Wade glanced down at the tea spread. He struggled for an excuse, as she had not yet invited him into her kitchen. “May I help?”
She smiled. “Truly?”
“Truly.” He held his hands up, palms open. “Put me to work.”
Cassandra hefted a plate into his hands. A rather thick, rather heavy, ratherdelicioussmelling pork pie stood in the center. “On the table, if you please.”
He placed the pie at the head of the table, and then surrounded it with plates, forks, and a knife. She provided napkins, her busy hands moving between his to arrange everything to her liking.
Wade sensed Miss Staunton was an exacting mistress. She certainly kept a tidy home.
At last, the tea kettle hissed. Miss Honoria appeared in the open doorway. She had changed into a dry frock, though she wore no apron over her muslins.
The trio sat down to their luncheon.
Cassandra poured the tea. Wade sliced the pie and clumsily served the ladies. When he lifted his fork to dig into his own wedge, they could not hide their eager faces.
They expected him to be impressed, andhewas. He couldn’t remember a better pork pie.
“This is…very good,” he said as he chewed. Crisp yet flaky crust. Perfectly cooked filling. Flavorful gelatin. “Actually, this is better than ‘good’. Miss Staunton, it is exceptional.”
Cassandra’s face transformed into a radiant smile. He had never seen her look more beautiful—not even in the sun-lit rose garden at Caswell Hall, or glittering in candlelight at Althorne’s table.
“Thank you, Your Grace. Had I known you would be joining us, I’d have made something more appropriate. A duke must find pork pies rather humble.”
He ate another forkful. “Please, don’t think of me as a duke. Think of me as your friend. Call me ‘Wade.’ ”
Miss Honoria nearly choked on her bite of pie. The younger sister made a great scene of coughing and gulping down tea, but her blue gaze was fixed upon her sister.
“I am not sure such familiarity is appropriate,” Cassandra said over the commotion.
“Perhaps not.” He wiped his lips with his napkin. “Call me whatever you like, then.”
She smiled. “Let us start with ‘Wadebridge’ and see how that suits.”
Wade inclined his head before steering the conversation toward safer topics. “Tell me, where did you learn to cook? From your mother?”
“Oh no, I am afraid Mama was a terrible cook. I am sure you recall that she was born a lady. She simply never took to cookery, so when Octavia was old enough, she took over meals.”
Honoria added, “Octavia’s skills are limited to chicken pie and eggs. Thank goodness Lord Althorne needed a governess and not a kitchen maid.”
“Our eldest sister learned to cook through recipe books and household guides,” Cassandra continued. “As soon as I could see over the worktop, I went to an elderly neighbor and absorbed everything I could from her.” She smiled. “I manage a bit more than chicken pie and eggs.”
She was proud of her craft.
“Then I am sure your mother was grateful to have your help in the kitchen.”
Cassandra nodded. “Well, yes. She was so busy in the village school, you see.”
Wade knew little of motherhood, but he hoped the woman was pleased with her girls. She had raised them to be ladies, but also to be productive members of society. The three Staunton sisters were competent, independent, modern women.
Or perhaps they were not a rarity at all, and he had misjudged their sex. Perhaps there were many ladies just like them, living, and working, and loving beyond the gaze of men like him.
Now that he had eyes for one woman, Wade was suddenly seeing them everywhere—not just pretty faces in pretty dresses created for his amusement, but individuals with rich personal lives of their own.
Such a realization threatened to cause him indigestion.
“More pie, Wadebridge?” Cassandra offered him the plate. “We still have some cake left over. Do let me refresh your tea and fetch you a slice.”
