“Please see Signora Fratelli is returned to her family, where she can sleep off her overindulgence of the devil’s brew,” Jack said to Thomas and the footmen who’d entered the kitchen from the side door leading out to the herb garden. His voice was calm, but Gaby saw the frustration in his eyes and something else—sadness as he watched the men pick up the still-snoring cook and carry her out.
Gaby had thought him a jerk when she first encountered him, but then she saw how sweet he was with his aunt and the passion he conveyed playing the cello. And now she could see how much he cared about his aunt’s home and everyone who worked here.
It was sad to see the self-destruction that alcohol could wreak on someone’s life. Gaby hoped the cook’s family would be able to help her. At least to keep her from drinking. Gaby’s nonna had been only six years old when her parents brought her and her brother Salvatore to the United States to start a new life after World War Two. Growing up, her nonna had heard all the stories of the desolation and collapse of people’s lives because of the war.
Two serving girls hesitantly stepped into the kitchen. Both looked to be in their early teens, and Gaby’s heart went out to them. They must have been frightened out of their wits. She smiled at them, nodding in encouragement. They gave her shy smiles and began to clear up the debris.
“Oh dear,” Lady Darling said from behind them. “I daresay breakfast will be late this morning.”
Gaby’s gaze met Jack’s in a moment of surprise at Lady Darling’s bland statement, and they both burst into laughter.
Lady Darling looked at them as if they were inmates of an asylum. “You may find humor in this situation, but losing Cook now is a catastrophe. Whatever will we do? How will we feed everyone?”
Gabriella took a deep breath, her hand on her chest as she regained her composure. “I will take care of feeding everyone.”
Jack and Lady Darling looked at her as if she, too, had been dipping her cup into the scotch.
“Surely you jest,” said Jack.
“I am not jesting,” Gabriella said calmly. “I am a professional chef and run”—she cleared her throat—“ran a kitchen. I’m used to serving a hundred meals in a single sitting. It would be my pleasure to help you, to thank you for your hospitality.”
Jack regarded her with an arched brow, his arms crossed over his chest. “You are full of surprises, Signorina D’Angelo. I wonder what other skills you might be hiding from us.”
Gaby ignored the innuendo in his statement, but the gleam in those blue eyes made her knees weak. “Give me a chance, and I will not disappoint you. The way I see it, you have no other options. After dinner, you can decide based on your satisfaction with what I prepare. That way, you will still have enough time to find someone, should you not be pleased with my cooking.”
She could see by Jack’s lifted brow that he was considering her challenge.
“But what of your injury? Is this not too much for you after your ordeal?” asked Lady Darling.
“The best thing for my recovery is to keep busy. Cooking has the same effect on me as I’m sure playing the cello has on you, my lord, or the piano has on you, Lady Darling.”
“It’s against my better judgment,” said Jack.
“Mine also,” Lady Darling added, “but your offer is welcome, given our choices and what is at stake. The guests will arrive, and we will have to feed them, not to mention ourselves. You have my blessing—but first, I need a good, strong cup of tea and some toast and preserves.”
“I think I can manage that.” Gaby smiled.
“Come, Jack—let us leave our chef to her important work,” Lady Darling said with a wink at Gaby.
Jack threw her a peculiar look over his shoulder as he escorted his aunt back to the dining room, as though he were trying to unravel a mystery.
He can muse all he wants but will only figure out the truth if I tell him. And there’s no way I can do that.At least working in the kitchen would enable her to stay away from him and give her time to think about Allegretto, the painting, and what she would make for dinner.
Chapter Six
Maremma, Italy
October 17, 1902
Jack rode Xanthusat a gallop to Piombino, where he was determined to find answers to the myriad questions plaguing him. The mystery of Signorina Gabriella D’Angelo topped the list. Where did she come from? How had an American woman appeared suddenly out of nowhere?
He recalled the heart-stopping moment when she toppled over the side of the cliff, and how he had to coax her to take his hand, to trust him to help her. And then how she clung to him after he pulled her up and fell to the ground. All he’d wanted to do was wrap his arms around her, make love to her, and never let her go.
He’d experienced several narrow escapes in his travels and encountered more than his share of dangerous bandits and killers. But something had happened to Gabriella before the cliff fall, something that haunted her beautiful hazel eyes that changed color like a chameleon, and he wanted to know what that was.
The revelation of her being a chef and running her own establishment was a surprise. Did she work at some trattoria in Piombino? Or perhaps she was from Florence and had escaped to Piombino to escape a violent lover? The thought that some brute might have abused her made Jack’s blood boil. If that were the case, he’d find the beast and make sure he never bothered her or anyone else again.
Jack expelled a deep breath. Losing his temper would get him nowhere, and he’d have to be careful as he made his way through town. He didn’t want to arouse suspicions about Gabriella’s presence at his aunt’s home if she were in danger. But he needed to do something, and someone in the seaside town might have some answers.
