Chapter One
Lady Atterley’s Dinner Party
England’s Lake District
Early July 1825
Lady Felicity Abarough,sixth sister to the most infuriating Duke of Broadmere, sidled along the outermost edge of the parlor, keeping to the shadows. Occasionally, she swept a glance across Lady Atterley’s expertly planned festivities. Even more often than that, she noted where her sister Serendipity was and whether or not Seri was looking her way. Just a few more yards, and she would be able to dash into the kitchens and escape this unbearable torture of shedding her status of devout wallflower long enough to attract a suitable husband. Since four of her older sisters had married for love, she, Felicity, was next on the matrimonial chopping block that would supply her brother Chance with yet another percentage of the family’s coffers he had yet to inherit.
Thank heavens, he only inherited that additional percentage if she married for love. That was the only saving grace to their parents’ will that had set this fine mess into play and prevented Chance from receiving the entirety of the estate’s vast fortune. Praise be for that little legality, since her only current love was food and concocting delicious new recipes. Eventually, she wished to marry. Truly, she did, but just not yet. And at two stone heavier than she should be, according to the modiste, and virtually invisible to most in theton, she should be safe.Should be.But that didn’t mean that Chance andSerendipity, the eldest of the seven sisters and Chance’s assistant in this Marriage Mart madness, had stopped doing their level best to throw her into the path of every eligible gentleman of Polite Society.
“Come along now, Seri,” she muttered. “That is your second or third glass of lemonade since supper. Wouldn’t a visit to the ladies’ cloakroom be in order by now?” She craned her neck, willing her sister to retire for some relief. Then Felicity could escape to the kitchens before Lord Smellington…er…Lord Pellington cornered her with his malodorous presence. Currently, he was across the way, gagging a trio of young ladies with his unbearable odor.
As usual, their hostess had outdone herself. The dinner party had provided not only an exemplary meal, but some of the guests were presently amused by a rollicking game of charades. Those not interested in that diversion had the choice of several card games. Tables for whist, quadrille, and cribbage had even been provided. Music and dancing rounded out the evening’s entertainment.
Felicity had sorely hoped to escape these gatherings, since the Season was now officially over, and they had retired to their summer leisure at Broadmere Hall in the Lake District. Alas, it was not to be. Heaven forbid that the matriarchs of thetonshould become bored, no matter where they might find themselves.
“At last.” She breathed a sigh of relief as her sister allowed a servant to take her empty glass, then turned and gracefully swept across the room toward the ladies’ cloakroom. As quick as a flash, Felicity darted after the servant and followed him to the kitchens.
“Bless my soul, there she be! I had begun to wonder,” said the grandmotherly woman at the head of the long worktable.
“She did just say that, Lady Felicity,” said the kitchen maid, chopping dried fruits with a loud, banging fervor. The cheery girl paused in her labors and winked. “I was just telling her to give you time to escape your keepers.”
“You are so right, Marcie,” Felicity said to the maid before rushingto catch hold of the floury hands of Mrs. Amesbury, longtime cook for the Atterley household and also longtime friend. “It took me forever to slip past Seri.” Felicity indulged in a wicked grin. “And thank you for having the footmen ply her with lemonade. You know it is her weakness.”
“Well, now…we do what we can for our cherished friends.” With a pleased-with-herself wiggle of her ample girth, the amiable cook quickly let go of Felicity’s hands. “Now, now. Flour on your gloves. That will never do.”
Felicity couldn’t care less about a little flour, but she brushed her hands together and slipped off her gloves, stuffing them into her reticule after removing a tightly folded parcel she couldn’t wait to show to her dear friends. For that was exactly who they were—her dear friends. After taking refuge in the kitchens of all the best households and helping the staff churn out their recipes, all the kitchen servants of thetonadored Lady Felicity as much as she adored them. “See here what I stitched together? My very own apron.” With a flamboyant snap of the cloth, she held up the linen garment that would cover most of her gown and shield it from any errant splashes. “Now, what are we making? I know you need help. Between the vicar and Lady Urnstall, there is not a single rout cake, tart, or biscuit left on the refreshment table. How on earth could they possibly devour so much after that scrumptious banquet you prepared?”
“Ah, the vicar.” Mrs. Amesbury nodded. “I wondered if he was here. Not a soul can eat like that man. I swear his legs must be hollow.”
“We be glad for your help,” Marcie said. “Them folks eat more than me brothers, and that be truly saying something.”
The familiar aromas of herbs, spices, and the mouth-watering roasted meats that had been served for dinner buoyed Felicity’s spirits as she donned her apron, hung her reticule on a peg by the door, and joined the women at the worktable. This was her element. Thekitchen was her place.
“I could make some marchpane cakes,” she said. “I worked out a new recipe where they do not take nearly as long and are quite lovely when I form them into little shapes like fruits. Those would hold the guests until everything else gets out of the ovens. I know you must have rosewater, sugar, and flour. Have you enough almonds? I could start blanching them.”
“We have almonds aplenty.” Cook gave one of the scullery maids a nod. “Fetch our lady whatever she needs. Be quick about it now.”
“Yes, Mrs. Amesbury.” The girl scurried to the pantry. Harried thumps and bumps from the adjoining room attested to her diligence in doing as she was told.
“I do beg your pardon,” said a rich, deep voice from the kitchen’s doorway.
Felicity froze and stared down at her fisted hands, fearing that Serendipity had sent someone to fetch her.
Mrs. Amesbury and Marcie curtsied.
“Yes, my lord?” Mrs. Amesbury moved toward the door, wiping her hands on her apron.
Finding what little courage there was to be had, Felicity cautiously turned to see who thismy lordwas and what on earth he was doing in the kitchens.
Tall and so broad-shouldered that he filled the doorway, the dark-haired gentleman offered Mrs. Amesbury a polite bow. “Do forgive the intrusion, but I fear I missed what I am certain was a divine supper because my rascal of a horse slipped free of his stall. Dratted devil. Took me forever to catch him. But thankfully, I did and made haste to keep from missing this lovely party.”
“And how can we be helping you, my lord?” Mrs. Amesbury said, apparently not quite certain how she might remedy his unfortunate situation.
Without thinking, Felicity stepped forward. “He is hungry, Mrs.Amesbury, and the refreshment table is quite empty.” She ventured a soft curtsy toward the breathtaking man who possessed the kindest eyes she had ever seen. Or maybe it was his lopsided smile that perfectly set off the manly cleft in his chin. “Is that correct, my lord? You are in search of something to eat?”
The captivating sir beamed at her. “Yes, you understand me perfectly, Miss…?”
