Page 19 of One Night for Seduction
Diana grinned to herself. Apparently servants were just as unremarkable in taverns as they were in the neighboring shops.
She was not reckless enough to enter the public salons, of course. Even though her cousin was home abed, and the Duke of Colehaven was off chaperoning his sister, it was not worth the risk.
Besides, she hadn’t infiltrated the tavern to gawp at its clientele, but rather to research its owner.
If Diana had learned anything in her five years of firsthand investigations, it was that the measure of a man was not in his public persona, but rather in how he conducted his business. She longed to slide her journal from her basket and scribble surreptitious notes as she inspected every element.
Thus far, Diana had every reason to be impressed. With the exception of the absent Jimmy, every member of staff was at his post and performing his job admirably. The shelves were well-stocked and neatly organized, each post designed for a specific position or task.
She glanced over as two maids entered, apparently having just come from market. With brisk efficiency, they set several heavy baskets on a narrow kitchen table and began to unload their bounty.
One of them furrowed a quizzical brow toward Diana. “Who’re you?”
“Mrs. Flanders,” she improvised with authority, as if that answered the question. She arched her brows. “Were you able to purchase all the necessary supplies?”
The maid nodded, her mind clearly on other tasks. “The usual, plus provisions for tonight.”
“What’s tonight?” Diana asked. Now that the maids assumed she’d been charged with inspecting the kitchen, she could not allow such a singular opportunity to go to waste.
The maid looked at her as if she’d lost her mind. “Scotch collops, veal, roast wigeons, stewed celery, sweetbreads, peas, and tartlets. It’s Thursday.”
“Of course,” Diana murmured.
The elder maid pushed a square of parchment in her direction. “Check it yourself.”
Diana accepted the paper.
She immediately pulled her weights and scales from her basket and placed them on the table. One by one, she weighed each of the purchases and compared the results with the expected weight indicated on the paper.
Most of the items balanced perfectly.
Three did not.
“Where did you get this cream?” she demanded. “And this barley? And these peas?”
The younger maid turned over the paper to reveal a crude map on the other side.
“Not everyone’s there all the time, but there’s the best peas—” She pointed to a small X. “—and the best barley—” She pointed to another X. “—and the cheapest cream.”
No wonder the cream was inexpensive. The vendor had given the maid short measure, either by placing a surreptitious finger on the scale, or having an incorrectly calibrated scale in the first place.
The peas likewise fell under the desired weight, but the barley was slightly over. Either the vendor had been generous to two pretty maids, or the person he swindled every day was himself.
Diana copied the map to her journal and added appropriate notations. She would ensure her future list included each of these vendors. Regardless of whether the Duke of Colehaven proved to be the sort of man a woman could converse with about weight distribution and mathematical accuracy, Diana could not allow him or his kitchen staff to be cheated out of a single pea.
She returned the slip of paper to the maids just as the sound of loud laughter filled the other half of the tavern.
“Midday, then,” the elder maid muttered without glancing at a time piece.
The younger one nodded in commiseration. “Queue starts at half past eleven.”
“Their Graces will be here within the hour.” The elder maid pointed at the celery. “Start chopping.”
Diana’s spine snapped up straight in alarm.
Their Graces could only mean the tavern’s owners, the original wicked dukes: Colehaven and Eastleigh. Diana had never met the Duke of Eastleigh, but she could not risk still being present when the Duke of Colehaven arrived.
Yet the voices that spilled through the open doorway leading from the kitchen to the primary salon were impossible to resist. She would not make a return visit to the tavern. This was her last chance to observe firsthand the character of its clientele.
