Page 101 of Miss Delectable
“Miss Pearson, I am felled by fatigue. Would you mind very much if we took an early leave?”
Ann rose gracefully. “Of course not. I am unused to such entertainments myself and would gladly bid our hostess good night.”
Countless eternities later, Rye had Ann bundled into the Dorning town coach.
“What happened?” she asked. “The men stalked off to the library glaring daggers at you. In less than thirty minutes, you become the toast of the regiment.”
“I’ll explain later. The whole tale approaches farce, but suffice it to say, Iamthe toast of the regiment at present, and I do not care one moldy cheese or wilted leek that it should be so. Kiss me.”
Ann obliged, and as lovely as the meal had been, her kiss was a greater source of sustenance.
“Will you spend the night with me, Ann?”
“Yes.”
“I haven’t even told you what Upchurch had to say behind a closed door. I’m not going to France, not to stay.”
“Then neither am I. Kiss me.”
Rye obliged, at length, enthusiastically, and when Ann finally cuddled next to him on a contented sigh, he could honestly agree with Upchurch about one thing at least.
The war was over. The war was finally, absolutely over.
* * *
“You wantme to take on the post of chef at the Coventry?” Ann asked.
Mr. and Mrs. Dorning had called upon her at her home, and Ann had no doubt Miss Julia and Miss Diana were listening at the keyhole.
“I do,” Mr. Dorning said. “We do, rather. Jules Delacourt has succumbed to a serious bout of homesickness and is packing up his effects as we speak.”
Sycamore Dorning could exaggerate a point for the sake of emphasis, but he wasn’t given to outright lying. “Why is Jules leaving in such haste?”
Mrs. Dorning sent her spouse a look.
“I could tell you,” Mr. Dorning said, “that Jules is at pains to avoid an awkward interview with the magistrate, and that much is true. My fancy French chef colluded with Brigadier Horace Upchurch to steal four hundred cases of champagne from Colonel Goddard, though I believe Upchurch will see most of the goods returned and pay the purchase price for any missing bottles.”
“He had better,” Ann muttered, getting up to pace. “Does Colonel Goddard know of Jules’s involvement?”
Orion had escorted Ann to her doorstep at dawn. They’d spent the night loving, talking, and drowsing, but he had neglected to mention Jules’s hand in the theft of the champagne—if he’d been aware of it.
“He should know,” Mr. Dorning said, “but the champagne isn’t the half of it, Miss Pearson. You haven’t been to the Coventry today, have you?”
“Not yet. I planned to look in on Hannah this afternoon.” Orion was paying a call on Deschamps this morning, and then he’d promised Ann he would call on her too. They had more to discuss.
Much more.
“We saw firsthand what happens in the kitchen when you aren’t there,” Mrs. Dorning said. “Pandemonium wrapped in chaos tied up with mayhem. Hannah and Henry were of more use than Jules or his so-called sous-chef. That the guests were fed at all is only because you left instructions and set enough of a good example that some of the staff could carry on in the face of utter uproar.”
The Dornings had declined a tea tray, which was fortunate, because at that moment, Ann was so muddled, she could not have managed the sugar tongs.
“The staff works hard,” she said, resuming her seat. “Jules is truly leaving?”
“He’ll be on a packet headed for Calais on tonight’s outgoing tide,” Mr. Dorning said. “Will you take the post of chef?”
A year ago, that question would have embodied every hope and aspiration Ann’s heart held. A year ago, she would have answered with an unreserved yes, and part of her still longed to.
“May I have some time to think about it?”
