“Whome?” His expression was one of shock. A tiny bit too much shock.
“I thought so.” With a smug look, Grace left the dais and headed for the ballroom door.
*~~*~~*
“I am so impressed with how you’re keeping everything going, Mrs. Mallow.”
Grace sat at the kitchen table, with a cup of tea by her side.
“Oh now, then, Ma’am, ’tis not a hardship. Not here in this house, where there’s been such happiness over the years.”
“And then we arrive, closely followed by a large family, and you’re faced with unexpected guests in the middle of a horrid storm.” Grace sipped again. “Yet you manage to handle it all with a smile, and still make one of the best cups of tea I’ve enjoyed in quite some time.”
“Yer too kind, Ma’am.” The cook blushed.
“It looks as if you’ll be put to the test once again,” sighed Grace. “The Muirs won’t be able to travel tonight. That’s absolutely certain. Nor will Sir Peregrine and I, not that we’d leave them here alone anyway. So that brings up the question of food. Can you manage dinner for all of us? You have no scullery help…it’s a lot to ask…”
Mrs. Mallow shook her head. “Now you don’t go worrying about this, Ma’am. Although I will say ’tis very kind of you to think about it at all.” She nodded approvingly. “Shows a kind mind, that does, Ma’am, if you’ll forgive my impertinence.”
Grace’s casual gesture brushed it aside.
“Now as to dinner, I can certainly put a few more pies out, as I know the gentlemen are right partial to ‘em.”
“They are indeed,” grinned Grace. “And they’re not the only ones.”
“I got some good root vegetables that’ll simmer in a bit of wine broth, and there’ll be a fresh loaf or two if I get right on it and they prove up nice. Got a plentiful stock of taters.” She pursed her lips. “Apple compote for pudding. Biscuits for the wee ones, too.” She cast a doubtful look at Grace. “Would that suffice?”
“Oh my goodness, yes, of course. I’m sure that would be ideal. I just worry that it’s all on your shoulders, Cook. I don’t want you wearing yourself to the bone.”
“I wouldn’t do that, Ma’am. I have one lass I can call on, and if you’re not wanting Edward—and seein’ as nobody else is likely to arrive on our doorstep today, he won’t have that much to do—I’ll borrow him if I need an extra hand.”
“Borrow away.” A thought struck her. “What about the lads in the stables?”
“They do for themselves, Ma’am. Mr. Standish always worried about ‘em, too. So they have really nice quarters with a good fireplace and sort of a kitchen where they can cook up a mess of soup if they feel like it. I took this morning’s extra loaf over, not knowing we’d have company of course, but they should be all set.”
“Excellent,” approved Grace. “I have a feeling Sir Peregrine will want to check on our driver anyway, so if there are any other requirements he can look into it.” She finished her tea and stood. “I should leave you to it then, but please know I’ve cooked before. You can always ask me for a hand too, if you need to.”
Mrs. Mallow seemed appalled. “Ma’am…goodness. No. No, that’s not right.”
Grace patted her on the shoulder. “The world is changing, dear lady. We may all be doing our own cooking someday.”
“Never say so, Ma’am.” She shuddered at the thought.
Grace left with a grin on her face and headed back up to the main floor, wondering how shocked the woman would have been if she knew that Grace did quite a bit of her own cooking in the country.
It wasn’t until she passed a rather dusty mirror at the top of the stairs that she once again noticed her scars. Touching them, she frowned at herself. Why wasn’t she keeping her face covered? What had happened to her common sense since she’d been here?
They were still there; the skin puckered beneath her fingers, tracing the pattern she’d learned so thoroughly over the past two decades.
Had they faded? Why was nobody commenting on them? Other than the natural curiosity of a young child, no one had said a word.
What was wrong with them? Were they all blind? Couldn’t they see her disfigurement?
A thunderous avalanche of sound made her jump and distracted her from her personal reflections. It would seem that either the Duke of Wellington was recreating the Battle of Waterloo in the front hall, or the Muir family were dressing for a sortie into the snow.
It turned out to be the latter, and Grace gladly accompanied them as they paraded through the ballroom and out through the French windows.
The screams of joy were infectious, and for a few moments she wondered what it would be like to romp with them in the snow, carefree, heedless of wet boots or tumbles onto the freezing grass.
