The Way to a Gentleman's Heart - Theresa Romain Page 0,17

wanted to be anywhere else, and never would, but this hot and hectic kitchen. From his seat at the end of the worktable, he peeled new carrots and trimmed asparagus, chopped new potatoes and grated the woody last of the year’s parsnips. He listened as Marianne instructed Sally about the day’s recipes: which seasonings work together, how to use less-than-perfect ingredients—such as those woody parsnips, which had come cheap and could be saved by boiling them, then frying them into crispy thin cakes.

“A cook has to improvise and substitute all the time,” Marianne told Sally, remembering the apricot tarts of the day Jack had arrived—not only an improvised recipe, but an improvised kitchenmaid. “Sometimes it works out far better than the original plan.”

She looked over at the end of the table. As if feeling her gaze, Jack looked up and winked, then returned to peeling and chopping onions. His short-cropped hair was uncovered, and though he’d taken off his coat, he was still unsuitably fine for kitchen tasks. But he rolled up his shirtsleeves with the confidence of a man who knew his arms looked well—and that he could simply buy other clothing if these were stained or damaged.

Marianne looked ruefully at her work dress, faded from blue to gray. Cut loose and comfortable, the fabric worn soft and thin from many washings. It was just right for what she had to do, yet it felt like not enough. And that feeling came from within herself, she knew, so she tried to quash it. To Jack, she was enough. He had come here; he had told her so; he had taken her in his arms. Several nights now, he’d come to her, though after the first, he had left after their lovemaking to return to his hotel. He couldn’t be seen in the same clothing for days on end, he’d pointed out, which was sensible.

She knew that, yet she ached when he left her. She ached a bit now, looking at him across the room. Still not quite believing that he was content to clean vegetables all day just to be near her, and not able to cease wondering, For how long?

Somehow, working with onions never made him teary or sniffling; he looked as if he were tackling another of those accomplishments with which he’d filled his life before coming to London. Learn to fence. Master another language. Don an apron and become indispensable as kitchenmaid in a rather exceptional academy.

Don anything or strip off everything and become indispensable to Marianne. Full stop.

She cleared her throat, then turned back to Sally. “Another issue to consider: You might not always cook at the academy. Here, we feed a huge number, but we do it as we see fit. In an elegant household, the master or mistress could give you a menu, no matter how unreasonable, and you have to make it happen. If the mistress asks for parsnips in July, how can you make her happy with both you and the food you serve?”

Sally groaned. “As if parsnips aren’t bad enough in May. Whatever was left in July would be all string and rot.”

“So use a little—a very little—of what you can find, to obey your mistress. And make up the bulk of the recipe with...?” Marianne prompted, even as her mind whirled to answer the question. It would be a pleasant challenge. Parsley root was sometimes available in summer and would have a similar appearance. With a bit of treacle, it would work, maybe, though the root’s flavor would be strong. Or a combination of—

“Apple and potato,” Sally decided. “To get the creaminess and sweetness. If the lady wanted them in a mash. If she wanted them buttered and whole, I might as well resign my post.”

Marianne laughed. “Very good! Not the plan to resign, but the alternative to parsnips. That would do quite well. You’ve come far, Sally—even if you are much too kind to the kitchenmaid.”

Both Jack and Sally chuckled, then returned to their work. Sally was arranging sliced potatoes in an attractive pattern in the bottom of a giant pan, to then be covered with sliced onion from Jack. More potatoes, then a sauce Marianne would whisk together of egg and milk and butter and cheddar, and the lot would bake for the academy dinner along with the loins of pork already roasting.

As the other two worked, Marianne spread the plan of the table for the Donor Dinner before her. It grew in size and elegance each