Page 24 of Her Tiger of a Duke
She pushed the matter aside, choosing instead to focus on her own plans.
CHAPTER 10
When Owen woke up that morning last thing he expected was to be slipping into his kitchens in the middle of the night.
He had not anticipated doing so with the lady he had sworn to keep his distance from. He knew that it was for the best to keep portions of himself and his life separate from Beatrice, for no good could come from him staying by her side, but he could not help himself. What he had expected to be a hobby of hers quickly revealed itself to him as a talent, and he wanted to see more of it.
And so, he stood hip to hip with her by the ovens, allowing the warmth from the burning logs to caress them. The room smelled of sugar and remnants of their dinner, and Beatrice had already set to work, making two separate stations for them. She pointed to the simpler one, the area where fewer impliments were collected, with an outstretched arm.
“That one is yours.”
He took his place and looked at the ingredients before him. He was quite ashamed to admit that he had never used anything of this sort in his life, and so the sight of two white powders, butter, and milk, was unnerving. He had been confident when he asked to join her, but now that he was here, he did not feel as assured of his abilities.
“You look terrified,” she giggled. “Fear not, I will help you.”
Owen looked at what surrounded Beatrice, and he hardly knew what some of the things were. He knew that her sweets were intricate, but he had incorrectly thought that she had done it with very simple ingredients. She had already set to work, and when Owen looked down, he realized that she had given him a list, along with detailed instructions.
He began by mixing butter and sugar with a spoon. Thankfully, he was a muscular man, for it proved more difficult than he expected. He beat them with a spoon, only to turn and see that Beatrice had already finished the first few steps in her own process.
“How long should I stir this mixture?” he asked.
“As long as you please. The more you combine them, the finer the texture will be.”
And so, he continued.
“How long have you been doing this?” he continued as he stirred. “Baking, I mean.”
“Since I was a little girl,” she explained as she measured some rosewater carefully. “My parents, they– well, they were not always happy with one another, nor with me. There were moments when the walls of my home rocked, and the only way to avoid the clamor was to hide away in the kitchens. I was fortunate to have a cook who took pity on me. I learned everything from her, and eventually I began to try new things too.”
Owen listened to her story and wondered if anyone else knew of her familial struggles. He wondered why she trusted him enough to tell him, too, because it was usually something that brought great shame upon a person.
“I am sorry,” he comforted. “Having met your parents, I did not expect such discord to exist.”
“What did you think of them?”
“If I am being honest, I did not like them very much. Your father gave me the impression that he did not consider your happiness a priority and your mother did not seem to care about what you wanted at all. They were both pleased that you were going to marry a duke, but as for how you felt about me and the match we made, they s struck me as being rather unfeeling and callous.”
“That is because they are,” she laughed sadly. “You can continue with the recipe now; it looks good.”
He added some lemon zest, and then added the flour, kneading until a pliable dough formed.
“Your mother seemed different today, though.”
“She always is, when my father is absent. She is more of a mother to me, and I appreciate that greatly, but I do wish that she was able to treat me that way when my father was present, too.”
“Well, not all people deserve children, even if children all deserve parents.”
“You sound as though you are speaking from experience.”
“Indeed, I am,” he nodded, rolling out his dough. “My father was a cold man, and he had great expectations of me. Every Duke of Pantheris is expected to be better than the last, and if that means surpassing perfection then that is what must be done. Nothing that I did was ever good enough, and yet I could not hate him.”
“Because you knew that he was doing it out of love,” she mused, assuming correctly.
She leaned over to help him, and when her fingers brushed against the back of his hand, he felt her warmth. She looked up at him with a kind smile and then handed him a glass to cut out the shapes.
“I forgot to write this, but you must lightly prick them all with a fork. It helps them to bake evenly.”
Owen did so and then prepared the tin. Beatrice, meanwhile, was only halfway through hers. She was making intricate petals from sugar paste, and though he had felt that he worked enough with his simple biscuits, he had a sudden urge to assist her.
