up another notch. Liam grabbed the wooden chair and hauled it over to the bed. He took the spoon from her trembling hand, dipped it in the lamb stew, and held it aloft. “Open. And eat.”

She did as she was told.

“It’s delicious,” she murmured, giving him a sweet smile. The warmth from that ready smile arrowed straight to his heart, giving it a jolt. It was a reaction he had not expected.

“It’ll chase away the cold.” Liam offered another spoonful. When a spot of stew dribbled from the corner of her mouth, he gently wiped it away with the napkin.

Unshed tears gathered in the corner of her eyes . Not tears—can’t abide those, either.

“Why are you doing this?” she rasped between spoonfuls.

“I feel you have had enough men treat you with disrespect lately. I wasn’t about to add my name to the list. Can you cook?”

The abrupt change in topic caused her to blink rapidly. “No. But I can learn.”

“When you’re well, you will start with scullery work. Chopping, slicing, or is that beneath you?”

* * *

Beneath her? She was in no position to turn her nose up at honest, hard work. Celia closed her eyes as the body aches rolled through her like waves crashing against the shoreline. Logically, she understood she needed a roof over her head to recover from her traveling ordeal. Then, she could start to plan her next moves. If that meant she had to peel potatoes and chop carrots, then so be it.

“Not at all. I’ll take on the work gladly. And gratefully.” The warmth from the stew was welcome. “There was no need to call in a doctor. I’m not that sick. I do not want to cause you any extra expense.”

Liam held up another spoonful of stew, and she took it. “He’s an acquaintance.”

“Living at Gloucester Square?”

“He’s related to the peerage. His uncle is a duke,” Liam scoffed, saying ‘duke’ as if it were offensive.

“You don’t like peers?”

“I’ve got no use for them. Arrogant, bloody pillocks. Well, maybe not all, but most.”

Holy Crow. Celia would be wise to keep her ties to the peerage under wraps, at least until he asked any further probing questions. Hopefully, he wouldn’t, but if he did, she wouldn’t lie about her life. Celia did not plan to be here long enough for multiple in-depth conversations.

Celia pushed away the spoon. “I can’t eat anymore. Not now. Thank you.”

“Fair play.” Liam dropped the spoon on the tray, stood, and then took the tray away. “I’ll leave you to rest.”

He departed, closing the door behind him.

With a shaky exhale, Celia curled up under the covers. All she needed was sleep.

She was shaken awake in what felt like minutes. Glancing at the wall clock, she saw that she had slept for an hour, which wasn’t nearly long enough.

A man stood beside her bed. Tall, handsome, with golden blond hair, he pushed his spectacles up his nose as he regarded her. “Miss Gillingham? I am Doctor Hornsby.”

Celia sneezed as she struggled to sit upright. The doctor placed his black bag on the table next to her.

“How long have you felt under the weather?”

“Just before I arrived in London close to a week ago.” It seemed longer than that to Celia. “I had a distressing journey from Northern England. There were many railway delays, so I hired a private coach part of the way. It was freezing inside and out, and I caught a chill. I cannot seem to get warm.” What a waste of money, too. The slow journey by carriage had depleted most of her funds.

Doctor Hornsby sat in the chair beside her bed. “It is plenty warm in this room. You do not feel it?”

The doctor’s voice was pleasant but professionally distant. He also had an upper-crust accent. Of course, Mr. Hallahan—Liam—said the doctor was related to a duke.

“Not really, no.” Celia sneezed again. This time, she was able to cover her nose with her hand. The doctor reached into his bag and handed her a laundered hankie. “I cannot accept that.”

“I have plenty, made from sturdy cotton. Keep it.”

“Thank you.” Celia wiped her nose and hand, then tucked the handkerchief under the sleeve of her wool gown.

“Have you brought up any yellow or green sputum? Are you coughing steadily?” He pulled a stethoscope out of his bag. Celia knew what it was as she had seen it used on Carlton enough.

“No to both.”

“That is good. Your sickness has not settled into your chest. We want to avoid that. Please unbutton your collar.”

Celia did, and the doctor breathed on the chest piece, warming it before placing it against her exposed skin.

He listened. “Breathe deeply. That’s it. Inhale, hold it. Now exhale. Cough for me. Well done.” The doctor sat upright. “You have caught a cold or chill, as we call it, probably from your prolonged exposure to inclement weather and your less-than-perfect traveling conditions. If treated correctly, this infection will disappear in less than seven days.” He felt her forehead. “Perhaps a slight fever. Body aches?”

“Here and there,” Celia replied. “I also feel nauseated. That started this morning. My eyesight was blurred, although not so much now.”

The doctor leaned in and looked into her eyes. “Any balance trouble? Confusion?”

“A little. But I feel strange, beyond the chill.”

“Please open your mouth.”

Celia did, and the doctor leaned in to examine her throat.

He stood upright. “Bed rest. You must stay hydrated with plenty of fluids. I believe you are over the worst of it. I predict you will feel much better in three days. I will stop by the day after tomorrow. I would suggest you remove your gown and any undergarments. You must be comfortable.”

“Thank you, Doctor.”

With a nod, he packed up his case and departed. Well, Celia was right. She had caught a chill. She felt worse the day after her defiant exit from Darrington’s dining room. For four days after that, she hardly ventured from her room. The sneezing had been much worse then. With great effort, she stood, unbuttoned her wool gown, and undressed down to her chemise. Celia had no idea what garments her loathsome cousin had stuffed in the case. She opened it to find her clothes mashed into balls. Digging through, she discovered her flannel nightgown, pulled it over her head, and climbed into bed, pulling the covers over her.

Another knock at the door. “It’s Enya.”

“Come in.”

The waitress entered with a tray and placed it on the table next to Celia. “A pitcher of water and a glass. You must drink as much as possible. Next door is a water closet for your use. Wrapped in the parchment paper are ginger biscuits if you get hungry. The doctor said you’re to be left alone for the rest of the night.” Enya opened the wardrobe and brought forth a wool blanket. After straightening the covers, Enya laid the blanket over the quilt. “There now. All cozy. Are you warm enough? I can bring another quilt.”

Celia smiled. “You have all been so kind. I am warm enough, thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Enya turned the gas light to almost complete darkness, and left her alone.

The tears that threatened to spill earlier finally trickled down her flushed cheeks. Celia allowed it, but only for tonight. She would do all she could to recover and work for Mr. Hallahan and, as she did, she’d find out about her friends and try to discover her aunt’s location. She would also write to the new Earl of Winterwood and his solicitor. Not all was lost.

Not when she had a tall, handsome guardian angel with gorgeous eyes and broad shoulders watching over her.

With a sigh, Celia wiped her eyes and pulled the blankets to her chin. All she could hope for tonight were more pleasant dreams of Liam Hallahan.