Red Roses Mean Love

'I think you're hungry now,' Pierre predicted with a sage nod.

'Starving, actually,' Stephen said, surprised. Ten minutes ago, he'd thought he'd never eat again.

Without a word, Pierre prepared a light meal while Stephen sipped at a cup of strong coffee. He looked around the kitchen with interest, his eyes noting the huge fireplace and the dozens of pots, pans, and utensils hanging above Pierre's work area. It suddenly occurred to Stephen that this room was very warm, cozy and friendly. It also occurred to him that it was the first time in his life he'd ever been in a kitchen.

'Voila!' Pierre said, placing a tray in front of Stephen. 'You eat and you'll feel tres bien for party tonight.'

'Thank you,' Stephen said, digging into the eggs with unaccustomed gusto. He ate every bite, then leaned back in his chair, feeling sated and better than he thought possible. He enjoyed another cup of coffee while watching Pierre clean fish after fish.

'I take it Andrew and Nathan went fishing this morning,' Stephen remarked after a while.

'Oui. Whole family go. Bring home piles of fish. Pierrevery busy.'

'Where are they now?'

Pierre shrugged. 'I think at lake with zee dogs.' A fierce frown settled on his face. 'Those dogs! Quelle horreur! Make a big mess. Make a big stink. Pierre no like them in his kitchen.'

'Perfectly understandable,' Stephen murmured, shuddering to imagine the havoc those beasts could wreak in the kitchen. He rose and approached Pierre, watching with fascination how the small man cleaned the fish.

Pierre's blade swished back and forth with an economy of movement, and the pile of cleaned fish grew ever higher. After watching for several minutes, Stephen felt a sudden urge to try his hand at it.

'Mind if I help?' he asked casually.

Pierre stopped and eyed him for a moment before speaking. 'You ever clean fish before?'

'No.'

'Pierre teach.' He handed Stephen a knife and a small fish. 'First you cut off head,' Pierre said, and proceeded to demonstrate. Stephen held the fish by the tail and copied Pierre's actions.

'Then you cut down here and get rid of zee insides.'

Stephen mimicked Pierre, slicing down the fish's belly and scraping out the insides.

'Then hold here and scrape.'

Stephen watched Pierre hold the fish by the tail and scale it by running the flat edge of the knife along the body.

'You cut off here and voila, you are done.' Pierre whacked off the tail and added the small fish to the pile of cleaned ones. 'You do this and Pierre get his other work done.'

Stephen handled the knife awkwardly at first and nearly cut his finger off once, but he eventually got the hang of it, although he could never match Pierre's speed and proficiency.

At first Stephen couldn't imagine what had possessed him to volunteer to help Pierre, other than some insane curiosity to learn an activity completely foreign to him. But he found, much to his surprise, he actually enjoyed cleaning the fish. He felt quite proud of himself when he finished and laid his knife aside.

Pierre examined his work and grunted. 'You do good job. Now I show you how to cook.'

Stephen spent the next hour in the kitchen with his mentor, learning the intricacies of preparing a midday meal for a family of hungry people. Side by side they fried the mound of fish, steamed a huge pot of vegetables, and baked several loaves of bread while Pierre entertained him with stories of his years serving as cook on Captain Albright's ship.

Listening to the amusing tales, a sense of belonging stole over Stephen-something he'd never experienced in his own home. It was accompanied by a feeling of accomplishment and satisfaction. Such simple tasks, cleaning fish and chopping vegetables, but they inspired a camaraderie he'd never known. Is this what his servants did? Chatted and laughed? Were they friends with each other? He shook his head. He had absolutely no idea, and the realization that he knew so little about the people who worked for him shamed him. They had lives and families, yet he'd never taken the time to know them. Of course, if the Marquess of Glenfield had ever offered to assist in his own kitchens, his staff would have fainted dead away.

Just before they carried the food into the dining room, Pierre set a plate of fish skins on the floor for Bertha the cat.

'I thought you hated that cat,' Stephen remarked with a smile as he watched the cook fondly pat the feline's head as she wound herself in between his legs.

'Bertha is good. Keep mice away.' He flashed a quick grin. 'But don't tell Mademoiselle Hayley. It is our secret, oui?'

Stephen nodded his agreement, then helped Pierre bring the steaming platters of food into the dining room. They arrived just as the Albrights entered the room.

Hayley looked at Stephen in surprise when she saw his arms laden with a heavy platter, which he set in the center of the table.

Stephen caught her look and smiled. 'I'll have you know I helped prepare our lunch,' he stated, unable to keep the pride from his voice.

'You did?' Hayley looked at Pierre, who confirmed Stephen's words with a solemn nod.

'He good cook. Not tres magnifique like Pierre, but good.' He graced a beaming smile on Stephen. 'You're welcome in Pierre's kitchen anytime.'

Hayley gaped at the cook. 'You don't allow anyone to help you in the kitchen.'

Pierre frowned at Hayley, then turned to Stephen. 'She cannot even heat zee water,' he imparted to Stephen in a loud whisper.

Hayley frowned at Pierre, but Stephen saw her lips twitch. 'I admit that I'm not a very good cook.'

Pierre rolled his eyes. 'Sacrebleu! She is very bad cook. When she cook, run from zee house.'

Stephen laughed, imagining the Albrights dashing from the house en masse. He moved around the table and took his place at Hayley's right, with Callie on his other side. When they sat down, Stephen leaned over to Callie.

'How is Miss Josephine this morning?' he whispered.

Callie flashed him a wide, dimpling smile. 'She feels quite well, thank you. She's resting now.'

'I quite understand,' he said solemnly. 'She suffered a horrifying experience.'

'But she's all right now. Thanks to you.' Callie looked up at him with wide, worshipful eyes. 'You're a hero, Mr. Barrettson.'

Stephen's hands stilled in the process of lifting his fork to his mouth. A hero. If his throat hadn't tightened so, he would have laughed out loud at the absurdity of such a notion. Ah, the sweet things innocent children said.

If only they were true.

* * *

Hayley watched Stephen all through the midday meal, amazed by what she saw. He laughed openly at Nathan's and Andrew's antics, charmed Aunt Olivia until the woman was reduced to a stammering, blushing state of near incoherence, and even drew Grimsley and Winston into conversation about the merits of fishing. He conversed with Pamela about music, and quite often bent his head toward Callie, smiling at whatever the child said in his ear.

In fact, he spoke to, and utterly charmed, every member of the Albright family.

Except her.

At first Hayley thought she was imagining that Stephen was ignoring her, but when she touched his sleeve to gain his attention, he jerked his arm away, answered her question with a monosyllable, then turned his focus back to Andrew and Nathan.

He might as well have slapped her. Hot embarrassment suffused her, only to be pushed aside by a flush of anger. What on earth had she done to merit such dismissive behavior on his part? Good heavens, the man was utterly impossible. One minute he kissed her as if he never wanted to stop, and the next he avoided her as if she carried a deadly disease. He gave her expensive gifts, only to turn around and ignore her the next day. Was it because she was H. Tripp? He'd assured her that their conversation on that subject was forgotten. Had he lied?