The Way to a Gentleman's Heart - Theresa Romain Page 0,16

take beef tea to a sick student.”

She laughed. “You forgot to say anything about church or fencing.” She laced her fingers into the short silk of his hair. “It’s all still things, Jack. And,” she couldn’t resist adding, “what I most need now is a man who can chop four dozen cabbages without nicking his thumb.”

“Ah, well. You can’t blame me for trying to impress you, can you? Though I studied all the wrong things for that. Should have practiced with a knife and a basket of vegetables every once in a while.”

“You impress me more when you don’t try.” She was glad now for the darkness, not wanting him to see the blush that heated her cheeks.

He turned his head, pressing his face into her palm, then rested on the pillow again. “You impress me. The end. When I saw you, you looked different, but I knew you at once.”

“How am I different?”

“You are...” He trailed off, evidently thinking over his response. Wise man. “More. More grown-up, more beautiful, more strong and determined.”

Within, she melted. She was all syrups and honeys and glazes, sweet and pliant. She couldn’t bring a bit of sauce to her tongue as she asked quietly, “And did you feel something?”

“Yes. I felt,” he said simply.

They lay together in silence for a half-dozen heartbeats. A dozen, then another. It would never be enough heartbeats, and anything she said would not be enough either.

“I don’t worry about money anymore.” Jack’s hand slid from her side, trailed up, covered her heart. “What I worry about now is never being as happy as Helena was with my sister.”

“Do you expect me to make you happy?”

“I rather hoped we could make each other happy. We did once.”

They had, when they’d thought they had forever. But what did they have now? Another hour? A night? A fortnight, or however long he chose to stay in London?

She didn’t want to ask; she didn’t want the answer. So she asked something else instead. “Then you were never...you know. With Helena? Like this?”

“I never was,” Jack confirmed. “Since you.”

She drew his hand from her heart to cover her breast. “Then we’d better do it again,” she said. Before morning came and washed away the intimacy of the night.

The first time he’d come into her, she’d given him her body. This second time, she let herself fall in love again. He was everywhere: her body, her mind, her heart. And though he moved atop her, with her, she felt lighter.

In the morning he was still there. He’d kept her in his arms throughout the night.

He had chosen her; he had stayed with her.

And so she forgave him at last.

Chapter Five

FOR THE NEXT SEVERAL days, Marianne put Jack to work in earnest as a kitchenmaid, helping Sally with tasks for the day’s meals while Marianne worked ahead for the Donor Dinner. The whole academy staff thought of it in capital letters now, this looming feast for wealthy patrons that included an exhibition of student talents. There was little over a week to go and so much to prepare and plan.

The orders were placed for peas and mushrooms on the day of the dinner; the peas would be made into a soup, the mushrooms into a fricassee with meat of crab. Mushrooms would also serve as the side to a dish of salmon, served whole save for the head. The fishmonger was on alert, as was the dairymaid who provided cream and butter. Two days ahead, fresh-killed pheasant would be hung and singed, and the hares were already hanging in the meat safe, all the better for a bit of aging before they were jugged in wine. Oh! The wines... Marianne would have to ask Hobbes to decide the wines for each course and remove. The old butler had enough knowledge to fill a vineyard, as well as the poker-stiff bearing that impressed the beau monde even more than being served the proper wine at the proper time.

So little could be done ahead compared to what must be done the day before or day of. But the more Marianne planned, the easier the day’s tasks would be. And the more she planned, the less she felt she’d be caught unawares; the less she worried about being left, startled, inadequate.

Of being unable to balance the scales. Of not being the right choice for the task.

If Jack knew she still worried about that, he didn’t let on. He was cheerful with every day’s work, as if he’d never