Miss Delectable: Mischief in Mayfair Book One by Burrowes Grace & Burrowes Grace

Author:Burrowes, Grace & Burrowes , Grace
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-952443-48-0
Publisher: Grace Burrowes Publishing
Published: 2021-06-07T16:00:00+00:00

* * *

Jules had gone quiet, and the whole kitchen felt the tension. For the third day in a row, he was at his post shortly after noon, sending Ann—and Hannah—the sort of brooding looks that boded ill.

“Pardon me, ladies,” Henry said. “Mrs. Dorning is asking for a word with you, Miss Pearson.” Hannah looked up from the bushel of peas she’d be expected to shell before sunset. The object of the exercise was not only to prepare a sufficient quantity for the evening buffet, but also to give Hannah so much practice at a simple chore that she became efficient at it.

Already, her nimble fingers had the pattern down: twist off one end of the pod, twist off the other, split, run a thumb down the middle to dislodge the peas, discard the husk into a slop bucket.

“I won’t be gone long,” Ann said, untying her apron. “When the bushel is done, you will have some bread and butter, Hannah.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I can help for a bit, shall I?” Henry offered.

“Wash your hands before you touch one of my peas, Henry Boardman,” Hannah replied, “and you’re to help, not shirk your own duties while you gabble my ear off.”

How well Hannah knew the adolescent male. Henry saluted with mock seriousness and marched over to the sink.

“Mrs. Dorning is the colonel’s sister, isn’t she?” Hannah said.

“She is.”

“He worries about her.”

Very likely, Orion worried equally about Hannah. “You can visit the colonel and the boys again on our next half-day afternoon, Hannah. Or you could write a note, and I’m sure Henry would be happy to deliver it for you.” Henry was all of sixteen to Hannah’s thirteen or fourteen. The exercise would do him and his esteem in Hannah’s eyes good.

“I could send them a recipe for Mrs. Murphy,” Hannah said. “The crepes, maybe?”

“The boys would love your crepes. Perhaps you could make them a batch when next you visit, but ask Mrs. Murphy to help you with the pear compote.”

Ann hung her apron on a peg in the hallway, grabbed her cloak, and descended the steps that led to the tunnel passing between the Coventry and the Dorning dwelling on the opposite side of the street. The wine cellar and pantries ran most of the length of the street, and during the day, the passage was kept unlocked for Mr. Dorning’s convenience.

“Thinking to introduce your protégé to a fine claret?” Jules emerged from the shadows between two rows of wine bottles.

“I’m thinking to heed a summons from Mrs. Dorning. Perhaps you’re the one introducing himself to the claret.”

With Jules, to show weakness was to invite constant harassment. Ann had taken nearly a year to figure that out. He wanted only the ruthlessly focused in his kitchen, and he wore down the rest or taught them to keep their distance. Ann understood his methods, though she neither liked nor respected him for using them.

Perhaps the military was like that, harsh by design because the stakes were so much higher than a successful torte or roast.

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