“Oh, I cannot wait to meet her,” Constance chimed in with a grin. “I am so pleased with your kind consideration, Kitty.”
Jack’s lips twitched at Constance’s quick support for Kitty’s suggestion, although his aunt could hold her own under any circumstances. But Kitty knew full well about his argument with Gaby and her move to the servants’ quarters. Yet she’d made a point of talking about Gabriella.
What are you up to, Kitty Darling?
Chapter Ten
Maremma, Italy
October 18, 1902
Gaby dried herhands on a kitchen towel and cast a critical eye around her. Sofia, the scullery maid, was finishing scrubbing the counters down with a boar’s hairbrush and a soapy pail of water. Gaby patted her on the shoulder. “I can see my reflection in those counters, Sofia.” She chuckled. “Excellent work today; now go get some sleep.”
Sofia was the youngest on staff, the least recompensed, and worked harder than anyone else. Gaby’s heart went out to all the kitchen staff; they were all teenagers. They were all dedicated, willing to take on new tasks, and eager to learn. She planned to ask Lady Darling for a small raise for everyone, but a slightly larger one for Sofia, a sweet girl who cared for her ailing mother.
They reminded her so much of herself at that age. The kitchen had always been her favorite place to be. She was forever hovering around her nonna, mother, and aunts. Absorbing, watching, learning. Listening to their stories, their singing, their arguments, and their laughter.
Oh, how I miss them.Would she ever see them again? Had it only been a few days since she’d arrived? It felt so much longer.
She swallowed the lump in her throat, untied her apron, and dropped it in the hamper with the other soiled linens. The dinner had gone well, with Kitty sending congratulations and praise back to the kitchen. Gaby was exhausted and should have gone upstairs to her room, but the cool night air beckoned her.
On tiptoes, she crept along the hallway to the library’s door. She looked around first and, seeing no one, pressed her ear to the door and listened to the conversation and laughter that drifted out to her.
Everyone sounded like they were having a wonderful time. They’d certainly imbibed enough of the delicious Tuscan Chianti to turn even the most taciturn into giddy guests. She heard Jack’s rumbling bass voice booming with laughter as Stefano, the art dealer, recounted a recent scandal in Florence, where an errant priest got a Florentine conte’s wife pregnant. Even the baroness, whom Antonio had aptly given the sobriquet ofil reclamante, the complainer, laughed.
Satisfied that Jack would be otherwise occupied, Gaby grabbed a blanket, wrapped it around her shoulders, and left the house to enjoy the cool night air. Keeping a safe distance from the bluffs, she walked a path that led past the stables. She gazed at the night sky. Clouds had rolled in, and she smelled rain in the air. If she’d been back in New York or Chicago, she would have checked the weather app on her phone. Now she only had her senses to rely on.
An occasional neigh floated out to her from the stables. As a child, she had yearned for a pony, but the expense of keeping one wasn’t something her parents thought worthwhile. She’d been so upset that she’d cried herself to sleep. But she soon got over her disappointment. Between school and working in the family restaurant, she had plenty enough to occupy her time.
Watching her grandmother in the kitchen preparing the recipes from her upbringing in Tuscany had awakened a passion in Gabriella. Becoming a chef becameuna passione, and Nonna became her teacher. Upon moving to America, her grandmother adapted her family recipes to the ingredients available in a Midwestern city. Still, it was a compromise she never adjusted to fully. She would explain to Gaby the differences, and when they became more readily available, the restaurant imported certain items in bulk from Italy. A stickler for quality, she always complained to the purveyors who supplied the restaurant if something didn’t meet her exacting standards.
When Gaby was in college, her grandmother died peacefully in her sleep. While going through her things, her father found a folder with all his mother’s recipes written in Italian. On front of the folder was written:Per la mia cara nipotina, Gabriella. Il cuore della nostra famiglia continua a vivere in queste ricette.
For my dear granddaughter, Gabriella. The heart of our family continues to live in these recipes.
Her parents gave her the folder at her graduation, which was the best gift she’d ever received.
Gaby, studying for a degree in hospitality management, had never intended to fill her grandmother’s shoes. Like the child of many family-owned businesses, she had wanted to forge her own path. But her grandmother’s gift changed everything. Gabriella spent the summer in Tuscany, then time at a culinary school in Florence, and became fluent in her grandmother’s native language. When she returned to Chicago, she took over the kitchen at Trattoria della Vita and never looked back.
Tears filled her eyes as she walked, reminiscing. Her younger sister, Lisa, had followed her career path and learned to make all the treasured family recipes on the restaurant’s menu. Gaby knew Lisa could easily step in to steer the ship along with her parents, who managed the business. She knew they must be suffering, knowing she was missing, believing she might be dead. But there was nothing Gaby could do, no way to send them a message or alleviate their pain, and it cut through her heart like a knife.
Raindrops began to fall, and they blended with her tears, trickling down her cheeks. She pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders and picked up her pace as she headed back to the villa. The wind whipped her hair across her face, and she brushed it back, gasping as a lightning bolt lit the sky, followed by a booming crack of thunder. The black clouds let loose, and a torrential downpour fell. Gaby was drenched in a matter of seconds, and she ran to the safety of the stable.
*
Jack gritted histeeth. He’d had enough. His face ached from the frozen smile he’d been forced to wear. He’d been painfully aware of Aunt Kitty’s unwavering scrutiny throughout the evening. She reminded him of the Cheshire Cat, grinning with glee as though she could read his mind.
She probably can.
The minestrone, sausage with polenta, and roasted vegetables were delicious, as was the lemon cake they’d enjoyed for dessert. Jack favored thecucina poverastyle of preparing food, and felt better when he ate it.
Unfortunately, every bite only served to remind him of the lovely chef in the kitchen. He hadn’t seen Gabriella all day, and it took all his restraint to hold himself back from running to the kitchen and whisking her into his arms. He’d had too much to drink, but rather than mellowing his mood, the wine had only fueled the fire burning in his loins for the cooking goddess, which was how he’d begun to think of her.
When the discussion turned to art again, he did his best to show interest.
“My savvy patroness Constance and I have our feelers out,” Stefano mentioned before he took another sip of his brandy.
“Yes, it would be lovely to find a little gem of a painting tucked away here in the countryside before we leave for Florence,” Constance added.
