Page 22 of The Best-Kept Secrets
His eyes darted back toward his grandmother, offering Eve a moment’s respite. “She’ll be fractious the entire time we are here. I will do what I can to placate her, but the usual approaches aren’t likely to be as effective.”
Eve jumped in quickly. “I suspect you’re about to apologize for that as well. But her irritability is also not your fault.”
“But soothing her vitriol has always been my responsibility. I’m the only one in the family who ever has the least success in doing so.”
“Well, I am not a Seymour, and neither is Nia. We place no such responsibility on your shoulders.”
Without warning, Duke smiled. But it wasn’t a happy or delighted smile but rather one that was almost desolate. A smile, yet somehow, not truly one.
“Wait until we meet up with my parents in Epsom. You will discover that this responsibility is not one I am ever permitted to escape.”
“Have you thought about answering their grumblings with a few grumblings of your own? Confuse them a bit?” Eve pulled her eyes wide, as if she had discovered a remarkable strategy.
No smile, but there was a bit of amusement in his eyes. He was something of a puzzle, one she found herself eager to sort out.
When she began her search again, she found that the second door did, indeed, lead to the kitchen. She stepped inside and closed the door behind her.
There was still wood in a basket near the large fireplace. Eve found pots, pans, utensils, and knives. There were spoons and whisks and other implements. She would have equipment enough for cooking. But had the kitchen any actual food?
A door on the back wall proved the opening to the larder. Inside, she found dry beans, containers of flour, and salt. She also found some sugar. She opened the trapdoor in the floor, but the space beyond was too dark for her to tell what she had discovered—a root cellar, most likely.
A quick search of the kitchen revealed a lantern and a small metal tinderbox. The flint and steel fire strikers were inside, as was a bit of dry tinder. That significantly simplified things. She soon had the lantern lit and had made her way back to the trapdoor.
The air grew positively frigid as she descended into the darkness below. She held aloft the lantern, searching her surroundings. There was quite a lot of food and a good variety as well, kept edible by the environs of the root cellar. Everything she’d found in the larder was the sort of foodstuffs that didn’t spoil quickly. Still, the inn must have only recently closed—likely not more than a month or so earlier—for so much to still be there and still be fresh enough to eat.
They wouldn’t starve while waiting out the weather.
Eve snatched up a basket among the supplies and filled it with onions, garlic, butternut squash, eggs, a crock of butter, and a few apples. If their good fortune continued, there would still be a milk cow on the premises.
She returned to the kitchen and set her basket on the worktable. She then gathered the flour, salt, and sugar. In her gathering, she discovered the larder contained potash. However, she hadn’t seen any buttermilk, vinegar, or lemon juice. Without some variety of acid, she couldn’t use the potash as a rising agent. And there was unlikely to be any leavening ready for use. She would need to keep to quick breads. Fortunately for her traveling companions, she was well versed in all manner of baked goods.
She eyed the items on the worktable, deciding on her best approach. Butternut squash soup would be filling and satisfying on such a cold day. And she could make farls to eat with it, as that variety of bread didn’t require yeast, potash, or a starter. And she could bake the apples for a bit of sweetness to round out their meal.
Far from feeling overwhelmed or overworked, Eve was excited. She liked being in the kitchen, creating delicious dishes and sorting out how to creatively use what she had on hand. At first, her sense of satisfaction had arisen from having a means of helping her family through difficult times. But she’d discovered in the years since that she legitimately enjoyed baking and, to a lesser but every bit as real extent, cooking. And she liked sorting out thehowandwhatof creating a menu.
She’d lit and built a good fire in the large fireplace when Duke stepped inside. He crossed to her.
“I’ve built a fire in the public room as well,” he said.
“Have you happened to notice if there is a milk cow? I’ve ideas for supper, but I’ll need milk. Cream would be even better.”
He shook his head. “But I haven’t been out in the yard. Even if there is one, I don’t know how to milk a cow.”
“Nia and I do.” She met and held his eye. “But don’t tell your grandmother. Possessing the abilities of a domestic servant is not exactly a prized quality in ladies of theton. Were word to circulate around London, even our connection to Artemis’s and Charlie’s families would not be enough to prevent us from sinking.”
He reached out and took her hand. The simple touch was comforting and reassuring. And as it had done the night before, his touch set her heart pounding. “You can trust me. Tell me what would help, and I’ll do it.”
“Thank you.” She kept hold of his hand. It upended her, yes, but in a way she enjoyed.
“What is it you need?” he asked. “Other than milk and cream, of course.”
I need you to stay here and hold my hand and tell me all will be well in the end—that I am equal to carrying these secrets I am tasked with keeping.But she couldn’t bring herself to actually say that.And I need you to look at me with amusement in your gorgeous eyes.She most definitely couldn’t say that. “Tell your grandmother we foundsomeoneto cook. That way, she’ll not realize the someone isme, and I won’t have to worry that she’ll let the secret slip.”
He nodded and even squeezed her hand. Heavens, she liked that.
“There is usually a room off the kitchen for the cook’s use. I think I will sleep in there. That’ll allow me easy access to the kitchen without risking your grandmother seeing me go in and out.”
“Or any of the others,” Duke said.
