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The kitchen was as busy as always, smoke billowing merrily this way and that as meat roasted on the spit while two kitchen maids chattered away as they cut vegetables on a long table. The cook was stirring a simmering cauldron filled with the soup that was continuously replenished, an easy, quick meal for anyone feeling peckish at any time of the day or night. Sweat dripped down Cook’s face and into the cauldron and Bertram couldn’t help but grimace.
His eyes drifted to the second table where Letty was hard at work, kneading some dough. Her breasts jiggled as her hair escaped the untidy bun she’d tied it in. The apron she was wearing, cinched tightly at her waist, really emphasized the lushness of her breasts as well as the tender swell of her hips.
Oh dear, I am in trouble.
Bertram’s eyes refused to move from her luscious frame. He knew she had noticed his presence but she kept her eyes on the dough she was kneading.
He cleared his throat and Mrs. Gendry paused taking inventory, looking up at him in some surprise. He did not normally appear in the kitchen for anything.
“I intend to hold a dinner party this coming Saturday. Various dignitaries will attend and I require a veritable feast. Mrs. Gendry, may I rely on you to provide one?”
His housekeeper nodded vigorously. “Of course, Your Grace. We shall do you proud.”
Bertram bowed, “I thank you.” He turned to Letty, “And you, Miss Strange, I trust you shall have a selection of desserts for our enjoyment?”
She paused in her kneading and met his eye. “If that is what you wish, Your Grace.”
He blinked, surprised at the direct look. “It is.”
“Very well then, Your Grace. Your wish is my command.” Bertram blinked again, surprised at the open coquettishness of her tone. He looked around to gauge if the rest of the kitchen was as surprised as he, but they were busy avoiding his eye as they focused on their various tasks. He truly did not know what to make of this woman.
He cleared his throat again. “Very good. I shall leave you to it.” He executed another stiff bow before walking out smartly. As he stepped out into the fresh air he took a deep breath.
I need a break from all this.
While there was not much entertainment to be had in Folkestone, it did boast beautiful downs, a burgeoning harbor, a rigorous fishing community and even more boisterous smuggling one, and the Leas. When he was home, Bertram loved to stroll along the downs. Bird-watching calmed him as did the salty breeze from the shores of the English Channel. He loved the bleak cliffs that overhung the harbor, so vast and lonely yet seemingly eternal.
I’ll go for a walk, perhaps call upon my friend the Earl. Maybe he has some insight to give me on wayward bakers bent on mayhem and seduction.
