Page 79 of Miss Delectable
“I am so glad you won’t be working there anymore.”
Ann took the pear dessert recipe from Melisande and added it to the stack of recipes brought for Melisande’s consideration.
“I have learned what I could at the Coventry, and I will surely find another post come spring.” Very likely at a gentleman’s club, where Ann would spend her evenings mashing turnips and beating eggs for meringues.
“You should spend the winter with me, Ann.”
Ann tucked her recipes away in her reticule. They were more precious than rubies, did Melisande but know it.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Well, if you aren’t working,” Melisande said, pouring herself another cup of tea, “then you aren’t earning any coin, and unless you want to dip into savings—the brigadier disapproves of dipping into savings—then you will be hard put to make ends meet. Stay with me, and you can oversee the preparations for the officers’ dinner yourself.”
Clearly, Ann was supposed to be delighted at that prospect. “I am not needed in your kitchen, Aunt.”
“But you could mess about there, nobody the wiser. If you were on hand, I could be certain this dinner would keep people talking until Yuletide. I would like to see more of your recipes, Ann, truly I would. Speaking of Yuletide, there’s always some socializing around the holidays, open houses and at homes, and you could accompany me and see what other hostesses are serving.”
Melisande sipped her tea with the satisfied air of a cat who’d just spied an unguarded bowl of cream.
“You want me to plan a menu for your holiday open house?”
“And my at homes. I have them twice a month, and half the regiment shows up, but I’d like to offer more than sandwiches and dry cake.”
On the one hand, Ann wanted and needed to cook, and Miss Diana and Miss Julia had no appetite for rich or expensive dishes. On the other hand, Ann was a professional with years of experience, and Melisande expected her to work for free and pretend all that effort and expertise was an indulged peculiarity.
An eccentricity.Messing about.
“I will consider your offer,” Ann said, “and thank you for your generosity. I have been careful with my wages and need not pinch pennies just yet.” Then too, Ann liked her life, but for Jules’s petty games.
She liked Miss Diana and Miss Julia, liked being able to trot around London on her own without maids, footmen, or a chaperone. She liked being able to set foot outside her door and, with a single sniff, know what had come from the bakery’s ovens that morning.
She liked very, very much being free to spend time with Orion Goddard in private.
“Ann, I know you think my existence frivolous,” Melisande said. “I have but the one daughter, and she’s too young to need much from me besides kind governesses and the occasional outing to the park. But I do socialize, and I can give you the opportunity to see your cooking from the perspective of those who enjoy a meal.”
Vain, self-absorbed, and shallow Melisande might be, but she wasn’t stupid. “Go on.”
“You spend all this time choosing and testing recipes, then sampling the results,” Melisande said. “You are never seated with the guests to see the impression your dishes make when the footmen set them before the host or hostess. You never experience the aromas at the table, all blending as the wine is poured. You never eat the portions the guests are offered, never assess the whole meal as a progression of courses.”
Ann wanted to argue—she knew her recipes—but Melisande was right. To cook a meal was like directing a play, a very different exercise from sitting in a theater box with friends and enjoying the performance over the bustle and chatter of the pit and gallery.
Melisande had decided that having a free chef for the winter suited her ambitions, while for Ann…
Orion Goddard had made her no promises, and Ann had been very clear with him that larking off to France did not suit her plans.
She wished now she hadn’t been so clear. “I will consider your invitation, Aunt. If you are content with the selections you’ve made for the menu, I will calculate the portions needed to feed thirty for supper. Your cook will have the recipes by tomorrow.”
Melisande’s frustration showed in a pinching of her lips. “You are so stubborn, Ann. I despair of you. I offer you an opportunity to frolic to your heart’s content in my kitchen, to make connections in polite society, and you turn up difficult. What is so blessed precious about chopping leeks all day that you’d hesitate to join this household?”
My freedom is so precious. The respect of the staff at the Coventry. Access to a kitchen larger than all your public rooms put together. The privilege of enjoying Orion Goddard’s intimate attentions without fretting that I’ll cause a scandal.
So much that was so dear hinged on remaining independent from Melisande’s household. “I will take you up on your offer to attend the dinner, Melisande. Let’s start there.” Ann rose, lest Melisande wheedle and browbeat her into a greater concession.
Melisande got to her feet as well. “You have suitable attire for a formal dinner?”
“I am your spinster niece who has been rusticating for years, as far as your friends know. I’m sure I can dress myself adequately to uphold that fiction.”
“I will have to find another fellow to make up the numbers,” Melisande said, walking Ann to the door. “The brigadier might know somebody.”
