Page 7 of The Chef and the Countess (The Duke’s Bastards #2)

Celia had spent the afternoon gazing out the window, reading, and napping. She was feeling loads better. The aches were all but gone, and her nose wasn’t as stuffy, yet exhaustion lingered. The past month’s stressful events had taken their toll, as they would for anyone.

Fiona had brought her volume 4 of The Encyclopedia of Cookery , by Theodore Garrett, published in 1891. The book certainly caught her interest. Six pages were devoted to the cucumber alone. Celia had no idea it could be prepared in different styles. All she ever had was cucumber salad or the occasional cucumber sandwich. It made for fascinating reading. The next topic? Curds. These books must belong to Liam. Did he have the entire set?

Where is Liam?

She had barely known the man for more than twenty-four hours and already desired to see him—and knew the reason why. Celia had been lonely for many years. After Carlton became seriously ill, they’d stopped venturing to London and all social activities ended. Living so far north almost meant months of isolation. Being plunked into the middle of a busy restaurant gave Celia an unquestionable thrill. There were actual people to converse with! And there was activity and life inside the restaurant and outside on the busy streets. Best of all, she had a handsome man bringing her meals. It was a dream come true. She couldn’t help but feel a growing fondness for Liam, a feeling she hadn’t ever experienced before—not like this. A certain warmth enveloped her, making her feel alive and hopeful. She found herself being drawn to him, and not just for his kindness but for how he made her feel.

A knock sounded at the door.

Celia laid aside the book. “Come in.”

Liam stood on the threshold. Her bed was against the opposite wall, so she faced him. “How are you?” he asked.

Her heart sped up at the sight of him filling the doorway. He wasn’t wearing his winter coat, so she was able to get a good look at him. Those long legs went on forever. The material of his close-fitting trousers hugged his muscular thighs. Celia especially liked that his forearms were visible, as he had rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt. The top button was undone, showing a bit of dark hair on his chest. She had to bite back a moan as her insides fluttered with awareness. This physical reaction was not wise. But then, she’d never been in such proximity to a man so much younger than her late husband—especially one so handsome and vital.

“Even better than this morning,” she managed to reply.

“You received a pencil and paper to write your letter?”

“I did, thank you. The letter is here.” She pointed to the table by her bed. “It’s ready to be mailed, but I haven’t got a penny to pay—for the postage, I mean. Quite the predicament.”

“I’ll see that it’s posted. Fiona brought you a meal.”

“Yes, the chicken was delicious. I ate everything.”

Liam nodded and turned to leave.

“Wait! I mean, can you not visit for a while? I know you’re done for the day and are undoubtedly tired, but stay for a moment. Please.”

He hesitated, and his response was to sigh resignedly and sit in the chair by her bed.

“Was the restaurant busy today?” she asked brightly.

“Aye. Busy enough.”

“Did you serve chicken for the special?”

“No.”

Celia blinked. “You made it especially for me?”

Liam shrugged.

She was touched that he had gone to the trouble. How tempted she was to throw her arms around his neck, for she could not recall the last time someone did something special for her. Instead of thanking him again, she asked, “How did you prepare the chicken?”

His eyes widened at her inquiry. “I fried the chicken breast in hot oil to crisp the skin, then roasted it in the oven with sliced mushrooms, potatoes, and carrots. Just before it was ready, I basted it in a white wine sauce.”

“Outstanding!” Celia enthused. “You are to be commended. No wonder your establishment is busy.”

A smile tugged at the corner of his lips as if he was trying not to smile, but she could tell he was pleased by her compliment as his eyes hooded with a sleepy sort of satisfaction.

“I noticed a bathing room adjacent to the water closet. May I take a bath before Doctor Hornsby comes tomorrow?”

“No. I mean, better to wait until after he examines you.”

“I will start work the day after tomorrow?” Celia asked, excited at the prospect.

“No. We’re closed on Sunday.”

Celia was surprised by that. “I would have thought it to be busy, at least in the afternoon.”

“Not during the winter. Besides, the staff is tired. It has been a hectic six months. A day of rest is warranted.”

“For yourself, too, I imagine,” Celia murmured.

“I’ll reassess Sunday openings in the spring.”

“What are my duties to be?”

Liam crossed his arms, and the muscles bulged. Celia swallowed deeply.

“I discussed it with Fiona, and we plan to expand our afternoon tea offerings. You will look after making sandwiches. It must be done swiftly—on the spot—as you can’t make up sandwiches beforehand. The bread dries out, or the fillings make the bread soggy if left a while.”

Celia’s mouth dropped open; then she swiftly closed it. “I remember my mother making sandwiches for a picnic, wrapping them in parchment paper, and laying damp tea towels over them.”

Liam shook his head. “That may be suitable for a family picnic, but not a restaurant. They still wouldn’t be as fresh and may become too moist. No, they must be made when the order is placed.”

“That is a lot of responsibility for someone you hardly know. I’m not familiar with kitchen work. Well, I can make a sandwich and a cup of tea, but that is the extent of my knowledge.”

“Then you’re perfect for the job. Weren’t you married?”

“My husband employed a cook-housekeeper, so there was no need for me to learn domestic skills. I wish now that I had.”

“What did you do, sit in the parlor eating chocolates while reading a book?” The question had a barely discernible mocking tone, but it was there nonetheless.

“No, I was too busy being a nursemaid to my dying husband. It took him close to six years to die, but I was there to clean up after him, wipe his fevered brow, feed him when needed, and sit by his bed, keeping him company. I had no time for leisure activities. The past two days are the first time in ages I have been able to read.” Celia held up the large cookery volume.

“Who brought you that?”

“Fiona.”

His mouth pulled into a taut line. “I had no business saying what I did.”

“We should cease making assumptions about each other. There is always more than meets the eye.”

“True enough. I’m sorry.”

Celia smiled. “You have done so much, yet I acted petulant, which I assure you is not like me—at all. These past weeks have been a trial. Quite traumatic.”

Liam nodded, stood, and then grabbed her letter from the table. “I have to get my supper. Rest.”

“First, can you please bring me the ‘S’ volume? I want to read up on sandwiches. Please, if it is not too much trouble.”

“Right-o.”

Celia heard his heavy footsteps down the hall to his room. Moments later, he returned and handed her the volume. “Good night,” he said.

“Good night, Liam.” She smiled warmly.

After he closed the door, Celia flipped through the pages until she found what she was looking for.

It is said that during the last century, the Earl of Sandwich invented the convenient preparations that were afterwards known by his name. The proverbial stale sandwich of the railway refreshment-room, and the slovenly manner in which others are prepared, have brought down upon these convenient modes of taking a snack a torrent of ridicule and abuse. When well and carefully made, sandwiches are very commendable.

Celia grinned. Regardless of her reduced circumstances and questionable future, she would ensure she became the best sandwich producer ever seen.

* * *

Late Saturday morning, Doctor Hornsby entered the kitchen area and motioned to Liam, pointing toward his office. It was eleven o’clock, and the kitchen was busy preparing for lunch. Usually, on Saturdays, Liam served beef stew, so he had the three boys by the stoves, stirring pots of meat and vegetables. “Tommy, the soda bread is cooled. Start slicing. Remember, not too thick.”

“Aye, Liam.” The lad hurried to the preparation counter and arranged small baskets in a row.

“Hannah? Stay by this pot until I return.” Wiping his hands on his apron, he followed Drew to the office. He closed the door and sat at his desk, giving Drew a questioning look.

“Celia Gillingham is recovering nicely. She will be ready to start work tomorrow for some light duties or training.”

“She won’t infect the rest of the staff?”

“I do not believe so. Celia Gillingham’s illness was borne more from exhaustion and strain than anything. Continued rest and good meals will assist in further recovery.” Drew reached into his doctor’s bag and brought forth an envelope. “As expected, my father sent his reply by train. I received it last night.”

“What does the viscount say?”

“Quite a lot. I will read it to you, forgoing the personal Hornsby aspects. ‘Troy Buckingham, Viscount Shinwell, is the only son of William Buckingham, the Earl of Darrington, and his countess, Henrietta—known as Etta—Charles. Etta is the sister of Lady Deborah Charles Gillingham, wife of Sir Anthony Gillingham, baronet.”

Liam’s mouth dropped open in shock. “Celia is the daughter of a baronet?”

“Late baronet. Celia Gillingham’s parents died in a catastrophic boating incident on September 3, 1878. The baronet and his lady wife took a moonlight trip on the SS Princess Alice, where it was struck by another ship on the River Thames. It broke in two and sank in less than four minutes. Over six hundred people lost their lives, including Celia’s parents. That’s how my father knew of them. The tragedy was all over the papers and the talk of London.”

Liam frowned. “Jaysus. That’s horrible. Now that you mention it, I remember people speaking of it on the streets.”

“Her aunt, the countess, was her only living relative. Celia moved into the earl’s home. At some point, she was sent away to school, and at age nineteen, a marriage was arranged.”

Liam scoffed. “Of course. Bloody toffs.”

“Celia Gillingham married the then fifty-five-year-old Earl of Winterwood about eleven years ago. During the first five years of their marriage, they split their time between London and some remote village by the Scottish border. After that, they rarely came to London. My father says Winterwood hasn’t sat in the House of Lords for nearly six years due to ill health. If Winterwood is dead, the news hasn’t reached Westminster yet. Then again, there is a recess.”

Liam heard a buzzing in his ears. Celia was a—countess? And he was going to put her to work in his kitchen! Liam’s eyes narrowed. “She never said a bloody word. And here you are telling me she’s ready to go to work. Jaysus. I can’t have a countess in my kitchen. Give over.”

Drew stuffed the letter in his side coat pocket. “It is patently obvious she has nowhere to go. Women are rarely left money or acknowledged in wills. If there was an heir, he could have kicked her to the cobbles, seeing they were not related. If there was no heir, everything reverts to the crown.”

“I don’t bloody believe this,” Liam growled, growing more annoyed by the moment.

“Lady Celia has suffered a further indignity, being thrown out of her aunt’s house by her cruel uncle and cousin. The lady has been through much already. I would advise she contact the solicitor that handled her late husband’s estate.”

“I posted a letter to the solicitor for her,” Liam griped. “Look, I can’t have a baronet’s daughter and an earl’s widow toiling in my kitchen.”

Drew stood and placed his hat on his head. “So you have said—more than once. But isn’t that up to the lady. We could gather some spare money and place her in a rented room until her aunt returns.”

“What if the toff, globe-trotting countess aunt wants nothing to do with her? What then?”

“I do not know, Liam. Do we shame the Darrington earldom into taking action? Write a stern letter of our own to the Winterwood solicitor? What do you suggest? Women, unfortunately, have no legal leg to stand on when it comes to inheritance.”

Liam banged the table. “Of all the restaurants and pubs in London, she had to be tossed into mine.”

Drew patted his shoulder. “Try to be patient when you speak to her about this. A little compassion would not go amiss. That is my professional medical opinion. Lady Celia does not need any further trauma. I have a small flat at the rear of my house on Gloucester Square. She can stay there until we contact the aunt or the solicitor. Then, all we need to do is supply food.”

Liam crossed his arms. “I assumed Mitchell and Corrine would stay there when they returned from their wedding trip.”

“You haven’t heard. The new Baron Addington gifted Corrine with her late husband’s house in Camden Town. It was not part of the entailment. I imagine they will live there or sell it and find their own residence.”

Liam nodded approvingly. “Good for them. A property makes for a good start in life.”

Drew picked up his doctor’s bag. “That is why my parents gifted me the place on Gloucester Square. Is this place yours? Or is it none of my concern?”

“It’s mine, lock, stock, and beer barrels. The previous owner left it to me in his will. I’m lucky it’s paid for, but it needs work. The roof needs to be tarred. I want to enclose the outside stairs. I could go on, but I won’t.”

“Get in touch after you speak to Lady Celia.”

“Jaysus,” Liam mumbled. “Lady.”

Drew gave him a wave as he exited the office.

There was no time like the presence to speak to the countess. Liam jumped to his feet and entered the kitchen area. “Enya?”

His head waitress came to stand before him. “Aye?”

“Can you supervise until I return? I need to speak to Celia. I won’t be long.”

“We’ve everything under control.”

Liam nodded and headed toward the rear door and the outside stairs. What in the bloody hell was he going to do with a widowed countess? If she was even a widow. Maybe she ran away. Who knew? Aristos could be a flighty lot. Why didn’t she tell him she was—or is—married to an earl? He already guessed she was quality, considering her relation to a viscount and her mode of speech. But her uncle and husband were earls? Wasn’t that a step or two from being a duke?

Liam took the stairs two at a time and burst into the hall, his exasperation roiling at full throttle. So much for Drew’s advice about being compassionate. As for patience? Due to his horrid upbringing, Liam had none, and it fueled his temper above all reason. He pushed the door open to her room, but she wasn’t there. Growling, he stamped down the hall and entered the water closet—empty. Then he heard it—someone humming. Liam threw open the connecting door without thinking, and what he saw nearly brought him to his knees. Desire tore through him, heating his blood.

Celia. In the tub, naked.

There were a few bubbles in the water, but not enough to cover those luscious, generous breasts. He stared as a wave of passion tore through him. Liam couldn’t move or breathe.

It was the most glorious sight he had ever seen.