to give hell to whoever is at the door,” he muttered. “I did expect this. I told you last night they would be here en masse.”
They both walked down the steps and Finley moved to open the front door.
“So, this is called en masse in Gerrans,” he mused, staring at Marion and Nicholas.
“The others said they’d be by when they got off from work tonight. And the old farts like us, well, they didn’t feel like coming out here this early. Marion and I wanted to see what you were up to, brother,” Nicholas said.
“Well, come on in and we’ll go to the kitchen to get the coffee going,” Finley muttered. “I am going to need to drink the whole damn pot with the way I’m feeling at the moment.”
“I’ll check the fridge and see if Dallas has anything I can rustle together into a suitable breakfast. If everything else fails, she should have some boxed cereal and milk, shouldn’t she?”
Oliver could tell that none of them were well acquainted with Redgrave House. “Well, if she doesn’t have it, we could always use the craft to conjure it.”
“He does have a point,” Marion admitted. “I will admit, I resort to those measures when I simply don’t feel like going to the market.”
“Yeah, well the real stuff tastes better.”
Marion rolled her eyes. “Oh darling, as long as you’re being fed, what does it matter?”
“I can cook my food just as well as you do,” Nicholas grumbled.
“Yes, my sweet, but I don’t feel like cleaning up the kitchen after you’re done with it. You complain about my food even when it’s not conjured, but when you conjure the food, it’s even worse.”
“In that case, maybe you’re just not doing it right,” Oliver suggested.
“Maybe I’m not.” Nicholas chuckled. They all traipsed into the kitchen and sat down on the stools at the large marble center island. Marion washed her hands and then moved to the refrigerator.
“Well, boys, it looks like we’ll be able to have a nice little breakfast. I see pancake batter in here and some nice-looking bacon.”
“Pancakes?” Oliver asked.
“You’ll love them,” Finley assured. “My sons used to eat my wife out of house and home when it came to pancakes.”
“Well, this way we can surprise Dallas with a fully cooked breakfast once she comes down. I think she’ll be delighted,” Marion said, moving to the stove to start the food.
Nicholas got up. “Let me help you with that, my dear,” he murmured.
She laughed as he came over and kissed her on the cheek.
“Trying to earn yourself brownie points?”
Nicolas laughed. “You know me too well,” he muttered.
Everyone was in such high spirits after last night since they’d come so close to not making it to the next morning. Oliver watched the charming scene of domesticity with an ache in his heart. He’d never been a part of a family that actually cooked their own meals. His father had servants for every imaginable task, thinking that using magic in his own house was not something he should have to do—he believed there were underlings to do that kind of stuff for him.
The smell of coffee was in the air along with the pancakes and the sizzling rashers of bacon. As he watched the bacon frying away, he thought back to the time when he’d transformed his horrid stepmother into a pig. The time she’d spent in that state had been the best in his life—and for many others in the household as well. The servants had been happier, as had her personal pet, Precious. And then the time had come to change her back and life had returned to being thoroughly miserable.
Dallas crept quietly into the busy kitchen. Her hair was still damp and she wore it loose, deciding to let it go curly instead of bothering to straighten it or tie it back. She was so damn depressed, she didn’t give a fig about how she looked, frizzy hair or not. She’d opted to wear an ankle-length, empire-waist dress, again choosing comfort.
All eyes went to her as soon as she stepped on the one faulty floorboard in the room.
“Dallas, my dear, you look like you’re all refreshed,” Marion said, eyeing her carefully. Did everyone wonder if she’d somehow turned back into a ticking time bomb because of the trauma she’d suffered the previous evening?
In hindsight, that emotive event was nothing compared to what she’d recalled in glaring detail this morning.
Her stomach grumbled as she inhaled the glorious smell of the breakfast. “Thank