Page 54 of The Rogue's Runaway Bride
The older woman hiked her brows. “Much, dear?”
“Well, I do know how to use one to cut a cake,” she said with a little shrug.
“Why don’t ye come over here and help with breakfast while I prepare the carrots? We’ll have ye do something that doesn’t require ye to use a blade.”
“That might be a bit more productive,” Belle agreed. After all, cooking breakfast couldn’t be that challenging now, could it?
Mrs. Gilroy motioned to a basket of eggs on the counter. “Mr. Mason has already departed for his office, so we’ll only need a scramble for the three of us. The pan is already warm.”
Belle stared at the basket. “You would like them... scrambled.”
“Carrie’s partial to them that way. But if ye’d rather fry them, I’ll have no complaint.”
“Then scrambled it is.” Summoning a ration of optimism, Belle selected an egg and cracked it against the mixing bowl, just as she remembered Ginny doing.
The liquid white of the eggs dribbled over her fingers as a few clumps of shell fell into the bowl. With a few shakes of the fractured shell, she dumped the rest of the egg into the bowl.But fragments of shell floated in the mix. Not a problem, she told herself. She’d simply fish them out before she scrambled the yolks. She wiped the residue off her fingers and tried it again.
With one vigorous rap against the porcelain rim, the shell cracked. Once again, gooey liquid dripped over her fingers, but she managed to add the egg to the contents of the bowl. If only the tiny bits of shell didn’t cling.
Mrs. Gilroy scooted closer, peering around Belle’s shoulder. “I’m thinkin’ those eggs will have a bit more crunch than usual.”
“Nothing to worry over. I’ll strain out the bits of shell,” Belle said, forcing a cheerful tone.
“Will ye, now?” Mrs. Gilroy quipped before she went back to chopping vegetables.
Refusing to accept defeat, Belle picked up another egg. A large, fine egg, if ever she’d seen one.Crack.This time, she placed more yolk and white in the bowl than shells. That was progress, wasn’t it?
Mrs. Gilroy returned to her side. Her forehead creased, and the expression in her eyes softened. “Would ye like me to show ye something I’ve learned over the years?”
“That might be a good idea.”
“I thought as much,” Mrs. Gilroy said with a knowing nod. “Ye do not have much experience in the kitchen, do ye, lass?”
“Once, our family cook allowed me to stir the batter for my birthday cake.” Belle couldn’t help but smile at the expression on Mrs. Gilroy’s face. “Does that count?”
Mrs. Gilroy’s brow furrowed. “How old were ye at the time?”
“Seven, as I recall.”
The older woman gave another sage nod. “Well, I must say, that is a relief.”
“In what way, Mrs. Gilroy?”
“Ye’re not hopeless,” she said, not bothering to coat her words with sugar. “Ye’ve simply never been taught.”
“I’d say that’s a fair assessment.”
A brief smile lit her features. “It’s about time we change that.”
*
I do believeI’m getting the hang of domesticity.
Belle strolled through the sitting room, selected an anthology of poetry from the well-stocked bookshelves, and plopped down upon the chaise. Her day had been busy and productive, and now, a bit of rest was in order.
Under Mrs. Gilroy’s tutelage, she’d managed to scramble the eggs for their breakfast and had diced a vegetable without so much as a nick of the blade against her finger. She’d even learned how to prepare the stew Mrs. Gilroy planned for dinner.
“Yer mum would be proud of ye,” the housekeeper had observed.
