“No better than any other woman who cooks for her family.” She tossed the small pieces back into the pan and once again stirred them in.
He leaned closer as he watched her work. From time to time she tasted the contents of the pan, inhaling the aroma as she added a little more of the blended spices. When she considered the mixture done, she gave him a taste. “Blessed saints, that’s good.”
“It is the blend of spices that gives this pie filling its flavor. This is what I purchase on my trips to Oxford.”
“Spices?”
She nodded. “My extravagance. I also splurge on Farthingale soaps. Your brother’s wife is a Farthingale and I believe it is her cousins who own this Oxford soap company.”
“So that’s your secret.”
She looked up from her cooking. “What secret?”
He grinned. “You smell like a delicious fruit. A peach or strawberry.”
“Yes, those are the soaps I buy. It is utterly frivolous and an expense we can ill afford, but I think we all need something special in our lives, and soap is a safe enough vice.” She gave the ingredients in the pan one last stir. “We’ll leave those to simmer now. Next is the pie dough.”
She moved about like a whirlwind again, setting out flour, butter, eggs, and water. “The trick to a flaky crust is to keep the butter cool. So we want to get the dough properly kneaded and rolled out before the butter begins to melt. You’ll be in charge of the kneading.”
“Aye, captain.”
He watched her put these ingredients into a large bowl which she then handed to him. “Your turn. You had better take off that fine signet ring. Here, I’ll put it in your jacket pocket with your cufflinks and stick pin.”
Now that his hands were unfettered, he plunged them into the bowl and began to mix until the ingredients looked like dough. He then removed the dough and began to knead it, trying very hard to think of pie crusts and not Viola’s breasts which were what he truly would enjoy getting his hands around.
Gad, he was hopeless.
Viola deserved more from him than this. He was growing to care for her sincerely. She was the last person he would ever use for a casual tumble. Yet, he could not deny his strong physical attraction to her.
She darted from the pan to the long table where he was working, looking quite serious as she watched him work the dough. “That’s perfect. Divide it into six equal balls and we’ll let them sit for a little while before I roll them out.”
He thought she was amazing, loved how she worked with practiced precision.
Since they had a few moments before the next step in their pie baking endeavor, she poured them a cup of tea which they enjoyed while he asked her questions about herself.
“There isn’t much to tell,” she responded with a shy blush to her cheeks. “I was born and raised right here in Ardley.”
“Any beaus? Other than George Haworth, of course.”
She laughed. “No. And George is not a beau of mine either.”
“He pines for you.”
She lowered her gaze. “I know. I just…well, my thoughts are on my father and I cannot think of anyone but him right now.”
“Will George ever be in the running for your affections?”
She shrugged. “I honestly don’t know. My father wishes he were.”
Alexander did not know why he was asking her these questions.
Or why the possibility of George Haworth courting her was upsetting him.
To be a possessive ape about it when he was not courting her, nor had he seriously considered courting her until this moment, seemed ridiculous.
Lord help him, he could now see himself with Viola.
Not just for a day or week or month, but a lifetime.
