AllFreeNovel
Share Us
The twins pelted Miss Martin with questions on her culinary repertoire, giving Mari a moment to think.
She was surprised by the duke’s gesture. But really, should she be? This was what he knew how to do best: spend money. Hire the most prestigious French cook in London.
Still, it was a very nice thing to do, and it had made the children very happy.
“The bread will bake faster if you’re not watching it, Michel,” she said. The boy was standing with his head practically in the range.
“Why don’t you sit down in the breakfast room?” asked Miss Martin. “I’ve a loaf very nearly finished.”
Mari led them into the breakfast room and soon a tray arrived with a long thin loaf of bread.
The children were silent for a moment, gazing at the bread. Then Michel broke off a piece.
“Don’t you want butter and marmalade?” asked Mari.
“Never!” he said, affronted.
Adele turned to Mari. “Did the duke do this for us?”
Mari nodded. “He did.”
She’d noticed they never called him father. Only “duke” or “sir.”
“I told him you were missing French bread.”
“It was very good of him.” Michel chewed contentedly. “Perhaps he’s beginning to like us.”
“I should think engaging a cook especially to make French bread is a good sign,” said Mari.
“Where does he go all day? Why do we never see him?” asked Adele.
“I expect he goes to his foundry. And his club.”
“Clubs. Pah.” Michel reached for more bread. “When I grow up I’ll never go to a stupid old club because they wouldn’t allow Adele inside the door.”
“I agree that it’s a very silly rule,” said Mari, “but, who knows, perhaps we females wouldn’t want to go to those stuffy clubs. The important gentlemen in their important clubs probably just sit around reading the papers and making bad jokes.”
“Our jokes are hilarious,” said a deep voice from behind them.
The children’s laughter rose like bread in an oven. Edgar realized that he’d never heard them laugh before Miss Perkins arrived.
He’d been on his way out, to fulfill his bargain with Westbury, when he heard voices in the breakfast room. Drawn by the conversation, and the warm, inviting aromas emanating from the kitchens, he’d drifted closer, meaning only to observe and then escape, unnoticed.
Somehow his feet had carried him closer, and then he hadn’t been able to resist joining the conversation.
“Tell us one of your jokes, sir,” said Michel.
“Sir?” Edgar asked. “Won’t you call me father?”
“Tell us a joke... Father.” Michel tested the word on his tongue like the bread.
A fissure cracked across Edgar’s hardened heart. “Good morning, Miss Perkins. Would you like to hear a joke?”
She gave him a half smile. “I’m at your pleasure, Your Grace.”
He closed his eyes for a moment and his belly clenched tight.
Don’t. Don’t say that.
