Chapter Nine
There was no doubt in Eve’s mind that the inn they had just stepped into was abandoned. Heavy burlap hung over several of the windows. The tables and chairs that remained were draped with dust cloths, while the well-worn wooden floor was covered with dust.
The furniture covers would have been placed immediately upon shuttering the inn, making that an unreliable indicator of how long ago the doors were closed. And dust accumulated quickly—the floors and window frames at Tulleyloch grew dusty within days if the family wasn’t vigilant. It was difficult to say if the place had been empty for a month or year or even more.
Mrs. Seymour eyed their surroundings with a look of absolute horror. Nia’s expression was far more evaluatory.
“This inn’s not currently in use, is it?” Eve asked Duke.
“It is not. The man I suspect was once the innkeeper lives in the small cottage beside the inn. He is the one who allowed us in, but he is old and seems frail, which is likely why the inn is shuttered.”
“How are we to stay here?” Mrs. Seymour wrinkled her nose in distaste. “The beds, if there are any, aren’t likely to have linens. There is dust and dirt. The fireplaces, no doubt, smoke. And who will cook and tend to the beds and all the other things that must be done?”
Eve met Nia’s eye. Cooking and tending to beds and such was part of their life every day, though it was not an aptitude the ton found acceptable. Revealing their extensive experience was risky. But spending the next couple of days in either an inn that was not functioning or a stationary carriage in a downpour were not acceptable options either.
Eve waved Nia aside. In a low voice, she said, “If you’ll go upstairs and assess the situation in the bedchambers, I’ll evaluate the state of the kitchen and larder.”
“And are we to pretend we are new to this sort of endeavor, or are we undertaking a confessional?” Nia asked.
“Looking for linens, dusting furniture, airing rooms... even those who haven’t that responsibility every day could likely sort out how to basically accomplish it. Mrs. Seymour won’t guess at your role at home simply because you’re doing that here.”
Nia set her hand on Eve’s arm. “But cooking and baking aren’t arts that can be acquired suddenly through guesswork. If we’ve edible food while we are here, Mrs. Seymour and Duke will gain some insights we likely don’t want them to have.”
Oh, why were Mother and Father requiring her to keep her lost future a secret from Nia? There would be no more Seasons nor true forays into the ton for Eve. Should Mrs. Seymour whisper what she learned to others and those whispers somehow managed to reach London from Dublin, Eve ’s chance of making a match wouldn’t be ruined; she already had no chance left. It was Nia’s that needed protecting.
“We’ll tell Mrs. Seymour that someone was found to work in the kitchen,” Eve said. “She needn’t realize I am the person ’twas found.”
“We can try that.” Nia didn’t look truly convinced, but she did make her way from the room and up the creaking stairs.
“Where is she going?” Mrs. Seymour asked in tones that indicated she intended to disapprove and only asked for further information in order to feel justified in doing so.
“Nia means to check the state of the bedchambers. It seems wise to know what our situation truly is.” Eve kept her expression and words light. “I will go see if there is any food in the larder.”
“The two of you intend to stay here?” Mrs. Seymour pressed a hand to her heart.
“As it is our only option beyond sitting in the unmoving carriage, waiting for days until the rain stops, or driving several hours back along the road we’ve already traversed, hoping to reach another inn before the state of the roads renders us impossibly stuck in mud, yes. We mean to make the best of our situation and be grateful for a roof over our heads.” Eve moved to the nearest interior door, unsure which of the exits from the public room would prove the threshold of the kitchen.
The first she tried was a coat closet.
She’d nearly reached the second door when Duke stepped up beside her. “I am sorry the accommodations aren’t ideal,” he said.
“Our current situation isn’t your fault, Duke. And I was in earnest when I said that I’m grateful to be out of the rain.”
Relief touched those startlingly blue eyes. So did an undeniable surge of kind concern. “I’ll do what I can to make this room usable.”
Good heavens, he had a knack for making her blush. She only hoped it wasn’t obvious.
His eyes darted back toward his grandmother, offering Eve a moment’s respite. “She’ll be fractious the entire time we are here. I will do what I can to placate her, but the usual approaches aren’t likely to be as effective.”
Eve jumped in quickly. “I suspect you’re about to apologize for that as well. But her irritability is also not your fault.”
“But soothing her vitriol has always been my responsibility. I’m the only one in the family who ever has the least success in doing so.”
“Well, I am not a Seymour, and neither is Nia. We place no such responsibility on your shoulders.”
Without warning, Duke smiled. But it wasn’t a happy or delighted smile but rather one that was almost desolate. A smile, yet somehow, not truly one.
“Wait until we meet up with my parents in Epsom. You will discover that this responsibility is not one I am ever permitted to escape.”
“Have you thought about answering their grumblings with a few grumblings of your own? Confuse them a bit?” Eve pulled her eyes wide, as if she had discovered a remarkable strategy.
No smile, but there was a bit of amusement in his eyes. He was something of a puzzle, one she found herself eager to sort out.
When she began her search again, she found that the second door did, indeed, lead to the kitchen. She stepped inside and closed the door behind her.
There was still wood in a basket near the large fireplace. Eve found pots, pans, utensils, and knives. There were spoons and whisks and other implements. She would have equipment enough for cooking. But had the kitchen any actual food?
A door on the back wall proved the opening to the larder. Inside, she found dry beans, containers of flour, and salt. She also found some sugar. She opened the trapdoor in the floor, but the space beyond was too dark for her to tell what she had discovered—a root cellar, most likely.
A quick search of the kitchen revealed a lantern and a small metal tinderbox. The flint and steel fire strikers were inside, as was a bit of dry tinder. That significantly simplified things. She soon had the lantern lit and had made her way back to the trapdoor.
The air grew positively frigid as she descended into the darkness below. She held aloft the lantern, searching her surroundings. There was quite a lot of food and a good variety as well, kept edible by the environs of the root cellar. Everything she’d found in the larder was the sort of foodstuffs that didn’t spoil quickly. Still, the inn must have only recently closed—likely not more than a month or so earlier—for so much to still be there and still be fresh enough to eat.
They wouldn’t starve while waiting out the weather.
Eve snatched up a basket among the supplies and filled it with onions, garlic, butternut squash, eggs, a crock of butter, and a few apples. If their good fortune continued, there would still be a milk cow on the premises.
She returned to the kitchen and set her basket on the worktable. She then gathered the flour, salt, and sugar. In her gathering, she discovered the larder contained potash. However, she hadn’t seen any buttermilk, vinegar, or lemon juice. Without some variety of acid, she couldn’t use the potash as a rising agent. And there was unlikely to be any leavening ready for use. She would need to keep to quick breads. Fortunately for her traveling companions, she was well versed in all manner of baked goods.
She eyed the items on the worktable, deciding on her best approach. Butternut squash soup would be filling and satisfying on such a cold day. And she could make farls to eat with it, as that variety of bread didn’t require yeast, potash, or a starter. And she could bake the apples for a bit of sweetness to round out their meal.
Far from feeling overwhelmed or overworked, Eve was excited. She liked being in the kitchen, creating delicious dishes and sorting out how to creatively use what she had on hand. At first, her sense of satisfaction had arisen from having a means of helping her family through difficult times. But she’d discovered in the years since that she legitimately enjoyed baking and, to a lesser but every bit as real extent, cooking. And she liked sorting out the how and what of creating a menu.
She’d lit and built a good fire in the large fireplace when Duke stepped inside. He crossed to her.
“I’ve built a fire in the public room as well,” he said.
“Have you happened to notice if there is a milk cow? I’ve ideas for supper, but I’ll need milk. Cream would be even better.”
He shook his head. “But I haven’t been out in the yard. Even if there is one, I don’t know how to milk a cow.”
“Nia and I do.” She met and held his eye. “But don’t tell your grandmother. Possessing the abilities of a domestic servant is not exactly a prized quality in ladies of the ton . Were word to circulate around London, even our connection to Artemis’s and Charlie’s families would not be enough to prevent us from sinking.”
He reached out and took her hand. The simple touch was comforting and reassuring. And as it had done the night before, his touch set her heart pounding. “You can trust me. Tell me what would help, and I’ll do it.”
“Thank you.” She kept hold of his hand. It upended her, yes, but in a way she enjoyed.
“What is it you need?” he asked. “Other than milk and cream, of course.”
I need you to stay here and hold my hand and tell me all will be well in the end—that I am equal to carrying these secrets I am tasked with keeping. But she couldn’t bring herself to actually say that. And I need you to look at me with amusement in your gorgeous eyes. She most definitely couldn’t say that. “Tell your grandmother we found someone to cook. That way, she’ll not realize the someone is me , and I won’t have to worry that she’ll let the secret slip.”
He nodded and even squeezed her hand. Heavens, she liked that.
“There is usually a room off the kitchen for the cook’s use. I think I will sleep in there. That’ll allow me easy access to the kitchen without risking your grandmother seeing me go in and out.”
“Or any of the others,” Duke said.
“ Others ?” she repeated, confused by the plural.
“That was what I originally came in here to tell you. A family has arrived: a mother, father, and young child. They, too, have been turned away from the bridge.”
That increased the risk of discovery. But it also meant she absolutely could not, in good conscience, refuse to see to it that everyone was fed.
“I wonder how many more will arrive,” she mused.
Duke shook his head. “Impossible to say. This isn’t a very busy road, but there might be more.”
“There is a decent amount of food in the larder and root cellar,” she said. “I can keep us fed, though I will need to know how many coachmen and servants are here as well. I think we ought to take food to the old man in the cottage as well.”
“I emphatically agree. And I plan to make certain he is reimbursed for what we eat.”
He was still holding her hand, though she didn’t know if he realized it.
“Nia can prepare the needed bedchambers,” Eve said. “Will you discover what our newest arrivals are willing and able to do?”
He squeezed her fingers one more time before letting her hand go. “I will see to everything outside of your domain here. And I will do all I can to procure you some milk and cream.” He stepped toward the door.
“Duke?” She’d called after him almost without realizing she had.
He looked back at her. “Yes?”
Mercy, those eyes of his. There truly ought to be a law of some sort to save unsuspecting young ladies from being upended every time that indigo gaze rested on them. Of course, then she wouldn’t be able to enjoy watching his thoughts flit through his eyes, and that would be a shame.
“Thank you,” she said, realizing that she hadn’t answered his inquiry.
“Perhaps you should save your gratitude until after we discover if I am able to procure you any cream.”
“I wasn’t thanking you for the cream.”
His ebony brows hooked low. “Then, what were you thanking me for?”
She couldn’t very well say any of her most recent thoughts about his eyes and voice. So, instead, she just shrugged a shoulder and smiled.
“If there existed an occupation in which a person repeatedly posed riddles to anyone and everyone, that would be my next guess in our game, Eve.”
She grinned. “I would be brilliant.”
“Yes, you would.” A quick smile tugged at his lips.
And she stood rooted to the spot, frozen in place by the impact of that smile long after he’d left the kitchen. Beautiful eyes. A warm voice. An earth-shattering smile. A wonderfully dry and understated sense of humor. Kindness. Intelligence. Thoughtfulness.
If she weren’t very, very careful, Duke Seymour would have full claim on her heart before long.