Page 21 of A Siren for the Duke

Lionel watched with a sense of satisfaction as Jemima pulled the apron over her head and tied it in the back.

“You will pay for this,” she threatened.

A wicked grin spread across his face.

“I’m very much looking forward to it. Well, Mr. Coade, do your worst,” he said, nodding, then he closed the door behind them.

He heard Jemima protest behind the closed door, but only for a moment, as Mr. Coade put her to work almost immediately.

This was going to be ta long journey. As he ascended the steps and re-emerged on the upper deck, Ellis joined him.

“As delightful as she is, do you really think it’s a good idea to have her among the crew like that?”

“I am unconcerned for her safety. I trust the crew.”

“It is the superstitions about which I am concerned. You saw some of the men crossing themselves.”

Lionel rolled his eyes.

“She is a woman, not the antichrist. They’ll be fine. Besides, exposure to her presence might make them less suspicious.”

“I hope you’re right, Captain,” Ellis said, clearly still having doubts.

For his own sake, Lionel hoped so, too.

* * *

"Listen, lass," Mr. Coade barked as soon as Lionel left, his voice echoing through the galley. "I've got a hundred men to feed, and I can't be wasting time with a lady who can't tell a spatula from a ladle."

Jemima blushed, her cheeks turning a deep shade of crimson. Yes, she had offered her assistance, but that had been a ploy to convince Lionel from dropping her off in Morocco. Really, she had absolutely no idea what she was doing. Apparently, she didn’t even stir the stew correctly.

"Mr. Coade," she stammered, her voice quivering. "I apologize for my incompetence. I never to learned these skills."

The cook sighed, his stern expression softening ever so slightly.

"Well, we can't have you starve now, can we? You’re too skinny as it is. I'll give you one more chance, but you've got to listen carefully and do exactly as I say."

Jemima nodded eagerly, her hazel eyes wide with determination. She desperately wanted to prove herself, to show that she was more than just a fragile lady of high society. Although, his comment about her being too skinny irked her a bit. Who was he to comment on her figure?

"I’ll make this simple for you. You just need to peel those potatoes there and chop 'em into small pieces,” he said, pointing to a half-open sack on the wooden counter.

“Yes. Peel potatoes. I can do that,” she said, her voice unconvinced.

Jemima took a deep breath and approached the potatoes with trepidation. She picked up a knife, her hands shaking as she attempted to peel the first potato. The knife slipped, and she let out a cry of frustration as she nicked her finger.

Mr. Coade clucked his tongue disapprovingly.

"You've got to hold the potato steady and keep your fingers out of the way. Like this." He demonstrated, peeling the skin off effortlessly.

Jemima watched and tried again, this time gripping the potato firmly and peeling it slowly and carefully. But her efforts were in vain. The potato ended up looking more like a mangled mess than a neatly peeled vegetable.

Mr. Coade sighed, clearly growing impatient.

"Right, that won't do. Give it here. You move on to the onions while I salvage what's left of that potato."

Jemima reluctantly handed over the potato and picked up an onion, her eyes stinging with tears as she clumsily attempted to chop it. The knife slipped again, and she let out a frustrated groan.

"Come now, my lady," Mr. Coade chided, a twinkle of amusement in his eyes. "It's not like you're attacking the enemy. Just a simple chop, that's all. Like this."