Page 93 of Miss Delectable
That profundity merited a toast to smooth fig jam, and then the toasts to the ladies began, the toasts to His Majesty, Wellington, and fallen comrades having already been dispensed with. Rye dutifully lifted his glass and pretended to sip, all the while calculating how many bottles of wine were being consumed and what profit could have been made off them if Upchurch had deigned to place his wine order with Orion.
A petty sentiment. By the time the dessert course arrived, Rye’s only thought was to say his good-nights and take full advantage of a long, slow carriage ride back to Ann’s house.
The world’s best pear compote was the finale to a grand meal, the flaming brandy sauce earning a round of applause.
“Melisande is a genius at this sort of thing,” Emily Bainbridge said. “I vow her dinners would put the great Carême to shame, and she concocts all these recipes herself. To our Melisande and her exquisite menus!”
A round ofhear, hearandto Melisandefollowed with the more inebriated banging spoons against glasses and fists upon the table.
Across the table, Ann’s expression became a blank mask. Rye had seen the same shock on the faces of men wounded in battle, when the mind could not grasp the reality of the blow despite both pain and welling blood proving that a wound had been suffered.
The din died down, and Rye decided to fight one more battle before he withdrew to France.
“Mrs. Bainbridge,” he said, rising with his wineglass in hand, “I would never argue with a lady, but you are much mistaken. The recipe for this most delicious sweet, in fact all the recipes we’ve enjoyed tonight, are the creations of Melisande’s niece, Miss Ann Pearson. I know this because I have seen the recipes written in Miss Pearson’s own hand. I’ve had the pleasure of sampling this very compote on a previous occasion, and I can assure you, Miss Pearson has put much consideration and effort into the food we’ve enjoyed this evening. To Ann Pearson, ladies and gentlemen, the true culinary genius.”
He lifted his glass and waited for the other guests to do likewise. Only then did he take a taste of the champagne served to accompany the final course of the meal.
* * *
The fine meal,one of the best Ann had ever devised, sat in her belly like so much bad ale. All heads turned in her direction, save for Uncle Horace, who was glowering dire retribution at Orion.
“Perhaps you are confused, Colonel Goddard,” Mrs. Bainbridge said. “I know for a fact that Melisande puts enormous effort into planning these dinners. She has even assisted me with a menu or two. If there’s a culinary genius at this table, then that honor goes to Mrs. Upchurch. Tell the colonel he has misspoken, Melisande.”
Part of Ann was reeling under the realization that Melisande had played her for a fool. For years, Melisande had apparently taken credit for Ann’s work, all the while insisting that Ann should leave the role of professional cook. Years when Ann had been putting in eighteen-hour days, subsisting on limited wages, enduring Jules’s spite, and Melisande’s sniping.
How could you do this to me?
But then, Ann knew how.
What did Melisande have? One child she visited in the nursery, this exceedingly tiresome company, an aging busybody of a husband… No wages, no freedom, no rogue officer willing to take on the regiment for the sake of her compote. What Melisande and the Emily Bainbridges of the world had was an insipid, bland, tepid frustration of a life, and they were supposed to be happy with it and even grateful.
Those thoughts swirled through Ann’s mind in the time it took Mrs. Bainbridge to offer her taunt. Emily Bainbridge was the mean girl at boarding school, the young lady who convened the gossip sessions in the retiring room, and the regimental wife who caused more trouble than Napoleon.
A wise general was generous in victory. Orion had said that. If Ann claimed ownership of the recipes, Emily Bainbridge would win another skirmish, while Melisande would be humiliated before the regiment.
“Perhaps you can shed light on this conundrum, Miss Pearson,” Mrs. Bainbridge went on. “We are all agog to know whose gustatory expertise to commend.”
If Ann took credit for the menu, she would lose the family she had. She wanted and deserved to have her ability publicly acknowledged, but was it justice to humiliate a woman because she longed for some recognition in life? Because a husband and child weren’t the sum of her ambitions?
“Colonel Goddard is correct that the initial ideas are mine,” Ann said, “but you are also correct, Mrs. Bainbridge, in that Aunt Melisande and I collaborate. I send my recipes to Aunt before I show them to anybody else, and the first to prepare them for company dinners is her cook, under her supervision.
“One cannot simply toss together ingredients,” Ann went on, “and know a dish or a meal will be successful. A sense of the guests, of their preferences and tastes, is invaluable when planning any menu. One has to know what’s popular this Season, what has been overdone by other hostesses. Aunt Melisande has an instinct for such matters, while all I know are the sauces and spices. We make a formidable team. Uncle, perhaps you would lead us in a toast to Aunt Melisande.”
Emily Bainbridge looked as if somebody had flung mud on her pinafore, while Orion was beaming at Ann.Beamingat her. When Uncle had offered a long-winded panegyric to Melisande’s myriad virtues, all glasses were lifted, and Melisande blushed prettily.
Ann had hoped that by having Orion included on the guest list, she could see him sent off to France with some vestige of regimental acceptance. If her wildest dreams were to be exceeded, perhaps a gracious welcome by his fellow officers would prevent the need for him to decamp to France altogether.
The sly glances and sniffy asides weren’t being aimed at Orion at the moment, but for Ann, that wasn’t enough.
Uncle resumed his seat amid much cheering and smiling.
Ann dove into the moment before another tipsy cavalier could offer an even more long-winded toast. “Uncle, while we are commending deserving members of the company, we must compliment you on your choice of champagne. Colonel Goddard’s wine is by far the best of its kind I’ve tasted, and I have tasted many.”
Lieutenant Haines, who had imbibed his way to a state of great jollity, raised his glass. “To Colonel Goddard’s champagne. Best thing to come out of France, if you ask me.”
Up and down the table, glasses were raised once again, though in Uncle’s case, the gesture was a bit slow and devoid of conviviality.
Orion’s great good cheer had also left the table, for he was peering at his glass as if it contained wormwood and gall. Melisande called for another round of champagne before the ladies left the gentlemen to their port, and still, Orion remained silent.
