James tensed, worried his outspoken cook would upset Georgiana, but she merely smiled. “My late husband was an architect. I’d always dreamt of being one myself. He agreed to teach me everything he knew.”
“Unusual, ain’t it? A man willing to teach a woman something valuable?” Mrs. Honeycutt slapped butter onto the bread slices with the enthusiasm of someone beating a rug. “Most men want to keep knowledge to themselves. Otherwise, women have too much power.”
“My husband was an unusual man. He understood my ambitions.” Mrs. Fairfax’s voice remained steady, though James noticed her hands clasped together tightly in her lap. “He was rather progressive in his thinking.”
“Was he now? Rare breed, that.” Mrs. Honeycutt paused in her preparations, pointing her knife at Mrs. Fairfax. “How long’s he been gone, then?”
“A little over a year.”
“I’m sorry to hear. I lost my husband young too.” Mrs. Honeycutt returned to her work, placing thick slices of cheese between the buttered bread. “Tavern brawl. Knife to the ribs over a game of cards. I was spitting mad at the time. Such a waste.”
“How awful,” Cecily murmured.
Mrs. Honeycutt placed the assembled sandwiches in the skillet with a satisfying sizzle. “Well, he wasn’t much of a husband anyway. Drank and gambled away all our money and couldn’t keep his hands to himself where the serving girls were concerned.”
Miss Cecily’s eyes widened to saucers. “Our father was a gambler too,” Cecily said. “That’s how we got into so much trouble. He gambled away our fortune, then took his own life.”
“Oh, dear me, that’s horrible,” Mrs. Honeycutt said.
James’s chest ached, thinking about what it must have done to his daughters. He’d seen it himself back at the tavern. Men who gambled away homes or businesses, always thinking one more bet would restore whatever they’d lost previously. In fact, that was the very scenario in which he’d won the tavern. Although, that man had had no family. If he had, James wasn’t sure he could have taken it from him, even though he had won it fairly. James liked cards, but he never cheated. Now that his fate had changed for the better, he’d lost the taste for cards. He’d played out of necessity. Once he’d discovered his talent for winning any game he played, he’d used gambling for financial gain. Having nothing forces a man to do things he otherwise might not. He would have no need for gambling now.
For some odd reason, a thought popped into his head. Would Mrs. Fairfax think less of him if she knew he had often gambled? Now that he knew about her father, he worried she might see him in a different light. An unflattering one.
“Did you ever consider remarrying?” Georgiana asked Mrs. Honeycutt.
“Good heavens, why would I? Once was quite sufficient.” Mrs.Honeycutt flipped the sandwiches with expert precision. “I found it easier to make my own way. You?”
“I wouldn’t be opposed,” Georgiana said. “But it’s unlikely. We’re hoping Cecily can have a Season. I married a working man but our father was a nobleman. Unfortunately, as Cecily said, we had nothing after our father’s death. I had to find a husband quickly but I had no dowry. Fortunately for me, Robert took a shine to me. If not for him, I’m not sure what would have happened to my mother and sister. Or me, for that matter. As you can imagine, it’s important for me that this job goes well. I’m hoping to provide a dowry for Cecily so that she can marry well.”
Mrs. Honeycutt looked at Georgiana and then back to Cecily. “You look alike, except for the hair.”
“We’ve heard that all our lives,” Georgiana said. “Cecily takes after our mother. She is a ginger too.”
“This hair is a curse, ain’t I right?” Mrs. Honeycutt asked Cecily. “I blame it for my temper.”
“Cecily doesn’t have much of a temper,” Georgiana said, her eyes softening as she glanced at her sister. “Isn’t that merely a stereotype?”
“I suppose so.” Mrs. Honeycutt said, grinning. “But it’s been a good excuse for my wild nature.”
“I’d like to be wild,” Cecily said, perched on the edge of her chair.
“I don’t recommend it,” Mrs. Honeycutt said. “It’s gotten me into some trouble.”
He wondered what she’d done to necessitate an early departure from Brighton. He’d have to ask her later. The ladies were not ready for one of Mrs. Honeycutt’s stories.
Mrs. Honeycutt lifted the skillet from the fire and slid the sandwiches onto plates. “Not my finest work but it’ll keep body and soul together until I can get to the village tomorrow. I’ve a list long as your arm, my lord, and I’ll need coin for it.”
“Of course.” He brought two of the four plates to the table, placingthem before the ladies. The aroma of toasted bread and melted cheese made his stomach growl embarrassingly.
Mrs. Honeycutt brought the other two plates and James waited for her to settle her substantial frame on a chair that creaked in protest. Once James was seated, Mrs. Honeycutt said, “Go on then. It won’t improve with waiting.”
James took a bite, the buttery crunch giving way to molten cheese. It was ridiculously simple, yet somehow perfect.
“Tomorrow,” Mrs. Honeycutt announced between bites, “I’ll set things properly to rights. Need herbs from the kitchen garden—if there’s anything left of it—and proper meat. Can’t have His Lordship and two beautiful ladies living on cheese and bread like mice.”
“I’m afraid the kitchen garden is quite overgrown,” Mrs. Fairfax said. “Lord Ashford has plans to have it cleared and planted this spring.”
“We have a lot to do,” James said. “But Mrs. Fairfax is doing splendidly so far.”
