Page 34 of Lord Gabriel’s Undoing

Her eyes, despite the lack of expression on her face, sparkled with excitement. Was it just because she was going to be exploring a den of iniquity, or was it because she relished the chance to try to solve his mystery? He couldn’t quite be sure and had a lot of questions. Was he making a rather large mistake in allowing her to participate in his life? Would his mother have approved? Yes, he thought so, because she would have been the first one into St Giles if she were still alive. The only reason she hadn’t gone in there herself to look for the mysterious Frenchwoman must have been because his father had forbidden her to do so.

She couldn’t have told his father lies just because she wanted to keep him.

Could she?

Chapter Eleven

After Gabriel had escorted Phoebe back to Hill Street, he walked around to Grosvenor Square again and let himself in. Parslow, his father’s town butler, appeared from nowhere as was his wont, and Gabriel, having greeted him, divested himself of his hat and cane.

“Her Grace is in the pink drawing room,” Parslow said, brushing a few imaginary specks of dust from the hat. “And Lady Cecilia is in the library.”

Gabriel, however, had no desire to sit for a dull half hour entertaining his stepmother, and nor did he want to have conversation with his vivacious stepsister. Cecilia was the best of the bunch of girls the second duchess had presented his father with, but he had other things to do right now. And besides which, she would be brimming with curiosity about his injuries and he’d have to elaborate on his initial lie. Always a dangerous thing. If one was going to lie, one should keep the lie short and easy to remember.

“Might Mrs. Hawkins be downstairs?” He kept his voice casual, but, nevertheless, Parslow’s frighteningly bushy white eyebrows rose heavenwards.

“She is, my lord.”

He could see the man was itching to inquire why he wanted to know where she was, but was too polite to do so. It wasn’t as if Gabriel was even often in Grosvenor Square. And he certainly had never made it a habit to visit the housekeeper before.

“I’ll just pop down there then,” Gabriel said, keeping his voice airy.

Conscious of Parslow’s curious gaze on the back of his head, he took the discreet door that led downstairs to the servants’ domain and descended quickly to the corridor that ran towards the back of the house.

He wasn’t entirely sure where one would find a housekeeper at this time of day. Truth be told, he knew almost nothing about housekeepers as they didn’t come under the remit of a gentleman, and nor had they ever held any attraction for small boys on the lookout for extra food. Unlike cooks.

There was one at the house he shared with Ambrose in Half Moon Street, of course, but both he and his brother left her pretty much to herself. Very rarely did Ambrose leave particular instructions for what they wanted to eat. And often, if they were both going to be out, they forgot to inform the poor woman that dinner would not be required. Only, wasn’t that more in the line of what a cook needed to be concerned about? He had no idea and hoped he’d never need to find out.

He was familiar with the kitchens, of course. Not so familiar as he was with the ones in Wentworth Castle, though. Those had seen him so frequently the cook there had suggested he ought to take up residence. But she’d spoiled him with all her baking to the extent he’d started to get a little rounded belly at one point. Now, thinking about it, he patted his stomach. He was indeed feeling a little peckish.

Mrs. Stokes, the cook here, had not been in her position when he’d been a boy, but he’d ventured down here since then on the rare occasions he’d visited the house in Grosvenor Square. Usually when his stepmother was not in residence. Neither he nor Ambrose had much patience with the duchess.

Mrs. Stokes spotted him peering in at the door of her kitchen, and, wiping her hands on her apron, gave him a broad smile. “Why, if it isn’t Lord Gabriel himself.” She was addressing a waif-like kitchen maid who was seated at the enormous oak table peeling carrots. “Feeling hungry, are you milord?”

Gabriel went in. “As always.”

A tray covered with a white linen cloth stood on the table. Mrs. Stokes lifted the corner to reveal several rows of uniformly shaped patties. “Veal and ham,” she said. “I’m thinking by the look on your face you’d like one.”

He nodded. “Thank you very much, Mrs. Stokes. But they’re very small. Might I perhaps have two?”

She laughed. “Yes you might. Always hungry, you are.”

He wasted no time in helping himself to the small individual patties, stuffing one into his mouth whole as she returned the linen cloth to cover the rest.

“Quite delicious,” he managed, through a full mouth.

The kitchen maid, who looked to be about twelve and must be new as he’d never seen her before, stared up at him out of wide, frightened eyes.

Best to get to what he’d come down here for. He leaned against the table. “I was wondering where Mrs. Hawkins might be.”

Cook’s eyebrows shot up and the kitchen maid gave a visible shiver of fear. What could be wrong with Mrs. Hawkins to frighten a girl so much? He couldn’t remember ever having laid eyes on her here, but he had vague memories of a rather forbidding woman waiting on his sick mother. He’d so rarely seen his mother with anyone in attendance until she was ill and confined to her room.

“I should think she’ll be in her parlor,” Cook said. “If you’re feeling brave.”

Gabriel finished the second patty and brushed his fingertips together to rid them of the crumbs. “You do make the best pastries, Mrs. Stokes. I might have to get my brother to send Mrs. Watts round to learn how to make them from you. While hers are good, yours are a masterpiece in airy lightness.”

Cook blushed in a most satisfying manner. Good, always flatter the servants when you get the opportunity had been one of his mother’s lessons to him. Let them know you appreciate them. Cook did indeed look most appreciated.

“And her parlor is where?” Gabriel asked, pushing himself off the table and having to brush the tails of his coat in case they’d picked up flour. He winked at the kitchen maid and she gave a little gasp of shock.