Page 13 of The Soldier
“You slept not at all? My apologies. Had I known how limited your time was last evening, I would not have detained you.”
“You would, too,” she contradicted him pleasantly. “But you are here now, so you can give me your opinion. I am of the mind that you excel at rendering opinions.”
The earl felt the corners of his mouth twitching. “I will make allowances for such a remark because you are overly tired and a mere female.”
“You noticed. I’m impressed. Have a seat.” She gestured to a wrought iron table painted white, surrounded with padded wicker chairs, while the earl admitted to himself that, indeed, hehadnoticed, and was continuing to notice. “May I offer you some cider? I keep it in the spring house so it should be cold.”
“Cider would be appreciated,” he replied, wondering at her working at her ovens through the night and now greeting the day with such obvious joy. She banged through a swinging door, leaving him swamped by a cloud of delicious kitcheny scents and contemplating the profusion of flowers growing in her backyard.
She swung back through the door, a tray in her hands. “Prepare to opine.” She sat down in one of the wicker chairs, propped her elbows on the table, and rested her cheeks on her fists.
“Regarding?” The earl lifted an eyebrow, noticing Miss Farnum had a little smudge of flour on her jaw.
“My experiments.” She nodded at the tray and the three separate plates thereon. “Tell me which you prefer and why.”
“You will not join me?” the earl asked, eyeing what looked like three identically delicious flaky pastries.
“I believe I will.” She deftly cut all three in half, put three halves on one plate and the other three halves on a second plate. “Baking is hungry work.” She picked up a pastry without further ado and bit into it, cocking her head and frowning in thought.
“Well, goon,” she urged, “or my opinion will carry the day. The dough is adequately turned, I suppose.”
Seeing she had not provided utensils, the earl slid off his riding gloves and picked up a pastry. He bit into it, realizing he was hungry. “Tea in the library” after his ride would have included scones, butter, and jam. The same scones, butter, and jam he’d had every morning since arriving to Rosecroft.
“You put ham and cheese in a pastry? It’s good.”
“What would make it better? Ham, eggs, and cheese tend to become soggy and are boring.”
“Not to an empty stomach, it isn’t.” The earl demolished his first half in two more bites. “Maybe a bit more butter inside?”
“I butter the dough so heavily it practically moos, but it needs something.”
The earl frowned. “Leeks? Garlic for breakfast might be a bit much, but even celery would give it texture. Bacon would add both variety and substance.”
“I will try that,” she said, smiling at him. “Onions, at least. Bacon lacks subtlety, unless I used it very sparingly. Thank you. Try the next one.” The next one had some sort of sweet, soft cheese inside, a rich, heavy filling that made a half portion adequate.
“I’d add a little lemon zest. It will lighten the flavor considerably, make it more a breakfast food than a dessert.”
“Oh, I like that.” Miss Farnum nodded enthusiastically. “Have you lemons in your orangery?”
“I don’t know.” The earl eyed the remaining bite. “If there were lemons in there three years ago, there should be some salvageable stock now.”
“One hopes; try the last one.” Miss Farnum’s eyes were alight with anticipation, and the earl couldn’t help but draw the moment out with a slow sip of his cider.
“You’re stalling.” She smacked her hands down on the table and took his cider away. “Get busy, my lord, or I’ll hold your drink hostage.”
“Nasty tactics,” he said, picking up the last half pastry. He bit into it to find it was flavored with cinnamon, raisins, honey, and nuts, all layered within the pastry as the dough had been folded onto itself.
“It reminds me of an Eastern dessert, baklava. I like it and think it would go particularly well with hot tea on a cold morning.”
“But?” she pressed, sliding his cider across the table toward him.
“But nothing. I like it.”
“You like it. You say that about as enthusiastically as I might say I like bread that’s only one day old. What would make it better?” She was going to pester him on this, he saw. She took her little experiments seriously.
“It’s bland. Just sweet, with the spices you expect in sweet things. Cinnamon, I suppose, and a dash of clove, but not much. Mincemeat would be more interesting, pear butter with brandied pecans.”
“Make it something definite, not just a breakfast sweet. I will work on these, but you confirm my suspicion they are not ready for public consumption. My thanks.”
