“I shall see you later, Miss Nilsson,” Jonathan called over the banister. “Lady Penelope is in the kitchen; go see what she has done.”
Darling escorted Miss Nilsson through the baize door and into the kitchen. He wasn’t quite certain how to behave to a lady who was also a chef, even if only for a day. “Your ladyship, Miss Nilsson has come.” He escaped into his pantry to check the wines once again.
“I see you have everything under control.” Nilsson surveyed the area, taking note of the prepared foods, the air of expectancy that hung over the room.
Penelope brushed a strand of hair from her cheek, then walked over to drop down on the chair off to one side. “Oh, Nilsson, I hope it is not a disaster.” She glanced at the small clock atop the dresser, checking the hour.
“May I?” Miss Nilsson queried, not waiting for an answer she knew would be affirmative. They had undergone too many similar situations for permission to be denied. At least, Nilsson had performed this sort of check before.
She picked up the by-now-stained and smudged menu card, then quickly hunted out the various dishes, sniffing, tasting with a quickly provided spoon from the kitchen maid. When Nilsson had finished her round of inspection, she returned to where Penelope sat in quiet exhaustion.
“Well?” Penelope asked, expecting nothing but bare truth.
“Superb. They do not in the least deserve such a meal. I ought to put in a pot of pepper, just to give them their just deserts.
“Nilsson, what would I do without you!” Penelope declared with a watery chuckle. Her fatigue faded away with a sip of wine, followed by renewed determination from the praise of one who was a stickler for perfection. Penelope popped up to check the soup.
“I am relieved he chose a simple menu suitable for gentlemen and not at all pretentious. I fear I would have been lost had Ito perform the wizardry Henri can do at a moment’s notice.”
“You did well, my dear. Now to the service.”
From the hall, sounds of the entering guests could be faintly heard. Darling had disappeared not long ago to answer the door and keep things under his unobtrusive control.
“They are all eager to have their meal. Ha!” Darling sniffed as he returned to the kitchen, his disdain for some of the guests quite clear. “Just wait until they get a sip of that soup. I do hope you made a great deal of it, for it has been making my mouth water for hours,” he said daringly.
“There is ample, never fear,” Penelope replied as she watched the massive tureen carried from the kitchen.
* * * *
In the cozy morning room, into which the gentlemen had wandered after entering the house, Willowby and Collison approached Jonathan, the gleam in their eyes most self-congratulatory.
“Everything going well, old fellow?” Collison purred.
“No problems?” added Willowby.
“Well, I was concerned when my chef decamped this morning, but after seeing the results of the new one I discovered, I am confident you will enjoy your meal.”
“Discovered a chef the same day as your dinner? Impossible!” Collison declared with a lofty disdain.
Jonathan gave a slight shrug, smiled confidently, then motioned to his butler, who had appeared -at the doorway. “Darling?”
The butler gave a stately bow of his head. “Dinner is served, my lord.”
There was no set order this evening, and they immediately rambled toward the dining room. Everyone was eager to discover who was to win the wager. Word had seeped out about the missing chef. They all knew it was utterly impossible to find another chef of the same caliber, especially on a moment’s notice. They very much feared poor old Harford was going to lose this one. His friends were sorry, but his two perennial opponents sat with pleased anticipation on their faces.
Then Darling entered with the soup course. The footman followed with the French-style rolls, bringing a wonderful fresh-baked aroma into the room. Jaded appetites picked up, mouths began to water at the sight of the soup being ladled into bowls.
Jonathan picked up his spoon, and the others eagerly followed. A hint of wine and herbs, with vegetables, rabbit, and pheasant superbly blended together. Crisp rolls with fresh country butter. He began to relax. It was incredibly simple, but outstanding.
Silence reigned at the dinner table instead of the usual chatter. Intent upon delectable food, the men ignored each other and concentrated on the meal for a time.
One finished, the soup was removed by fish, then came the roasted meats. The hearty vegetable dishes and salads, with the interesting flavors and seasonings, finally prompted several of the men to comment to one another. Theirs was an unusual group, one who appreciated fine food superbly prepared, although none of them would have declared themselves to be gourmets. They customarily dined at each other’s tables, enjoyed a good conversation and a bit of gossip, but tonight was quite special. As good a fellow as Collison might be, few were sorry to see that it appeared he would lose his bet if it meant they enjoyed this meal.
Collison sat with a fixed smile on his face. In an undertone he said to Willowby, “How the devil do you suppose he managed to find a Frenchie at the last minute? These sauces are most definitely not English.”
“Dashed if I know,” Willowby muttered in reply, stuffing his mouth with a forkful of succulent roast. “Whoever he is, he’s a good cook,” he added in an understatement, not wanting to give offense to the friend who would undoubtedly lose his wager. He wondered how much Collison had paid to lure Rene away from Harford. Stood to reason it was a packet, for everyone knew Harford to be a generous employer.
The remove was set before them, and when that was
