Page 80 of The Cottage at Brambleton Hall

The doorbell sounded. ‘Miss Jenkins,’ Magnus said.

‘Yes.’

‘We begin.’ He said, striding out of the room.

Sammy heard the front door open. Voices. Coats being taken. She sucked in a breath that didn’t quite fill her lungs.

‘Good luck, Miss Jenkins,’ Nate said.

‘Thank you.’

‘Better go and greet my guests.’

Sammy jogged out and down the corridor. Behind her, she heard Valerie following at a slower pace.

‘Careful, Staff running through corridors tends to alarm people. Makes the house feel chaotic.’

Sammy slowed immediately. ‘Sorry.’

Valerie overtook her smoothly. ‘Though I suppose tonight already has enough excitement.’

Sammy wasn’t entirely sure what she meant.

That evening, Sammy fell in love with the Aga. She worked with it; the potatoes were ready before the first course, she shunted them from the roasting to the simmering oven; the lamb looked perfect – she tucked that into the warming oven. Sauce in the pan too hot. Sammy caught it before it turned, shifting the pan across to the simmering plate, whisk steady and controlled.

‘Stay with me,’ she murmured under her breath. It held.

She turned to make the soufflés. She’d already lined the eggs up next to the flour jar. The scales waiting nearby. She frowned staring at the counter. No recipe. The sheet of paper should have been beside the mixing bowl. Her master recipe. Every timing note, every hard-won correction from six trial runs over her two days off. All that practice had made Sammy confident enough to use the Aga for tonight’s soufflés.

Sammy checked the kitchen table. She looked beneath a folded tea towel. Under a tray. Nothing. A cold knot tightened in her stomach. No. No, this was not happening.

‘Looking for something?’ asked Valerie from the sink, peeling carrots so slowly Sammy wasn’t convinced they’d be finished in time to cook them.

‘My soufflé recipe.’

‘Mrs Williams never lost recipes.’

Sammy bit down on the reply that immediately sprang to mind. The knot tightened.

From the corner of her eye, she saw movement. Magnus in the doorway.

He took in the kitchen with one sweep of his eyes. One dark eyebrow rose. ‘Everything under control, Miss Jenkins?’

‘It soon will be.’

The eyebrow climbed higher.

For one dreadful second, she imagined the recipe gone for good. Had she thrown it in the bin by accident? Or had someone . . . she darted a look at Valerie.

Sammy’s gaze dropped to her phone. Her hands suddenly moved faster; she snatched it up. Downloads. Scroll. Scroll. There. She jabbed it open. The familiar pages appeared on the screen. Relief hit so hard her knees nearly weakened. She looked up. Magnus was still standing there; the eyebrow had shifted now, concern, not curiosity. A second eyebrow joined.

‘All under control, Mr Magnus. I thought I’d lost a recipe – I haven’t.’

Heat flooded her cheeks. What was happening to her? She was fairly sure she’d just answered his eyebrow.

Valerie made a small, disappointed noise and returned to the carrots.

Sammy prepared the soufflés, wishing Valerie would find something to do outside the kitchen. She loaded the ramekins, picked up the tray to pop the soufflés in the Aga . . . and replaced it. The roasting oven door was open. Not wide – ajar.