Page 58 of Love & Letter Charms
The woman’s eyebrows rose slightly, though her expression remained kind. “No intrusion at all, my lady, though it is rather unusual to find one of the Crown Court ladies in the kitchens. Is there something you require? I can have it sent to your chambers directly.”
“No, nothing like that,” Aurelise said quickly. “I was merely exploring the palace. At home, you see, I sometimes … that is …” She hesitated, then decided honesty might serve her better than invention. “At Rowanwood House, I sometimes visit the kitchens when social events become overwhelming. To … well, to escape,” she admitted. “Our head cook occasionally allows me to assist with small tasks. I find it … soothing.”
The woman’s expression softened with understanding. “Ah, I see. Well, my lady, while we’re delighted by your interest, I’mafraid it wouldn’t be entirely proper for you to linger here. If anyone were to discover?—”
“Marvella!” a deep voice called from deeper in the kitchen. A moment later, a portly man with an impressive mustache emerged, wiping his hands on his apron. “Who is our visitor? Ah! One of the young ladies from court, I see.”
“Yes, cook,” the woman—Marvella, apparently—replied with a small curtsy. “Lady Rowanwood was just expressing an interest in our work.”
“Oh, yes, I—good morning,” Aurelise said, flushing further. “My apologies for the intrusion. I only meant—at home, I sometimes help in our kitchens. Just small things, of course. I realize it’s rather … unusual.”
The head cook’s bushy eyebrows rose almost to his hairline. “Indeed? How extraordinary.” He studied Aurelise for a moment, his expression cycling through surprise, curiosity, and what appeared to be carefully concealed amusement. “Well, we can hardly turn away someone with a genuine appreciation for the culinary arts, can we? If you truly wish to observe our work, my lady, perhaps you might care to assist with the dream-tarts for this afternoon’s tea service?”
Before she could think better of it, Aurelise found herself following him deeper into the kitchen, her companions trailing behind her with varying degrees of enthusiasm. Thimble darted excitedly from station to station, asking rapid-fire questions about every dish in preparation, while Spark maintained a dignified hover near Aurelise’s shoulder, occasionally offering dry commentary on the kitchen’s organization.
The head cook, apparently amused by the novelty of having a Crown Court lady in his kitchen, assigned her to help with piping delicate honey-cream swirls onto tiny tarts. He regretted the decision almost immediately.
Within minutes, several of Aurelise’s tarts looked less like elegant confections and more like collapsing meringue towers. One swirl resembled a startled snail; another listed alarmingly to the side as though attempting escape. The cook gave a strangled noise and hurried to intercept her piping bag before further casualties occurred.
“My lady,” he said with admirable restraint, surveying the sugary devastation, “I do believe the tarts have suffered enough.”
Aurelise flushed scarlet, then began to laugh. “You might have warned me you were assigning me the most difficult task in the kitchen.”
“On the contrary,” he said dryly, already attempting to salvage the survivors, “I thought it one of the safer options.”
To prevent further tragedy, she was promptly reassigned to the decidedly less artistic task of whipping up fresh batches of honey-cream. It was safer for everyone involved, though considerably messier.
She left the kitchen an hour later with honey-cream still clinging stubbornly to her fingers, her thoughts torn between composing her next letter to R—she would have to mention the honey—and the memory of a prince in the herb garden, laughing in the sunlight, utterly unaware of her presence.
~
Dear R,
Dare number two has been conquered, though I use that term quite generously considering the minor disasters that accompanied my efforts. Yes. I have successfully explored somewhere new and brought back evidence.
What, you may ask, was the crowning triumph of my grand exploration? The thrilling destination revealed at the end of my daring adventure? The kitchens. Yes, R, the kitchens. I can practically see you laughing already—trust me to find the most domestic possible interpretation of ‘explore somewhere new.’
But, in my defense, this particular kitchen belongs to an intimidatingly grand residence where I’m currently a guest, and navigating its maze of copper pots and intriguing enchanted implements (never mind actually finding my way there in the first place) felt like quite the accomplishment.
The staff regarded me with polite bewilderment. A lady? In their domain? Preposterous! But somehow I managed to convince them to tolerate my presence. Though I suspect my future with decorative piping has been permanently terminated after the mess I made. (See my opening statement about ‘minor disasters.’)
But it was … lovely, actually. For a short while, I almost felt as though I were back home, safe from all the expectations of polite society. Certainly more at ease than I’ve been in any of the beautifully appointed drawing rooms and salons where I’m supposed to belong here. I can only imagine the horror on my hosts’ faces if they discovered I prefer their kitchen to their meticulously decorated reception rooms.
Oh! And I’ve discovered the music room. Well, one of what I suspect are multiple music rooms in this absurdly vast place, but this particular one might be the coziest I’ve ever encountered. I thought nothing could rival my beloved pianoforte at home, but I fear it shall be devastatingly jealous when I confess to the passionate affair I’ve begun with an absolutely magnificent elderfae instrument here.
So that’s three sanctuaries now: the kitchen, the music room, and that rooftop terrace where I became far too intimately acquainted with a flowerbed. Three perfectly acceptable hiding places, none of which feature ever-blooming roses and their perpetual judgment. (Though between you and me, I’m beginning to miss their predictable disapproval.)
There. Two dares completed from your outrageous list. Likely the only two I can manage without causing irreparable damage to my reputation. Though I suppose dare number five wouldn’t be entirely impossible … And number seven, while likely challenging to accomplish, does have a certain noble quality to it.
Yours in (very cautious) adventure,
L
P.S. What evidence of this exploration did I bring back, you may wonder? Honey. On my fingers. And since you were not here to assist with the situation as you so scandalously offered after my last honey-related incident, I had to manage thecleanup myself. (And yes, I am absolutely determined that this time it shall be YOU who blushes.)
Dearest L,
Forgive me. I need a moment. Several moments. I’ve had to read your letter multiple times to confirm my eyes weren’t deceiving me, and I’m still not entirely convinced I haven’t conjured the whole thing from my fevered imagination.
