Part 8 (1/2)
Never.
Eight.
Timothy's ears still rang with the greetings from his effusive Aunt Ilse. He had been squeezed in a bear hug and given an enthusiastic buss on the cheek before he managed to step aside and let Felix receive the same. No guilt pinched him that he had rushed away while Aunt Ilse was treating Melanda Hayes to an identical greeting. It had been easy to disappear when the foyer had been filled with Aunt Ilse's bags and several crates that were as big as a chair. Although he wondered what Aunt Ilse had brought from the Continent on this trip, he did not let his curiosity trick him into staying.
Hurrying down the stairs to the kitchen that opened out into the lower gardens behind the house, he began to doubt if he had heard Mrs. Scott correctly. What would Serenity be doing in the kitchen? He could not guess, for he knew so little about this pretty lady who plagued his thoughts.
Laughter and the clatter of pans and metal utensils greeted him at the wide door that led into the kitchens. This maze of rooms beneath the house had been a favorite place during his childhood, but he seldom came here now. He was not certain when his visits had dwindled or why. They simply had.
Walking into the kitchen, he pretended not to notice how the workers paused and stared when he pa.s.sed by. Had it been that long since the last time he had come down here? He nodded to them and continued through one room to another, where the aroma of mincemeat and spices reminded how few days were left before Christmas Eve and his grandfather's birthday.
And saying good-bye to Serenity.
That thought made his voice harsher than he had intended when he stopped by a table where Serenity was rolling out dough for a pie. ”What are you doing in the kitchen?”
Serenity's eyes widened, and he was overpowered anew by their crystal warmth in the moment before they became icy cold. Looking back at the table, she pinched the crust of one of the pies in front of her as juice oozed out of it. ”I enjoy cooking very much, it seems. Apparently I have some true talent in that direction, because your grandfather's cook, Mrs. Gray, has allowed me to work here.”
”I thought you were a lady's ... a lady.” He gulped so loudly that one of the kitchen maids turned to stare at him in amazement.
”What I am does not mean that I cannot have talents of various types.” She pointed to the trio of pies in the middle of the table. Each was topped with crust cut to look like leaves of holly. ”And it seems that I have a true gift for making pie crusts.”
”A very good skill to have at this time of year.”
”Yes.”
When she added nothing else, Timothy hesitated. This conversation had not gotten off to a good start. He tried to recall if any of their conversations had. Clasping his hands behind him, he knew that exchanging heated words with her could lead to even more heated yearnings, the very yearnings that pleaded with him to find a way to speak with her alone again. An endless spiral of risk and need was tightening around him until he was breathless when his gaze met her silvery one.
”My Aunt Ilse has arrived,” he said.
Serenity smiled. ”So I have heard. Is that why you came down here?”
”No, I was looking for you before I got waylaid in the foyer by Aunt Ilse and her exuberant homecoming.”
”I heard she brought a dozen dogs with her.”
”Only a rumor.” He laughed and leaned one hand on the table. ”She has only three. They simply seem like a dozen when they are racing about the grounds. Grandfather has forbidden her to allow them in the Chinese garden, because last year they dug up all the plantings.”
”I am surprised he allows her to bring them back.”
He shrugged. ”I think he is feeling a little guilty for arranging her marriage to that humorless German.”
”Guilty? Is that something everyone in your family enjoys wallowing in?” She wiped her hands on her ap.r.o.n. ”You act too guilty all the time.”
”That is because I feel guilty all the time.” He rubbed his forehead with two fingers.
With a laugh, she took a cloth from the table and handed it to him. He regarded her with a baffled expression. Taking the cloth back, she brushed it against his forehead. ”You should take care that you do not have flour on your fingers before you start painting your face with it.”
”The last time I helped in this kitchen, I was young enough that Mrs. Gray made sure I did not make a mess of myself.”
”My lord!” called the cook, as if he had called her name. ”Did you wish to request something special for tomorrow's dinner?”
He turned to see Mrs. Gray, who was so gaunt that one would suspect that she hated food and everything to do with it. He knew better, because he had seen her eat with the enthusiasm of a field worker from a plate with enough food to daunt even a growing lad.
Smiling, he replied, ”I simply am paying a call upon your domain, Mrs. Gray. It smells wonderful in here.”
”You can thank Miss Adams for that.” She wiped her hands on her ap.r.o.n, which was stained with every color of food that would appear on the table tonight. ”I hope that after you are wed, my lord, you do not feel that you need to give me my conge.”
”Why would I ask you to leave?”
”You are getting yourself a wife whom, if she were one of the village la.s.ses, I would have asked to join my staff straightaway.” Her smile broadened, stretching her thin cheeks. ”Anytime you want to help as you have today, Miss Adams, you are more than welcome.”
”Thank you.”
Timothy chuckled when a pretty blush caressed Serenity's cheeks as he wished his fingers were. His laugh threatened to strangle him when that craving to hold her exploded inside him. While Mrs. Gray waved an admonis.h.i.+ng finger at him and warned him that there would be no samples before the pies were served, he forced a smile. The only thing he wished to sample was Serenity's mouth.
As Mrs. Gray went to check that her cooks were preparing the food just as she wanted, he reached under his coat. Then, looking at the flour covering the table, he asked, ”Are you finished, Serenity?”
”Almost. Just this one to go.” She placed the pastry in the pie pan and reached for the ladle to pour into it some of the mincemeat that had been prepared, on Stir-Up Sunday at the beginning of Advent. With quick, skilled motions, she set the top crust on it and sealed the edges closed.
”Allow me,” he said, as she reached for a knife. He cut the vents in the top of the crust. With a chuckle, he ran his finger along the flat of the blade and wiped off the mincemeat. He licked his finger. ”My favorite part of working in the kitchen.”
”Just don't let Mrs. Gray see that. She would not want anyone to get the idea that sampling is all right in her kitchen.”
He set the knife on the table. ”One of the rights of lord of the manor.”
”And how many seigneurial rights do you claim, my lord?”
”I am afraid the right of the lord of the manor to share the bed of a bride on her wedding night has long gone out of style at Cheyney Park.” Realizing that Serenity was not the only one listening to his answer, he slipped his arm around her waist and tugged her against him. ”Save for his own bride.”
His breath caught in his throat as her pliant b.r.e.a.s.t.s pressed against him. Her eyes grew round, then softened with a luminescence that sent that fiery craving through him again. Blast it! He was addled to hold her like this when he wanted to hold her more intimately, to taste the luscious flavor of her mouth, to watch her eyes close as she offered those lips and more to him.
Her fingers coursed across his chest as she whispered, ”What is this?”
”What ...?” He shook the tendrils of longing from his head and smiled as he realized her hand was on the pocket beneath his coat. ”That is what I came to show you before I took it to show to Theodora.”
”To help her read?”
Again he was aware of the many ears c.o.c.ked in their direction. A man should not be speaking of a device to help a child when he held the woman he intended to marry in his arms. ”Can we go where we can speak more privately?”
”Where?”
He smiled as he released her and held out his hand. ”Leave that to me.”
Serenity stared past the door Timothy opened at the top of the third floor. This must be Cheyney Park's nursery. Toys were scattered about the room as if a child had been playing with them only that morning. She wondered why Theodora had her rooms below, but she did not ask. The child was isolated too much already.
As she went to peek out the curved window at the moors undulating toward the horizon, she sat on the window seat. This had the same view as the seat where she had spoken with the earl two days ago. In front of the house a trio of wagons were being emptied.