Page 31 of Five Ways to Bed a Duke

“So, is your brother at home?” she asked, trying to mask the hope in her voice.

“No, I am afraid not. He just left with Simon. I think they said they were going to the club or something of that sort,” Emmy answered.

Catherine felt a disappointment that was quite odd, considering the fact that she had been studiously avoiding the man.

“I could give him the invitation,” Emmy offered. “I solemnly promise to make him come,” she added, holding up her hand, her palm facing outwards in a mock vow.

Considering how much the Duke doted on Emmy, Catherine was sure that her friend would easily persuade him to go. So she gave her the invitation reluctantly, said her goodbyes, and declined all invitations to stay a little longer.

She had to get away from Emmy because she was quite sure if she stayed longer, she might end up confessing everything to her oldest friend, and no matter how sweet Emmy was, Catherine didn’t think she would be able to forgive her the sin of lusting after her older brother. Some things were better left hidden, and this was one of them.

When she arrived home, she handed her coat to the butler, who greeted her at the door, and then she made for the kitchen to discuss with the cook.

Mistress Jamie was a strong Scottish woman with red hair, and the sight of her stocky figure standing in the midst of the chaos that was the kitchen, making sure it ran smoothly, filled her with warmth. The woman had been a second mother to her in more ways than one.

“Lass…” Mistress Jamie smiled when Catherine entered, then turned to one of the kitchen maids. “Make sure ye turn the soup. If it burns, I will have yer ear, ye hear?”

She wiped her hands on her apron and then herded Catherine towards the kitchen garden.

“What brings you to the kitchen today?” she asked, concern on her face.

While Catherine loved the older woman, she did not particularly share her love for the kitchen. Something about inhaling smoke all day long did not agree with her. Hence she understood the woman’s surprise to see her.

“We’ll be having the Duke of St. George over for dinner by the end of the week.”

“St. George. He had not been among fancy folk for nigh on a decade. Besides, I heard he kicked the bucket recently.”

Mistress Jamie’s speech had improved over the years partly because of Catherine’s influence, but whenever she was passionate about something, her Scottish accent broke through.

“Not that duke, Nana Jamie. This is for his son.”

At that, Mistress Jamie laughed. “Pay me no mind, Miss Burlow. I swear me mind is a little slower these days, but I am no spring chicken. So it should be expected, no?” She let out a self-deprecating laugh.

“You are not that old, Nana,” Catherine said, rolling her eyes in exasperation.

“Don’t ye roll yer eyes at me, young lady. I am not above using a ladle to redden yer bottom, nevermind ye are a big lady now,” Mistress Jamie threatened, but the amused look on her face showed that she was just joking.

Catherine rolled her eyes again for good measure, and the cook laughed.

“Alright, what would ye like on the menu?” Mistress Jamie asked when she got her mirth under control.

Together they put together a menu that promised a sumptuous feast.

“What about dessert?” Mistress Jamie asked when Catherine got up to leave.

“I will leave that in your capable hands. But please make sure that your delicious apple tarts remain available.”

Mistress Jamie flushed with pleasure at the praise. “Sure thing, lass. I will make sure that I make a batch of it. We wouldn’t want to disappoint Lady Emmeline now, would we?”

Catherine wasn’t surprised that the cook had taken note of Emmy’s addiction to her apple tarts. It was hard to miss, considering the speed at which Emmy polished off the treats whenever she visited.

She never stopped singing the cook’s praises, complaining that her brother had hired some bad-tempered Frenchman to man his kitchen. Unfortunately, the man seemed to think that plain meals were the best diet for health. So every day, she had to endure the bland, tasteless meals because her brother dined outside most times, so he never understood when she complained.

Catherine acknowledged that Mistress Jamie was a treasure, and with the way she flattered her, she was sure if she wanted apple tarts to last her the whole year, the cook would endeavor to make her just that.

Days passed, and the day of the dinner arrived. The aromas of several delicacies filled the entire hall, indicating that the cook had prepared a sumptuous feast worthy of a king.

By sunset, Catherine spotted a carriage bearing the Duke’s crest, a warhorse rearing on its hind legs in mid-flight. She would recognize that crest anywhere. It was that unique, and the sight of it marked the beginning of what she believed would be an evening of pure torture, confined to a small space with the Duke.

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