Page 24 of A Siren for the Duke

“It’s not that bad,” Ellis offered, but he coughed as he said it. Lionel wordlessly extended the flask to him, and the first mate accepted it gratefully.

“We cannot serve this to the crew.”

“You are incorrigible!” Jemima cried, setting the tray down on his desk rather forcefully.

“Maybe so, but at least I’m not a horrible cook.”

CHAPTER TEN

Jemima could not deny that part of her was a little crushed that Lionel and Ellis found the stew inedible. She’d worked very hard to chop the vegetables according to Mr. Coade’s instructions. She had labored over the heat of the enormous kettle as it boiled. And the galley had smelled so good! She could not understand where she’d gone wrong.

“You are exaggerating,” she said hotly, firmly planting her fists on her hips.

“Have you tried it for yourself?” Lionel asked.

“I have not, but Mr. Coade said it was fine.”

Lionel and Ellis exchanged concerned glances.

“If that is the case, we may have to find a new cook. If he pronounced this alright, then something is clearly wrong with his tastebuds,” Lionel said.

“Well, don’t sack him just because you forced me to go and help! I still think you are lying.”

“Try it yourself,” Ellis said, holding out the bowl.

Jemima glanced suspiciously at the two men and could not read their expression. It was so difficult to tell if they were serious or if there had been some wordless communication between the two of them to play a prank on her.

“Fine,” she said indignantly. She snatched Lionel’s spoon from his hand and dipped it into the bowl Ellis held out. It smelled perfectly fine, but as soon as the stew touched her tongue, she desperately wanted to spit it out. It was far over-seasoned with some of the Indian spices Mr. Coade had shown her. Clearly, she’d underestimated their heady power.

But she was not about to give Lionel the satisfaction. Forcing a smile, she swallowed it and pronounced it perfectly well.

“You were being unreasonable,” she said, trying not to grimace.

“Oh, well, would you like my portion?” Lionel asked, pushing his bowl toward her with a malicious smile.

Jemima physically could not stomach another nasty bite, so she scrambled to offer an excuse.

“No. I ate as we cooked.”

“Whether or not you liked it, we still cannot serve it to the crew. Mr. Coade will have to work some magic to salvage it. The crew will complain if we serve this, and we have a long journey ahead of us. And we cannot waste precious ingredients whilst at sea.”

Jemima huffed and slumped down in the desk chair, pouring herself a glass of wine from the decanter.

Lionel looked at her with confusion, eyebrows raised.

“Yes, certainly, make yourself at home,” he said, sweeping his arm through the air grandly.

“Am I not your guest?” she asked after taking a sip.

“You have claimed several times that you are a prisoner rather than a guest,” Lionel reminded her.

“And you have tried to tell me otherwise. Are you not the authority of this ship, Captain?” she asked, placing a special biting emphasis on his title.

Ellis watched the scene unfold, enraptured. It was like watching a badminton match between two very angry and very capable players.

“I am surprised that you even acknowledge that. I suppose you only do so when it is convenient for your situation. Very contrarian of you.”

“I am a woman. I am allowed to be as contrarian as I please,” she said, topping off the wine.