“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
