Page 15 of Waiting for a Scot Like You
“Your son, ma’am. John. He seems to have inherited his mother’s predisposition for disobedience.”
She laughed. “The punishment bestowed upon parents is to have children much like themselves.”
“Any of your children like their father in temperament?”
Her lips pursed. “Fortunately, no.” Before he could gently prod for an elaboration, the countess waved at the passing innkeeper, signaling for her to come to their table. When the innkeeper appeared, Lady Farris said, “Please, might I personally give my thanks to your cook?”
Briefly, the other woman looked surprised but then said, “Of course, madam. I see you’re all finished with your meal,” she added, glancing at their empty plates, “so if you’d like, please follow me.”
Duncan rose as Lady Farris and her companion got to their feet. He stood by the table as the countess and Miss Bradbury began to trail after the innkeeper, but then Lady Farris stopped and faced him.
“Do come with us, Major,” she said.
“I don’t think that’s needed,” he answered.
She tilted her head. “How many inn kitchens have you seen?”
“Well... none.”
She glided toward him and then looped her arm through his. The equanimity he’d managed to achieve shattered at the feel of her, soft and curved, and if the rosy stain in her cheeks was any sign, she wasn’t quite calm, either.
It did not console him.
“Look lively, soldier,” she said, her voice slightly breathless. “You’re coming with me.”
Chapter 4
The inn’s kitchen bustled with activity as two young women filled plates with Bedfordshire clangers and hurried them out into the taproom. An adolescent boy peeled and chopped onions, occasionally stopping to drag his sleeve across his watering eyes. Overseeing all of this was a man with impressive gray side whiskers, who used a wooden peel to ferry clangers in and out of the oven.
For all the commotion, it didn’t match the spinning confusion and sensation careening through Beatrice as she tugged Major McCameron deeper into the kitchen with her. While he did have impeccable posture—clearly a vestige of his military service—he was now so upright he verged on stiff.
Come to think of it, he’d been that way ever since she’d put her arm through his.
Perhaps her touch made him uncomfortable. At once, she released him, and his chest rose and fell in an exhale.
Was he relieved? Yet his comments to her back in the taproom came back, comments that were almost flirtatious.As for other things... I never steal them. They’re always given freely, and with great enthusiasm.
“This is Mr. Baines,” the innkeeper said, interrupting Beatrice’s thoughts. “Our cook.”
Beatrice gave him a wide smile as the man in the apron bowed. “Your food was delicious. It was my first Bedfordshire clanger, and I am both enthralled by the taste of it as well as mystified by how you’re able to fashion it.”
“If you like, madam,” Mr. Baines said heartily, “I can show you. Better yet—would you like to try your hand at making them?”
Excitement bubbled. “May I?”
“We’re losing time on the road,” the major murmured. “We need to leave now and—”
“The road isn’t going anywhere,” she replied affably. “I’ve never had the chance to make a Bedfordshire clanger, but now that it has presented itself, I’m not losing the opportunity.”
She went to stand by Mr. Baines, who had taken up a position at a long heavy wooden table. She gestured for Jeanie to stand on the other side of Mr. Baines. Catching a fragment of Major McCameron’s irritated muttering, Beatrice ignored it and turned her attention to the cook.
“We start with a shortcrust pastry,” Mr. Baines explained. “I’ve some already made, if you like.”
“I confess I’ve never made shortcrust pastry,” Beatrice said with a laugh. “It always seems like magic.” She glanced up at the major, who stood with his arms crossed over his chest, looking slightly annoyed. In response, she gave him a cheerful salute.
“No magic in it at all,” Mr. Baines answered. “We’ll need butter, flour, salt, and cold water.” As he spoke, he gathered the needed supplies in bowls and pitchers, placing them in front of her and Jeanie.
He described how the butter was to be incorporated into the flour using one’s fingertips, and Beatrice dug her hands into the ingredients. She rubbed the cool butter into the powdery flour, relishing the contrast of textures.
