“Coffee, just what I need.”
Victoria waited with barely restrained patience as the footman poured them both a cup and set the pot back on the tray. He bowed and left the room.
“So what do you plan to do about this marriage lark?” asked Augusta.
A soft smile crept to Victoria’s lips. Her sister knew her well enough to know she wasn’t going to go meekly along with the duchess’s plans. Each of the Kembal girls had been raised to stand up for themselves. The world was about to be on the receiving end of Lady Anne’s teachings.
“Well I do have to eventually marry. I suppose. But before I do that, I want to do something for myself. I might well be the instrument of Mama’s return to society, but I want more. I need to breathe.”
As soon as she was wed, she’d have to take on the role of managing a house, possibly an estate. And then children. All of it was a role designed to serve the needs of other people.
Victoria tapped her fingers on the arm of the sofa, as a plan formed in her mind. “She won’t let me within ten feet of the kitchen at home. Said it is beneath a woman of gentle birth to understand how food is prepared. But…”
She let that last word linger.
“But what?”
Victoria bent and picked up her cup of coffee. She’d been mulling over that particular question since waking. Wondering if she would dare to offer up her heart’s deepest desire and press her current position.
“I want to write tothe Morning Herald’sfood reviewer.”
“Mama, and Papa for that matter, would never agree to it. Could you imagine how tongues would wag if news that one of the Duke of Mowbray’s daughters had penned a letter to a newspaper became public knowledge?” replied Augusta, her voice edged with caution. She shifted in her seat and turned toface Victoria. “Why is this so important? I know you love your food. A cookbook was the obvious choice for my gift to you from Rome. Even if it was in Italian.”
Serafina had kindly translated each and every recipe, and Victoria now had her own English version of the book.
“But why would you risk such a thing, especially when you know that Mama is desperate to see you settled into a respectable union.”
Victoria sipped her hot drink, letting the black coffee fill her with its bitter joy. “Because if I don’t do it now, I doubt my husband will allow me to sully his family name by seeing it printed in the newspaper.”
She loathed to give voice to her deepest fear—that her future husband wouldn’t understand how important food was to her. That he would think her opinions about it were foolish, and that she would be better served to worry about other matters.
This might seem trivial to others, but it meant a great deal to her. It was one thing which would be truly hers. Not her parents’, nor her future spouse’s—hers.
No one understands my passion or what it means to me. No one.
“Hmm. Yes, I can see that you have a problem.” Augusta’s hum was not one of approval. “What if you wrote in as a gentleman reader, without mentioning your name or family connections?”
She stared at her sister, momentarily lost for words.
Why hadn’t I already come up with that idea? Of course. An anonymous reader.
She could devise a nom de plume. And her parents would never know it was her.
“Could I ask a small favor?” said Victoria. She was keen to capitalize on her sister’s suggestion.
Augusta raised an eyebrow. “Yes?”
“I need some plain paper. All the paper at home has the Mowbray ducal crest on it. The rest of my cards are pretty floral ones. As you say, if I am to write to the newspaper, the note needs to look like it came from a gentleman. They won’t even consider printing it if they think it’s from a woman.”
Her sister’s eyes glinted with mischief. “You are in luck. Flynn still hasn’t commissioned a new letterhead for the Bramshaw title, so all our current writing paper is plain. I shall make sure you have a full box of it before you leave this morning.”
A short time later, as she dug into her hearty Rome-inspired frittata, Victoria began to mentally formulate her first letter to the editor ofthe Morning Herald. They may well never print it, but just the thought of being able to put her opinion down on paper and actually send it to the newspaper was enough to have her half giddy with delight.
She’d wait until after she had visited the next restaurant featured inthe Morning Herald, then send her carefully considered note to the editor.
Imagine if they read it and decide it’s good enough to print?
Now that would be something worth clipping out of the newspaper and pasting in her culinary journal.
