Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
“Goodness, lad!” Elspeth giggled, trying to salvage the sludgy mixture in the wooden bowl. “Perhaps a bit less sugar, young patissier!”
“I am doing my best, My Lady!” Timothy pleaded as he grabbed a spoon from the counter and used it to scoop more flour from the jar. “I have never baked a thing before in my whole life! This is so exciting!”
“Well, I think ye need more liquid and less dry ingredients,” Elspeth said, gesturing to John on the other side of the counter with her spoon as she glanced at the recipe they were trying to follow. “Laddie, pour a dollop of fresh milk, and hopefully we can get somethin’ that resembles dough!”
“Here you are, My Lady.” John delicately poured the milk into the bowl. “Does that look like enough?”
“Indeed, John! All right, lads!” Elspeth’s voice rang out. “Now, we stir. Gently, now! Matthew and Thomas, are ye doin’ all right over there?”
“Yes, M’Lady,” the boys chorused from the other side of the kitchen, where they worked on the royal icing at a large wooden table.
If only Mrs. Whipple could see the state of the kitchen now.
Little hands, powdered white up to the elbows, plunged into bowls. Flour billowed about like fluffy clouds, catching the afternoon sun as it streamed through the tall kitchen windows.
A shriek of laughter erupted as Thomas, the freckle-faced boy of nine, launched a spoonful of batter across the room. It landed with a soft splat on Timothy’s nose, who simply blinked and scraped the mess off with a sticky finger and flicked it back into the bowl.
I daenae think that is edible. Good thing this is a trial bake! It may as well be the mudpies the sweet lassies and laddies made in the gardens of Inverhall!
The clatter was relentless, but despite the madness, Elspeth felt at home for the first time since she had left Inverhall. She paused for a moment, leaning against the cold marble counter, and took it all in.
The gleaming kitchen, usually reserved for proper culinary practices under the sharp direction of Arrowfell’s chef, Monsieur Henri, was an absolute battlefield.
She looked at the spilled spices, half-filled cake tins, and a dusting of sugar that made every surface look like a winter landscape.
The air, thick with the scent of vanilla, butter, and a certain chaotic energy, was alive.
She closed her eyes for a moment and imagined the faces of the children, their cheeks flushed with pride, when they presented their wobbly, slightly lopsided creations at the upcoming event.
The thought made the chaos not just amusing, but also sweet. Sweeter even than the confections they were trying to make. She could only hope that the attendees would concur.
She pushed off the counter and waded back into the fray, her hands reaching for the bowl of royal icing the boys were working on at the other table. With her face smudged with dough, she laughed as Matthew proceeded to dump an entire bag of sugar into a mixing bowl.
“Well, we’d better start over again with a new batch,” she said, glancing back at the recipe.
“Good thing this is only a rehearsal! Perhaps I should have listened to Mrs. Whipple when she said to have the staff help, to give ye more proper instruction. But I cannae imagine Monsieur Henri bein’ able to speak to ye slowly enough. Plus, I am as stubborn as a—”
“As a what, Lady Inverhall?” Hugo asked as he rounded the corner, entering the kitchen with his hands tucked behind his back, looming over the scene.
Upon spotting him, a devilish gleam entered Thomas’s eyes. Elspeth could see the cogs in his mind turn before he threw a handful of flour at him. It landed squarely on Hugo’s nose with all the force of a cannonball.
Elspeth gasped, lifting her hands to her mouth.
Silence filled the room as everyone looked at Hugo, waiting for their cue. Yet, he stood there, still as a statue.
This cannae be real.
Unable to maintain her composure, Elspeth burst into laughter. It was a clear, joyous sound that echoed through the kitchen.
It was the first time in so long that she felt the release only a good, hard belly laugh could bring. It was the kind of laugh that started small and turned into a raucous cackle, which was only amplified by the laughter of the boys.
“I do—I do believe,” Elspeth gasped, trying to catch her breath. “Ye have a bit o’ flour on yer nose, Yer Grace,” she managed between giggles as she approached Hugo.
“I believe you are right, My Lady,” Hugo said, straight-faced. “Does it do anything for my complexion?”
Then, a small smirk formed on his lips, which slowly became a smile, revealing his perfectly white teeth.
Elspeth realized then that in all those weeks, she had never seen it. Not once. It was the most handsome smile she had ever beheld.
Her lips almost parted wide as his smile grew, until she heard the most beautiful sound in the world—his hearty, happy laughter. It was deep and resonant, pleasant and warm. The boys cackled with him, wiping tears from their eyes.
Elspeth walked up to him, her hips swaying. When she reached him, she lifted a flour-dusted finger, meaning to brush it over his nose.
But his hand gently closed over hers. The unexpected warmth of his touch knocked the air from her lungs. His fingers brushed her own, just a simple contact, yet it sent a shiver up her arm to her chest.
For a moment, everything else vanished.
The clatter of pans, the laughter, the scent of sugar and spice… all blurred into nothing but him. She could feel her pulse fluttering against his palm, far too quick, far too eager.
The air seemed to tighten, draw them nearer, until it felt as though the smallest breath might close the space between them. Her lips parted, a word forming and dying on her tongue, because what word could match this strange, dizzying ache unfurling inside her?
“Would you like some assistance, Lady Inverhall?”
“Erm, assistance? What do ye mean?” she asked breathlessly, overwhelmed by his proximity.
His gaze dropped to her lips, and he leaned in, slowly, irresistibly. She hung on his every movement, no matter how small or slow. It was as if time itself began to slow with her desire for him.
“With the baking,” he said with another smile that made her knees tremble. “I have little experience, but I am good with instructions. And it does seem that things have gotten quite out of hand in here.”
“Oh yes! Please, Your Grace!” John called, taking a spoon to show the consistency of his royal icing. “I would be so grateful if you could tell me whether this tastes all right.”
“I would be honored,” Hugo said as he approached him.
He took the spoon from John and held it up to his nose to take a sniff. He gave an approving nod, then pressed the spoon to his lips. He took a tentative lick, then popped the spoon in his mouth.
“This is not good,” he said gently, shaking his head.
“Oh no!” Timothy cried. “I told you we would make a muddle of it! A dreadful muddle! ‘Tis almost as bad as when we tried to mend the broken window!”
“You did not let me finish, young man,” Hugo chided gently. “What I was going to say is that it is not good; it is absolutely delicious! I think if we salvage the dough for the cakes, we will be in great shape. Well done, John.”
“Oh, that is capital news!” John exclaimed, grinning at the other boys. “Do you hear? His Grace favors my icing!”
“Come, Lady Inverhall.” Hugo dipped the spoon into the icing and wiggled it in the air. “Tell me what you think of this.”
Elspeth stepped closer, and before she could think better of it, he lifted the spoon to her lips. Heat rose to her cheeks at the intimacy of it, the way his gaze lingered, the quiet expectation in his eyes, as though this simple act held some deeper meaning.
Her lips parted, almost against her will, and she felt the brush of cool metal as he slipped the spoon into her mouth.
For a breathless instant, all she was aware of was him: the nearness of his hand, the intensity of his gaze, the ridiculous pounding of her heart.
Then, the taste registered: sweet, heavy with sugar, but smooth in texture.
Icing. She was sampling icing, nothing more.
The boys had done well, and better yet, Hugo was there to witness it, to encourage them, to—heaven help her—laugh and have fun.
The realization softened her, warmth spreading through her chest, and a smile she could not suppress curved her lips.
“This is delightful,” she remarked softly. “Thank ye, Yer Grace.”
“Boys, why don’t you take a turn in the courtyard for a short while? I would like to have a word with Lady Inverhall, before we begin again.”
The boys tore off their aprons and took off into the hallway with a gallop.
Elspeth heard the door swing open and shut as they ran into the courtyard, hoots and hollers in their wake.
I can only imagine what those little goblins are up to.
“Now, about this pressing matter, Lady Inverhall,” Hugo began as he braced a hand on the counter, backing her up against the cool marble.
“Aye, Yer Grace.” She gulped.
Her breath hitched, her eyes fluttering shut, anticipating the kiss she prayed would come. That she needed to come.
“I…” he muttered, his voice deep and velvety and so, so inviting.
The air between them felt taut, trembling with promise. She drew in a deep breath, his scent filling her—clean and piney, threaded with the faintest warmth of spice.
Her lips parted, the world narrowing to the heat of his nearness, the brush of his breath against her own. Every nerve in her body prickled with awareness.
The moment seemed inevitable, irresistible.
Then, a sharp, insistent knock sounded at the kitchen door. The sound broke the spell like a stone dropped into still water.
They parted at once, too abruptly, as if scorched.
Elspeth stumbled back a step, her hand rising instinctively to her throat, where her pulse thundered like a secret she could not hide.
The kitchen returned to her all at once—the flour scattered across the table, the scent of sugar, the muffled voices of the boys outside—but she could scarcely gather her thoughts.
She grabbed a dish towel with trembling fingers and pressed it to the nape of her neck, hoping to cool the heat that flooded her skin.
Yet the cloth did nothing to soothe the ache that lingered, the electric awareness of how near she had been to tasting him, to yielding utterly to the kiss she had longed for.
And though she willed her composure to return, her lips still tingled as though the kiss had already happened, imprinted upon her all the same.
“Lady Inverhall, please pardon the intrusion. There is a caller for you in the receiving room!” Mr. Channing, the butler, announced.
“I wasnae expectin’ Miss Caruthers from the orphanage for another two hours,” Elspeth said softly. “The lads are gettin’ some fresh air outside.”
“I’m afraid it’s not Miss Caruthers, My Lady. It is a Lord Middleby,” he clarified with a raised eyebrow as he looked at the scene. “Is everything quite all right in here?”
“Who is Lord Middleby?” Thomas asked, poking his head around the door behind the butler. “A suitor for you, Lady Inverhall?”
I will chastise the lad later for spyin’ on me.
Hugo stiffened, his head snapping up. He looked at her, his expression hardening. Elspeth, startled, pulled away and made for the door, a flush rising to her cheeks. She knew that look.
“Lord Middleby?” Hugo’s eyes darkened briefly. “I didn’t expect you to receive callers this afternoon, Lady Inverhall. With the orphanage in your charge, it seems hardly the most prudent moment. What prompted this?”
Elspeth, still flustered, quickly pulled back her shoulders and smoothed down her apron. She combed back the wisps of hair that had fallen loose with her fingers, trying to gather her thoughts.
If I am to succeed in this society, I must keep in mind everything the Dowager Duchess has taught me. Be polite and courteous, confident and poised, even if yer heart isnae in it. I could do worse than Lord Middleby.
“I… I suppose he is makin’ a social call, Yer Grace. I dinnae ken he would come, or else I would have…”
“Shall I tell him to come another time?” Mr. Channing suggested softly. “I could inform him that you are indisposed, My Lady. You do not have to entertain if that is not to your liking.”
I like this one. It would be better to receive Lord Middleby at a more appropriate time, if I must at all.
“You will do nothing of the sort, Channing,” Hugo interjected, his jaw tight. “Please see to it that Mrs. Whipple supervises the children until Lady Inverhall is done with her caller.”
“Very well, Your Grace,” the butler said, before scurrying away.
Hugo led Elspeth out of the chaotic kitchen to a small receiving room off the main foyer, his hand pressed firmly against the small of her back.
“Let us go receive your guest, Lady Inverhall.”