That a lovely woman should go to this length just to obtain his help suddenly unnerved him. What if he failed her? It seemed that she had spoken the truth, she did know how to cook, and judging by the appearance and aroma, quite well.
“We shall do you proud, my lord,” Penelope said in a quiet voice. “I believe your friends will enjoy this dinner.”
“From the looks of things, I’d say it will be a dinner to remember.” He wanted to reassure her, offer her support.
“I hope so,” she replied, her gaze seeking his for a moment before she returned to her task.
He entered the room, strolling across the spotless floor, wondering how it managed to stay so clean while in the midst of all the hubbub. “I am impressed.”
She took note of his inspection, then replied, “It was Hippocrates who insisted on boiled water and clean hands while attending patients. I believe that spotless surroundings add to the quality of the end results in a kitchen, Lord Harford.” She gestured to a wooden bucket with a mop leaning against it. “We see to it that the floor is frequently mopped and the table is often scrubbed.” She smoothed her hand over the yellowish-white sycamore wood of the kitchen table as she spoke.
He leaned against the corner of that table, folding his arms as he continued to watch, not a little curious about this newly acquired cousin.
“How is it that Lady Penelope Winthrop is so at home in the kitchen? I would have expected you to scarcely know of its existence. Few women I am acquainted with are so informed.” He recalled one Society matron who had declared she had no idea where her kitchen was located.
Penelope shrugged, deftly shaping the dough for crisp little French-style rolls she intended to serve with the soup now simmering on the back of the stove. Rather than bake them this morning, she had waited until late, desiring them fresh from the oven. “I wanted company and became bored with the schoolroom. Henri was pleased to have me as a student, and I quite liked my lessons. If I did well, I enjoyed the results. He made me taste the failures as well, which proved to be a wondrous spur to improvement.” Her eyes lit up with remembered happy times.
“Surely your parents did not approve of such?” He noted the fading of her delightful smile and his curiosity grew.
“I have no idea as to what they might have thought. You see, they never knew about it. My parents appeared for possibly two weeks a year—around Christmas—provided there was not a marvelous Christmas party to attend. In which case,” she added with a trace of bitterness in her voice, “they whirled into the house with an armload of gifts, then disappeared again. I do not believe they were at all interested in me or my doings, other than to receive the written reports of my progress.” She placed the last of the shaped dough on the pan, then handed it to the cook, adding some softly spoken instructions.
“I often thought,” she continued, “Miss Nilsson ought to include some entirely silly account just to see if they actually looked at those reports.” Penelope sighed, then gave her cousin a tired smile. “Of course, someone might have seen them and wondered a bit about this strange girl in the country.”
“But that is monstrous! You mean to tell me that you have been sequestered in the country all your life?”
‘Twas hardly a prison, my lord.” Her eyes sparkled with returned humor. “I had jaunts to the village, visits with the vicar and his wife, and I always attended church, for it was lovely to see so many people. Miss Nilsson and I explored the estate. I discovered a great interest in plants, especially healing herbs. Many Swedes are herbalists, you know.”
He found he couldn’t utter a word. This beautiful young woman had spent her life secluded on a great estate, with no one her age, no pleasures such as girls must enjoy. Small wonder she took to what she might find—cooking and hunting about for herbs. He sniffed the air, noting the fragrance lingering in the room.
“And do you cook with herbs as well?” His chef had been superb in his way, but some of his dishes were lacking.
“But, of course,” she answered with a hint of accent coloring her voice.
“Is there anything I might do?” he offered, although he hadn’t the faintest notion of how he might help.
Penelope giggled, her eyes crinkling up in a charming way. “I very much doubt it. You could look in on Darling and tell him how impressed you are with his table setting. I expect he has outdone himself.”
Suddenly aware that he was very much in the way, Jonathan left the kitchen, a place he had heretofore ignored, and wandered up to the ground floor, where he found Darling putting the finishing touches on the dining room. Chairs were in place before a table set with crisp linen. The plate was polished to an eye-blinking shine, candles stood ready for lighting, and a low bowl of hothouse fruit was arranged in the center so that his friends might converse with ease. When alone, gentlemen did not observe the proprieties of conversation with the person to either side, but enjoyed easy chatting back and forth.
“Well done, Darling. I have just been to the kitchen. Do you know, I believe we might actually pull this thing oft?”
“Yes, indeed, sir.” The butler beamed at his lordship. Then he glanced at the long-case clock just visible in the hall. “I fancy you’ll be wanting to dress, sir. It won’t be long now.”
Jonathan whirled around to look at the time. Nodding, he ran lightly up the stairs after greeting Miss Nilsson, who had entered while he was in
