The wicked proposal, p.4
The Wicked Proposal, page 4
Penelope merely smiled, then turned to the butler. “Please show me to the kitchen, Darling.” She had observed that Lord Harford pronounced the name as though it was spelled Dare-ling, and she followed suit. To Miss Nilsson she added, “I imagine you had best smooth things over with Letty, should she realize I am gone. If you wish, you may return here, but I shan’t require you.” Her bonnet dangling from the ribbons in her hand, Penelope paused by the door to cast a reassuring look at her companion and dear friend.
The Swedish lady merely nodded and coolly replied, “I believe it best to say as little as possible to Miss Letty. Leave her to me. I shall see you later, for I intend to assure myself that your lessons from Henri were not in vain.”
Jonathan watched them all leave. Darling escorted Lady Penelope off through the green baize door, while the quiet Miss Nilsson let herself out the front.
Jonathan paced the floor of his elegant morning room. Had he gone mad? To permit a lady of rank to cook the dinner for his guests just to win a wager? While it seemed an unthinkable proposition, he was up against the wall. It was also inconceivable that he permit Collison to win that blasted bet. Then he recalled those twinkling blue eyes, that exquisite silvery-blond hair, and groaned. How on earth could that exquisite little thing, for she couldn’t have stood above five feet and perhaps five inches, cook a dinner? He wondered how she would feel in his arms, or that perfect little mouth beneath his, then shook himself, irate with his musings.
He marched up the stairs to his room, calling for his valet, Perkins. Once impeccably dressed in his usual style, his hair restored to casual perfection, he took himself off to White’s. If he could forget for a few hours the total disaster that surely awaited him when his guests arrived for dinner this evening, he might just survive the day.
The thought crossed his mind that should she fail her task, he would be free of his promise. Even that prospect didn’t cheer him. He confessed that he devoutly hoped that Lady Penelope Winthrop, third cousin once removed, actually knew how to cook.
* * * *
At White’s he established himself in the morning room with a group of friends. Willowby entered the room shortly after Jonathan arrived, looking as though he was vastly amused about something. Jonathan strongly suspected he knew what it was.
“Surprised to see you here this morning, Harford,” Willowby said in a sly manner.
“I suppose I could be elsewhere, such as riding, I fancy. But why are you so confounded? Am I not frequently seen in this room?” Jonathan hoped his smile was sufficiently confident. Oh, if only Lady Penelope did well. Why Collison wished to see him so ignominiously defeated, he didn’t know. But he did know he would do what he could to see that the dinner got served, and served successfully.
Willowby shrugged his narrow, though well-padded, shoulders. “Oh, I don’t know. Thought perhaps you might be concerned about your dinner this evening. You haven’t forgotten? Your chef will turn out his usual excellence?” There was a subtle inflection in his voice, snickering, perhaps.
“Forget? Never. I have left my chosen menu in capable hands. You are in for a treat, Willowby. The dinner served you this evening will be the likes of which you have never eaten before.” With those words Jonathan smiled, then turned to the others, deliberately changing the topic of conversation.
His good friends, sensing something was amiss, followed his lead, and soon they were deep in the merits of the leading contenders for the upcoming race at Newmarket.
Willowby remained for a few minutes, then drifted away to join several others on the far side of the room.
* * * *
Penelope examined the kitchen as she shed her pelisse, absently handed it to Darling along with her bonnet, then walked to the pantry to inspect the provisions. It was well-stocked, but she would need a number of things to prepare the dishes on the menu. She turned to the cook Darling had introduced as Mrs. Barker.
“I shall take the place of the worthless creature who so callously left his employer in the lurch. I have been trained by the finest chef in England, or so I feel. Have no fears that I shall fail Lord Harford.” She beamed a confident smile at Mrs. Barker, thus winning her support, if not her loyalty. “But I will need your assistance. I fear I cannot shop for the remaining items needed for these dishes. Normally I would choose them myself, for the fish must be the finest and just out of the water, the beef ought to be a most tender cut, and the other things must be of equal quality. If one is to serve the best dishes possible, one must have the finest ingredients. Could I impose upon you to search out what is required? I know you must be capable, else my cousin would not employ you."
“Your cousin, my lady?” said the astonished cook. She hadn’t believed Mr. Darling when he had carried that tale to her ears.
“If you please?” Penelope flashed a smile at her.
The slightly reserved cook melted under that beguiling smile. The knowledge that this young woman was cousin to her master, and wished to help him in his dilemma completed the persuasion. “Just tell me what to buy, and I’ll see to it you get the best.”
The two women put their heads together, softly discussing the number of guests and the amounts of food required. Darling, seeing how well they were getting along, permitted himself a small smile of hope, then stepped inside his pantry to check the silver and crystal before fetching the wines for the dinner. It just might be possible that the evening could be saved after all.
In short order Penelope had spread out a hastily scribbled plan of sorts on the well-scrubbed center table. Off to one side, serving dishes from the side dressers were taken down to be freshly washed by the kitchen maid. The scullery maid was set to scrubbing the chopping block, for Penelope firmly believed in cleanliness in the kitchen. The haster, the large racked cupboard used to keep dishes of meat warm, was inspected and approved, then set in readiness to be placed by the oven to be used later.
“You are to be complimented on your kitchen. It is clean and well-stocked. Lord Harford is fortunate to have so capable a cook.” Penelope crossed her fingers beneath the enormous holland-cloth apron she had donned to cover her muslin, round gown. The starched white fabric crackled as she leaned over the table again. She had no way of knowing the cook was capable. She merely sensed that her newly discovered cousin would not suffer fools about him, nor incompetence, for that matter.
The cook glowed with pride at this accolade, deciding that she would do everything in her power to assist this nice young lady. Hanging her apron on a peg, she said, “I’ll be off to the markets, then.” She took the list from Penelope, gathered her cloak from the back hall, and was gone.
The hours that followed were busy ones for the kitchen staff. Penelope began the meats that required roasting, then turned to produce elegant sweets and puddings. When she discovered a day-old sponge cake, she set about making a tipsy cake, pouring sufficient sherry over it to soak in nicely. Once she had added the custard and the almond slivers, she surveyed the results before placing it aside. There was enough sherry in that cake to bring a smile to any one of those gentlemen’s faces, should he consume a sizable piece.
Cook returned with the needed items, and then the two women quietly began the real work of the dinner.
Penelope attacked tartlets, fancy cream sauces, and elegant dishes of vegetables. The cook made the dainty meringues that Lord Harford enjoyed, then prepared the stock for the soup.
It was a good many hours later that a very hesitant Lord Harford peered into the kitchen, expecting he knew not what. He saw two roasts sputtering by the fire behind the meat screen. Savory aromas drifted across to tease his nose and entice his palate. Various dishes now completed and ready for serving sat in the warming oven.
The room was hot, and the crisp white apron Penelope had donned that morning now looked wilted, with interesting smudges of brown, pink, and cream here and there. She had a dash of flour on her pert nose. That entrancing smile seemed a trifle weary.
That a lovely woman should go to this length just to obtain his help suddenly unnerved him. What if he failed her? It seemed that she had spoken the truth, she did know how to cook, and judging by the appearance and aroma, quite well.
“We shall do you proud, my lord,” Penelope said in a quiet voice. “I believe your friends will enjoy this dinner.”
“From the looks of things, I’d say it will be a dinner to remember.” He wanted to reassure her, offer her support.
“I hope so,” she replied, her gaze seeking his for a moment before she returned to her task.
He entered the room, strolling across the spotless floor, wondering how it managed to stay so clean while in the midst of all the hubbub. “I am impressed.”
She took note of his inspection, then replied, “It was Hippocrates who insisted on boiled water and clean hands while attending patients. I believe that spotless surroundings add to the quality of the end results in a kitchen, Lord Harford.” She gestured to a wooden bucket with a mop leaning against it. “We see to it that the floor is frequently mopped and the table is often scrubbed.” She smoothed her hand over the yellowish-white sycamore wood of the kitchen table as she spoke.
He leaned against the corner of that table, folding his arms as he continued to watch, not a little curious about this newly acquired cousin.
“How is it that Lady Penelope Winthrop is so at home in the kitchen? I would have expected you to scarcely know of its existence. Few women I am acquainted with are so informed.” He recalled one Society matron who had declared she had no idea where her kitchen was located.
Penelope shrugged, deftly shaping the dough for crisp little French-style rolls she intended to serve with the soup now simmering on the back of the stove. Rather than bake them this morning, she had waited until late, desiring them fresh from the oven. “I wanted company and became bored with the schoolroom. Henri was pleased to have me as a student, and I quite liked my lessons. If I did well, I enjoyed the results. He made me taste the failures as well, which proved to be a wondrous spur to improvement.” Her eyes lit up with remembered happy times.
“Surely your parents did not approve of such?” He noted the fading of her delightful smile and his curiosity grew.
“I have no idea as to what they might have thought. You see, they never knew about it. My parents appeared for possibly two weeks a year—around Christmas—provided there was not a marvelous Christmas party to attend. In which case,” she added with a trace of bitterness in her voice, “they whirled into the house with an armload of gifts, then disappeared again. I do not believe they were at all interested in me or my doings, other than to receive the written reports of my progress.” She placed the last of the shaped dough on the pan, then handed it to the cook, adding some softly spoken instructions.
“I often thought,” she continued, “Miss Nilsson ought to include some entirely silly account just to see if they actually looked at those reports.” Penelope sighed, then gave her cousin a tired smile. “Of course, someone might have seen them and wondered a bit about this strange girl in the country.”
“But that is monstrous! You mean to tell me that you have been sequestered in the country all your life?”
‘Twas hardly a prison, my lord.” Her eyes sparkled with returned humor. “I had jaunts to the village, visits with the vicar and his wife, and I always attended church, for it was lovely to see so many people. Miss Nilsson and I explored the estate. I discovered a great interest in plants, especially healing herbs. Many Swedes are herbalists, you know.”
He found he couldn’t utter a word. This beautiful young woman had spent her life secluded on a great estate, with no one her age, no pleasures such as girls must enjoy. Small wonder she took to what she might find—cooking and hunting about for herbs. He sniffed the air, noting the fragrance lingering in the room.
“And do you cook with herbs as well?” His chef had been superb in his way, but some of his dishes were lacking.
“But, of course,” she answered with a hint of accent coloring her voice.
“Is there anything I might do?” he offered, although he hadn’t the faintest notion of how he might help.
Penelope giggled, her eyes crinkling up in a charming way. “I very much doubt it. You could look in on Darling and tell him how impressed you are with his table setting. I expect he has outdone himself.”
Suddenly aware that he was very much in the way, Jonathan left the kitchen, a place he had heretofore ignored, and wandered up to the ground floor, where he found Darling putting the finishing touches on the dining room. Chairs were in place before a table set with crisp linen. The plate was polished to an eye-blinking shine, candles stood ready for lighting, and a low bowl of hothouse fruit was arranged in the center so that his friends might converse with ease. When alone, gentlemen did not observe the proprieties of conversation with the person to either side, but enjoyed easy chatting back and forth.
“Well done, Darling. I have just been to the kitchen. Do you know, I believe we might actually pull this thing oft?”
“Yes, indeed, sir.” The butler beamed at his lordship. Then he glanced at the long-case clock just visible in the hall. “I fancy you’ll be wanting to dress, sir. It won’t be long now.”
Jonathan whirled around to look at the time. Nodding, he ran lightly up the stairs after greeting Miss Nilsson, who had entered while he was in discussion with Darling. The footman stood at her side, uncertain what to do with this peculiar female who seemed proper, but had presented herself at the front door and entered the house as though she had a right.
“I shall see you later, Miss Nilsson,” Jonathan called over the banister. “Lady Penelope is in the kitchen; go see what she has done.”
Darling escorted Miss Nilsson through the baize door and into the kitchen. He wasn’t quite certain how to behave to a lady who was also a chef, even if only for a day. “Your ladyship, Miss Nilsson has come.” He escaped into his pantry to check the wines once again.
“I see you have everything under control.” Nilsson surveyed the area, taking note of the prepared foods, the air of expectancy that hung over the room.
Penelope brushed a strand of hair from her cheek, then walked over to drop down on the chair off to one side. “Oh, Nilsson, I hope it is not a disaster.” She glanced at the small clock atop the dresser, checking the hour.
“May I?” Miss Nilsson queried, not waiting for an answer she knew would be affirmative. They had undergone too many similar situations for permission to be denied. At least, Nilsson had performed this sort of check before.
She picked up the by-now-stained and smudged menu card, then quickly hunted out the various dishes, sniffing, tasting with a quickly provided spoon from the kitchen maid. When Nilsson had finished her round of inspection, she returned to where Penelope sat in quiet exhaustion.
“Well?” Penelope asked, expecting nothing but bare truth.
“Superb. They do not in the least deserve such a meal. I ought to put in a pot of pepper, just to give them their just deserts.
“Nilsson, what would I do without you!” Penelope declared with a watery chuckle. Her fatigue faded away with a sip of wine, followed by renewed determination from the praise of one who was a stickler for perfection. Penelope popped up to check the soup.
“I am relieved he chose a simple menu suitable for gentlemen and not at all pretentious. I fear I would have been lost had Ito perform the wizardry Henri can do at a moment’s notice.”
“You did well, my dear. Now to the service.”
From the hall, sounds of the entering guests could be faintly heard. Darling had disappeared not long ago to answer the door and keep things under his unobtrusive control.
“They are all eager to have their meal. Ha!” Darling sniffed as he returned to the kitchen, his disdain for some of the guests quite clear. “Just wait until they get a sip of that soup. I do hope you made a great deal of it, for it has been making my mouth water for hours,” he said daringly.
“There is ample, never fear,” Penelope replied as she watched the massive tureen carried from the kitchen.
* * * *
In the cozy morning room, into which the gentlemen had wandered after entering the house, Willowby and Collison approached Jonathan, the gleam in their eyes most self-congratulatory.
“Everything going well, old fellow?” Collison purred.
“No problems?” added Willowby.
“Well, I was concerned when my chef decamped this morning, but after seeing the results of the new one I discovered, I am confident you will enjoy your meal.”
“Discovered a chef the same day as your dinner? Impossible!” Collison declared with a lofty disdain.
Jonathan gave a slight shrug, smiled confidently, then motioned to his butler, who had appeared -at the doorway. “Darling?”
The butler gave a stately bow of his head. “Dinner is served, my lord.”
There was no set order this evening, and they immediately rambled toward the dining room. Everyone was eager to discover who was to win the wager. Word had seeped out about the missing chef. They all knew it was utterly impossible to find another chef of the same caliber, especially on a moment’s notice. They very much feared poor old Harford was going to lose this one. His friends were sorry, but his two perennial opponents sat with pleased anticipation on their faces.
Then Darling entered with the soup course. The footman followed with the French-style rolls, bringing a wonderful fresh-baked aroma into the room. Jaded appetites picked up, mouths began to water at the sight of the soup being ladled into bowls.
Jonathan picked up his spoon, and the others eagerly followed. A hint of wine and herbs, with vegetables, rabbit, and pheasant superbly blended together. Crisp rolls with fresh country butter. He began to relax. It was incredibly simple, but outstanding.
Silence reigned at the dinner table instead of the usual chatter. Intent upon delectable food, the men ignored each other and concentrated on the meal for a time.
