There was indeed a roll of dough lying on the counter. Christian hadn’t noticed it when he’d first walked in.
Lady Sarah knew how to make biscuits, too? How interesting.
“I left them to rise while I was napping,” Sarah admitted with another sheepish smile. She went about flipping the dough in the flour and slapping it on the countertop before using a round cup to produce biscuit-sized amounts of the stuff. Christian watched her in fascination. Surprising that a London blue blood would know how to cook and appear so natural doing it. It seemed strangely homey to him. His chest felt tight. All he’d ever wanted was a wife, a home, a simple life. He’d spent the last several Seasons in London looking for a wife. With no success. Seeing a woman in the kitchen of his lodge, making biscuits, suddenly felt very intimate.
“You do that as if you’ve done it before,” he murmured, crossing his arms over his chest.
“The truth is I have.” Her cheeks reddened. “I used to sneak down to the kitchens at our country house and watch the cook. She let me help her after I begged. I know how to cook lots of things, actually.”
“Youwantedto help cook? Why?” Christian couldn’t keep the incredulity from his voice.
Sarah gingerly placed the biscuits in a pan that she was preparing for the hearth. “It always seemed like a more useful thing to do than sit around in pretty gowns and not get mussed all day.”
Christian shook his head. His arms dropped to his side. An earl’s daughter dressed like a maid and preferring kneading dough to buying fripperies? What a singularly odd combination. But then again, he reminded himself, she wasn’t the typical earl’s daughter or she wouldn’t have taken off to Scotland dressed as a maid, would she have?
Christian filled Fergus’s water bowl from a pitcher sitting on the table. “I’ll be back in a few minutes,” he announced.
“Take your time,” Sarah replied in a singsong voice.
Shaking his head, Christian strode back to the guest bedchamber. He changed into a clean shirt and washed up as best he could using the bowl and basin on a wooden stand in the corner of the room. The water was nearly freezing. In London, his valet would have had a fresh set of clothing waiting and a hot bath. But Scotland was a different matter altogether, and his valet was at his country estate in Northumbria. Before he left the room, Christian glanced at his reflection in the looking glass above the washbowl. He hadn’t shaved in many days. He looked a fright. It was a wonder Lady Sarah hadn’t shrieked at the sight of him. He wouldn’t have blamed the poor girl.
When he returned to the great room, Lady Sarah had ladled out a large bowl of stew for him and another for herself. She’d poured two glasses of red wine from one of the bottles that he’d had stored in the pantry. The biscuits were hot and fresh from the pan on the hearth, and Sarah had placed two on a small plate near his bowl of stew on the table.
Sarah sat at the small wooden table, quietly waiting for him. From his place a few paces away, Fergus II sat up straight and licked his chops, staring at them both expectantly. Sarah tossed the dog a bit of crust from one of her biscuits.
“Shall we try it?” Her voice seemed oddly high. Was she nervous?
“By all means.” Christian grabbed his spoon, dunked it into the thick stew, and scooped up a large mouthful. He allowed it to cool for a moment before taking a bite.
Sarah bit her lip, watching him with the obvious apprehension of an anxious cook.
“It’s delicious!” he declared, and it was true. Rich, flavorful, thick, and hearty. By God, this little pampered daughter of an earl had managed to create a fine pot of stew. The girl was obviously talented.
A look of relief washed over her face and she took her own first tentative bite. She blinked. She blinked again. “It is good!” she agreed, incredulity dripping from her voice. “It’s quite good.”
“You’re surprised?” He took another healthy bite.
“Yes, I’m exceedingly surprised, actually.”
Christian pulled off a piece of one biscuit, dunked it into the stew, and ate it. Sarah watched him carefully, a slight frown marring her brow as if she’d never seen anyone eat in that manner before. But soon she, too, pulled off a piece of one of her biscuits, dunked it into her bowl, and ate it. A giant smile spread across her face after she swallowed, as if she’d just discovered the most delicious thing in the world.
“Why are you surprised it’s good?” Christian asked after swallowing his bite.
“Because I haven’t cooked in an age. I’ve been… well, I made my debut this past Season and Mother insisted that I spend my time doing… other things.”
Christian dunked another bit of biscuit in his bowl and arched a brow at her. “Other things?”
“Yes.”
“Such as?”
She took another bite. “Such as… find a husband.”
“And?” Christian countered. “Any luck?”
Lady Sarah began coughing uncontrollably. She beat her chest and her eyes watered. Then, just as Christian was contemplating circling around the table to slap her on the back, her breathing returned to normal. “My,” she said. “It must have slipped down my windpipe.”
He quickly handed her her wineglass. “Are you all right?”
