Page 83 of Miss Delectable
This was not where and how Ann had envisioned having this discussion, which showed a poverty of imagination on her part. For Orion Goddard, intimacy was not only of the body, but also of the heart. To deal with difficult matters in bed was of a piece with his notion of an intimate friendship.
I will miss him until I’m too old to boil my own water for tea.
“Jules can ruin my prospects,” Ann said, curling down onto Orion’s chest. “He can make it so that not even the gentleman’s clubs will hire me, and no family of any standing will let me so much as wash their pots. He can do this even if he leaves the Coventry, but he won’t leave the Coventry.”
“Because you have whipped that regimental kitchen into shape, and it more or less runs itself.”
Well, yes.“As much as any kitchen can run itself. I’ll give Pierre copies of my more popular recipes before I leave, and Jules has said he’ll write me a glowing character.”
“But he hasn’t yet, has he?” Orion posed the question gently and began stroking Ann’s back in slow caresses.
“No, he has not.” Ann swallowed past a lump in her throat. To speak of leaving made it more real and made the grief bigger.
Orion muttered something about applyingmes poingsto Jules’s arrogant, Frenchnezand deliveringun coup de pied rapideto Jules’s presuming arse.
“You will not use your fists on his nose or deliver any swift kicks,” Ann said, torn between amusement and despair. “Jules will insult your champagne, and he can make those insults matter.”
“I hate this, Annie. Jules is like an officer unfit for command. He turns the unit upside down with his ineptitude and fragile self-regard, takes responsibility for none of the mayhem he causes, and never suffers any consequences. Those who try to correct him are insubordinate, and who should determine their punishment but the very fool whose incompetence necessitated the blunt speech.”
This tirade suggested army life had had tribulations both on and off the battlefield. “Jules is a French chef, and a certain high-handedness is expected from him.” Nobody ever said why that should be, why arrogance and meanness had any place in an art devoted to nourishing the body and soul.
“To blazes with him, then, and the next kitchen you run will be amazed at their good fortune.”
A bedamned tear slipped down Ann’s cheek, because Orion’s confidence in her ability hurt that much. Nobody else had ever offered her such support, and what might she have done with that kind of encouragement?
“That’s the problem,” Ann said. “This is the wrong time of year to be looking for work as a cook, and without that character, I will be lucky to find a post at a lowly coaching inn.” Though what would be the point of employment in a kitchen that never served anything but dubious soup, bread adulterated into inedibility, and cheap ham?
Orion’s hands went still. “Jules needs to meet with an accident.”
How I do love you.“He can be a chef without cooking, Orion. He doesn’t cook as it is. He prowls around the kitchen, tasting this, sniffing that, and cuffing the unsuspecting potboy between trips to the wine cellar. Jules purposely tripped a footman while I watched and then threatened to make the boy pay for the broken glasses.”
“Then you are well away from him. Don’t cry, Annie. He’s not worth crying over. You will find another post come spring. If it’s one thing Mayfair does during the Season, it’s consume food.”
Jules was not worth crying over, and spring would come around again, both were true, but not much comfort. “I feel like a failure.”
And that admission provoked more tears. Orion held her, he used the corner of the sheet to wipe at her cheeks, and he stroked her shoulders and back with exquisite tenderness. Ann did not feel better, exactly, when she regained her composure, but she felt less alone with her misery.
“You are not a failure,” Orion said. “You are making a tactical re-evaluation of the terrain. Smart officers always reassess battle plans as the fight progresses, and you are no different. I’ll be doing some of that myself over the coming months, which we can discuss later. You can spend the winter cooking for Miss Julia and Miss Diana and impressing all of their friends.”
Ann sat up, though she knew her cheeks were splotchy and her hair was a fright. “My aunt has said she will introduce me to her friends, and they are all hostesses of some repute, at least in military circles. I have a silly hope that I can offer the ladies guidance regarding menus and presentation and that they will regard that advice as worth paying for.”
Orion brushed her hair back over her shoulder. “If you were a fussy, arrogant Frenchman, they would start catfights over who got to hire you first.”
“But I am simply Ann Pearson, spinster at large, and thus I hesitate to join my aunt’s household, even temporarily. I fear I will become the dull companion she longs to make me into and never escape that fate. She and her friends will flatter me into giving up my recipes, and I will have nothing to show for years of hard work.”
And all over again, Ann would be that schoolgirl longing for escape, longing to read cookbooks by the hour.
Orion levered up to wrap her in a hug. “You are thinking of joining the Upchurch household?”
“For a time, if I must.”
His arms tightened around her. “Perhaps that’s for the best, but, Annie, that is one place where I could not court you, even if I were to remain in London.”
Ann pushed him to his back and pinned his wrists. “Explain yourself.”
He kissed her, sweetly and lingeringly, the note of farewell breaking Ann’s heart. “Perhaps we’d best get dressed, Annie my love, and fortify ourselves with some apple tart.”
Ann climbed off the bed, though for once, the prospect of sampling a delectable treat held no appeal.
