Page 62 of Miss Delectable
“Permission granted,” Orion said as the wretched beast took up a place on his lap. “My mode of command was to keep the men focused on fighting the enemies rather than among ourselves.”
“Enemies?”
“The opposing army, of course, but also cold, disease, bad rations, mud, rain, heat… Moving an army across Spain was a challenge in itself, much less with the occasional siege, battle, or ambush thrown in. Wellington understood that and was fanatic about supply lines, and about commending every possible soldier who deserved notice in the dispatches.”
Ann toed off her slippers and curled up in her chair. “Jules seldom praises anybody. His words of thanks or encouragement are more precious than rubies.”
“Then he’s an idiot. Praise should be given honestly and often. What happens if you lose your post?”
Another question Ann hadn’t managed to face. “I am in disgrace. Jules can see to it that I never again ply my trade this side of Hadrian’s Wall.”
“You’ve tried to make peace with him?”
A pragmatic solution. “I’ve been making peace with him for more than two years, Orion. Last night, he tripped me when I was carrying a full platter of sliced meat. The platter broke, the meat was ruined, the whole kitchen heard the noise and saw me fall…” That was the part that had cost Ann the most sleep.
“Go on.”
“There I was, on my knees on the tiled floor, and nobody would help me up. Those tiles are hard, the floor was slippery, and my knee hurt. Jules stood by, barking at the footmen to clean up after me, at the scullery maid to see to the mess I’d made, and at me to get back to work slicing more meat. My knee needed ice, my apron was a mess, and yet, I knew—Iknew—that if I so much as put on a clean apron, he’d trip me again, and the next time, I might be carrying a pot of boiling water.”
For a moment, the only sound was the cat’s purring and the soft crackling of the fire. Contented, peaceful sounds. Ann was far from at peace, but this conversation was helping to organize her thoughts.
“What does Jules want from you, Ann?”
“He might simply want me to leave, a vanquished foe who will never trouble another chef with her upstart ambitions. He might also want me to admit defeat, to apologize for my clumsiness, my incompetence, and my stupidity. To meekly accept all the deductions he makes from my pay as a result of my many shortcomings…”
Orion petted the cat, who squinted serenely at Ann. “And if you left, where would you go?”
And therein lay the real problem. “To my aunt. I am not yet of an age to credibly claim spinsterdom. I have some property from my father, but I cannot bide there on my own. Not yet. I’d have to hire a companion, and my aunt’s feelings would be hurt, and she is all the family I have.”
Then too, Melisande was an ally of sorts, disseminating Ann’s recipes and menus in a strata of society Ann had eschewed.
“It seems to me,” Orion said, “that you face two bad options: You can fight on and hope that the next skirmish doesn’t involve a lethal or disfiguring mishap. You can quit and go to your auntie, all your years of hard work, your considerable expertise, for naught. What about going up the chain of command?”
“Jules is my commanding officer.”
“And Dorning is the general in charge of the whole army. Can you go to him?”
That course of action had not occurred to Ann. “Go to him and ask him to fire one of the most renowned French chefs in London? The customers adore Jules, and he makes certain to keep the kitchen drama out of Mr. Dorning’s sight.”
“Are you sure of that? Dorning regularly grouses about the chronic uproar in the Coventry’s kitchen. He intrudes on Jules’s domain from time to time, according to Hannah, and sees the pandemonium first hand. My guess is, if Dorning had to choose between injury to you or turning a blind eye to Jules’s tactics, Jules would be the one looking for work.”
“That is your guess. In your own situation, has going up the chain of command served you well?”
The question earned her half a smile. “Not exactly, but then, if my immediate superior won’t receive me, that leaves only Wellington himself as a court of appeal. His Grace and I have not been introduced. A mere knighthood wasn’t sufficient to effect that miracle.”
And yet, there Orion sat, the picture of calm. “You don’t care?”
“Why should I? I have champagne to make, boys to keep out of trouble, and a lovely woman haunting my dreams.” The half smile became something softer and sweeter. An invitation, perhaps, or a memory of simmering desire.
“You raise an interesting point. I had not considered taking my situation to Mr. Dorning.” That would require assembling witnesses and proving that accidents had instead been ambushes. Not an easy case to make.
“Consider it, and be careful, Annie. If anything were to happen to you…”
“Yes?”
“I would take it very much amiss, and with your permission, I will convey that sentiment to Monsieur Delacourt.” The threat was all the more reassuring for being conveyed softly, between one languid stroke over Boreas’s fur and the next.
“Please don’t antagonize Jules on my behalf,” Ann said. “Not yet. Do you truly dream of me?”
