Chapter Five
James
James leaned against the doorframe, watching as Mrs. Honeycutt circled the kitchen like a queen bee in her hive.
She’d rolled up her sleeves, revealing freckled forearms corded with muscle he knew so well.
He’d inherited Mrs. Honeycutt when he bought the tavern and he’d often thought she was the most valuable of any of his other staff put together.
She might be bawdy, foul-mouthed and opinionated but she was also smart, loyal and hilarious.
“This is a fine kitchen indeed.” Mrs. Honeycutt ran her hand along the freshly scrubbed workbench. “If only my mother could see me now, in such a place as this. She’d be proud.”
“I’m glad you’re here,” James said. “I’ve missed you.”
Mrs. Honeycutt snorted. “’Course you have. There’s only one Tilda Honeycutt in the world.” She set the pot down with a clang that echoed through the cavernous space. “Right then. Let’s see what you’ve managed for provisions.”
Without waiting for direction, she marched to the pantry, throwing open the door as if expecting an ambush. “Lord have mercy,” she muttered. “A half-wheel of cheese, a loaf of bread and some butter? What exactly were you planning to eat tonight, my lord? The furniture?”
“The storm upended our idea to eat at the pub in the village,” James said. “The ladies are staying at the inn and planned to return but I didn’t want to send them out in this weather. I’ve been eating supper with them at the inn most nights.”
“I see.” Mrs. Honeycutt crossed her arms. “Speaking of which, where will any of us sleep?”
“I hired some boys from the village to clean several of the staff rooms,” James said. “Our housekeeper is to arrive tomorrow as well.”
He didn’t mention that he’d assumed Cecily and Georgiana would take those rooms tonight. Now, he was short a room.
“This housekeeper—who is she and will I like her?” Mrs. Honeycutt asked.
James chuckled. “She’s the housekeeper who worked for us when I was a boy. She’s perhaps the sweetest lady in England. You’ll like her.”
“We’ll see about that. I won’t have anyone telling me what to do in my own kitchen.”
“I doubt she’ll be heavy-handed,” James said. “But she’ll be invaluable when it comes to teaching us both about proper etiquette when it comes to entertaining and staff. My sister-in-law has promised to advise us as well. She’s a proper lady. And I’m not exactly a proper lord.”
“There’s no finer man than you, James Ashford, and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”
Mrs. Fairfax caught his eye across the room, her lips pressed together in what might have been an attempt to suppress a smile. Cecily made no such effort, grinning openly as she perched on a stool by the hearth.
“I had planned to visit the village tomorrow,” James said, straightening. “To arrange deliveries.”
“This won’t be the first time I’ve fed a household from a nearly bare kitchen,” Mrs. Honeycutt said. “My mother, God rest her soul, fed a family of six on mostly nothing at all.”
“Thank you,” James said. “I can’t speak for the ladies, but my stomach’s rumbling.”
“Good thing I’ve arrived early then.” Mrs. Honeycutt went back into the pantry and emerged with the bread and cheese in hand. “Let’s get a fire started. And I’ll need a skillet.” She disappeared into the scullery, emerging moments later with a cast-iron pan.
James offered to make the fire in the stove. He knew at some point he would have to start acting like a gentleman but for now he could still be himself. A man who knew how to build his own fire.
Georgiana and Cecily sat at the table, watching Mrs. Honeycutt with amused expressions.
Soon enough, James had a fire going and had poured them all glasses of ale. He knew Mrs. Honeycutt enjoyed an ale most nights after she’d finished feeding his patrons at the tavern.
Mrs. Honeycutt set about slicing the bread with efficient strokes of a knife she’d produced from seemingly nowhere. “Mrs. Fairfax, how does a woman come to be an architect? I always thought that was men’s work, all that measuring and mathematics.”
James tensed, worried his outspoken cook would upset Georgiana, but she merely smiled. “My late husband was an architect. I’d always dreamt of being one myself. He agreed to teach me everything he knew.”
“Unusual, ain’t it? A man willing to teach a woman something valuable?” Mrs. Honeycutt slapped butter onto the bread slices with the enthusiasm of someone beating a rug. “Most men want to keep knowledge to themselves. Otherwise, women have too much power.”
“My husband was an unusual man. He understood my ambitions.” Mrs. Fairfax’s voice remained steady, though James noticed her hands clasped together tightly in her lap. “He was rather progressive in his thinking.”
“Was he now? Rare breed, that.” Mrs. Honeycutt paused in her preparations, pointing her knife at Mrs. Fairfax. “How long’s he been gone, then?”
“A little over a year.”
“I’m sorry to hear. I lost my husband young too.” Mrs. Honeycutt returned to her work, placing thick slices of cheese between the buttered bread. “Tavern brawl. Knife to the ribs over a game of cards. I was spitting mad at the time. Such a waste.”
“How awful,” Cecily murmured.
Mrs. Honeycutt placed the assembled sandwiches in the skillet with a satisfying sizzle. “Well, he wasn’t much of a husband anyway. Drank and gambled away all our money and couldn’t keep his hands to himself where the serving girls were concerned.”
Miss Cecily’s eyes widened to saucers. “Our father was a gambler too,” Cecily said. “That’s how we got into so much trouble. He gambled away our fortune, then took his own life.”
“Oh, dear me, that’s horrible,” Mrs. Honeycutt said.
James’s chest ached, thinking about what it must have done to his daughters.
He’d seen it himself back at the tavern.
Men who gambled away homes or businesses, always thinking one more bet would restore whatever they’d lost previously.
In fact, that was the very scenario in which he’d won the tavern.
Although, that man had had no family. If he had, James wasn’t sure he could have taken it from him, even though he had won it fairly.
James liked cards, but he never cheated.
Now that his fate had changed for the better, he’d lost the taste for cards.
He’d played out of necessity. Once he’d discovered his talent for winning any game he played, he’d used gambling for financial gain.
Having nothing forces a man to do things he otherwise might not. He would have no need for gambling now.
For some odd reason, a thought popped into his head. Would Mrs. Fairfax think less of him if she knew he had often gambled? Now that he knew about her father, he worried she might see him in a different light. An unflattering one.
“Did you ever consider remarrying?” Georgiana asked Mrs. Honeycutt.
“Good heavens, why would I? Once was quite sufficient.” Mrs. Honeycutt flipped the sandwiches with expert precision. “I found it easier to make my own way. You?”
“I wouldn’t be opposed,” Georgiana said.
“But it’s unlikely. We’re hoping Cecily can have a Season.
I married a working man but our father was a nobleman.
Unfortunately, as Cecily said, we had nothing after our father’s death.
I had to find a husband quickly but I had no dowry.
Fortunately for me, Robert took a shine to me.
If not for him, I’m not sure what would have happened to my mother and sister.
Or me, for that matter. As you can imagine, it’s important for me that this job goes well.
I’m hoping to provide a dowry for Cecily so that she can marry well. ”
Mrs. Honeycutt looked at Georgiana and then back to Cecily. “You look alike, except for the hair.”
“We’ve heard that all our lives,” Georgiana said. “Cecily takes after our mother. She is a ginger too.”
“This hair is a curse, ain’t I right?” Mrs. Honeycutt asked Cecily. “I blame it for my temper.”
“Cecily doesn’t have much of a temper,” Georgiana said, her eyes softening as she glanced at her sister. “Isn’t that merely a stereotype?”
“I suppose so.” Mrs. Honeycutt said, grinning. “But it’s been a good excuse for my wild nature.”
“I’d like to be wild,” Cecily said, perched on the edge of her chair.
“I don’t recommend it,” Mrs. Honeycutt said. “It’s gotten me into some trouble.”
He wondered what she’d done to necessitate an early departure from Brighton. He’d have to ask her later. The ladies were not ready for one of Mrs. Honeycutt’s stories.
Mrs. Honeycutt lifted the skillet from the fire and slid the sandwiches onto plates. “Not my finest work but it’ll keep body and soul together until I can get to the village tomorrow. I’ve a list long as your arm, my lord, and I’ll need coin for it.”
“Of course.” He brought two of the four plates to the table, placing them before the ladies. The aroma of toasted bread and melted cheese made his stomach growl embarrassingly.
Mrs. Honeycutt brought the other two plates and James waited for her to settle her substantial frame on a chair that creaked in protest. Once James was seated, Mrs. Honeycutt said, “Go on then. It won’t improve with waiting.”
James took a bite, the buttery crunch giving way to molten cheese. It was ridiculously simple, yet somehow perfect.
“Tomorrow,” Mrs. Honeycutt announced between bites, “I’ll set things properly to rights. Need herbs from the kitchen garden—if there’s anything left of it—and proper meat. Can’t have His Lordship and two beautiful ladies living on cheese and bread like mice.”
“I’m afraid the kitchen garden is quite overgrown,” Mrs. Fairfax said. “Lord Ashford has plans to have it cleared and planted this spring.”
“We have a lot to do,” James said. “But Mrs. Fairfax is doing splendidly so far.”
“I’ll do what I can with what I can find in the village. By this time next year, the pantry will be stocked full of summer’s bounty.” Mrs. Honeycutt fixed her gaze on Georgiana. “So, Mrs. Fairfax. Accident or illness?”