He simply nodded.
“I just wanted you to know how much I’ve enjoyed your cooking,” I said, “and how much I appreciate all you’ve done to take care of me since I got here. Breakfast and luncheon arealways excellent, but when I arrive for dinner every night, it’s like witnessing an artist at work. You truly are a master of your craft.”
The man’s face pinkened, and he beamed at me, opening his mouth then closing it again as if he wanted to speak and had to stop himself.
“I’m wondering about the ingredients in the souffle tonight,” I said, hoping to tip that urge into action.
The chef’s brows shot up, and he leaned in, keenly interested.
“The flavor was so rich but so subtle,” I continued. “I feel like I detected gruyere cheese in it, but I’m not sure.”
“Close. It was gouda,” the chef blurted then looked around at the other staff with wide eyes.
He’d broken the no-talking-to-Raewyn rule. And there had been witnesses.
After a protracted silence, Kem said, “I love gouda.”
I shot a grateful look in her direction.
“I love it too,” one of the footmen said. “Especially the way you use it, Chef.”
“Same here,” another footman said.
A gush of joy filled my heart and sent laughter bubbling up my throat. They were talking.
Whether the chef’s “mistake” had broken the dam or they were all just tired of restraining themselves, it seemed the time limit on the silent treatment might have expired.
“Was that also gouda on the flatbread today at lunch?” I asked.
Darting his eyes from person to person around the room first, the chef answered.
“I never repeat a cheese in the same day,” he informed me as if it was a matter of professional pride. “That was Red Rind. The flavor you noticed in the flatbread was most likely the smokedpaprika, and I added a bit of pear puree as well to balance the sharpness of the cheese.”
“Wonderful. Truly wonderful,” I said. “May I ask your name, chef?”
He looked around at his fellow rule-breakers again, and then answered.
“It’s Korbin, my lady. But you can just call me Chef—when Prince Pharis is not around,” he added quickly.
“Thank you for telling me, Korbin. I am so pleased to make your acquaintance.”
Then I turned to the footman who’d dared to speak first. “And your name?”
After a brief hesitation, he gave a little bow and said, “It’s Bretton, my lady.”
Each footman gave me his name in turn as we made eye contact. What’s more, the kitchen maids must have heard us, because they peeked from the doorway then hurried over to join the party.
“I’m Kalinda,” one of them said.
She had curly red hair, a face full of freckles and an infectious smile.
“I prepare your breakfast tray every day.”
“And I select and cut the flowers for your room. I’m Nansia,” an older woman said. “I’m the keeper of the greenhouse for vegetables and flowers and such.”
“Thank you so much, Kalinda and Nansia,” I said. “I’m delighted to meet you both and to know who’s responsible for such a cheerful start to my mornings.”
The women grinned, clearly pleased.
