“I was surprised to learn that Upchurch was your uncle. I should be grateful he hasn’t disparaged me in your hearing.” If Ann did not cease petting the damned cat, Orion would have to continue this discussion upstairs.
“This is all so unfair and awkward.”
Wasn’t it just? “Complicated,” Rye said. “I have retreated and retreated, and every wise general knows to be gracious in victory. Somebody is determined to see me not only defeated, but routed and hounded from the field.”
Ann lifted the cat onto her own lap, and the beast, after peering about with a disgruntled air, settled in to knead her skirts.
“You fight,” Ann said. “You fight for those boys, Orion. You fight for that old lady among the émigrés. You fought for your sister in as much as you could, and you have fought for Hannah. By hiring old Nicolas, you struck a blow against the prejudice he faces in London, and I am certain his wages are generous.”
“That’s not fighting.”
“I fight too,” Ann said, stroking the cat, who peered at Orion with feline smugness. “I fight for the scullery maids and footmen, for the idea that a woman’s recipes are as valuable as a man’s. I fight for my own independence, or I have tried to.”
“You have been victorious for ten straight years, Ann. A setback is not a defeat.”
“I don’t want you to go,” Ann said, setting the cat on the floor. “But I know exactly what you are doing, Orion.”
“Then please tell me, because my perspective on the whole situation is far from clear.”
“You are punishing yourself,” Ann said, “because your sister had to marry to get your family out of debt and so your father could afford to buy a commission for you. Now you think that somebody who would drug an old man, commit a hanging felony, and menace children would also come after me. Perhaps these malefactors are already in league with Jules. We don’t know.”
“Hush,” Rye said. “Please hush.” She’d named his worst fears and had done so calmly.
“You are leaving England rather than risk embroiling me in your troubles, and I could become embroiled all too easily. I am a squire’s daughter plying a lowly trade at an arguably improper venue. I have family who would be tainted by any scandal, family you have reason to respect. You leave to protect me and to protect them.”
“I have a few allies,” Rye said. “My cousins will keep their eyes and ears open, particularly among the former military. I may be able to return in a year or so.” By then, Ann might well be cooking for some baron in Derbyshire or a retired general in Somerset.
Ann rose, and thus Rye was on his feet as well. She slipped her arms around his waist. “I esteem you greatly for protecting the whole world, Orion. Me, the children, my family, émigrés, very likely your friends as well. I only wish there was a way I could protect you.”
He gathered her close and silently cursed fate in four languages at once. “I can protect myself.”
She shifted back enough to look him up and down, her gaze lingering on the scars around his eye.
“I have done something, Orion, and I hope you will not castigate me for it.”
“Tell me.”
“Before you leave London, there is one more invitation you must accept. I insist upon it, for I would not ride into this battle with anybody else at my side.”
“Ann Pearson has given notice.” Sycamore Dorning handed the tidy little missive to his wife, but no matter who read it, it would say the same thing. “I own I am surprised.”
“You are horrified.” Jeanette glanced at the letter, then set it on the side table. She passed Sycamore one of the throwing knives that adorned their private parlor. “I am none too pleased myself.”
Sycamore took the place beside his wife on the sofa. “If Goddard has enticed Miss Pearson into the bonds of holy matrimony, I cannot object to her decision.”
“You could ask for Miss Pearson to stay on through winter so you have time to hire and train a replacement.”
Sycamore tossed the knife at the cork target across the room, but the throw—smacking the bull’s-eye decisively—brought no satisfaction.
“I very much fear she cannot be replaced.”
Jeanette picked up the embroidery she’d been working on when Sycamore had interrupted her. “You are only realizing that now?”
“I’m realizing it in a new way now. Miss Pearson is the ballast that allows Jules his dramatics. He is the fire and spice, while she is the…”
Jeanette stabbed at the linen with her needle. “He is the expensive advertisement. She is the hard work, common sense, and actual skill necessary to run a busy kitchen.”
Sycamore tucked an arm around Jeanette’s shoulders. “What aren’t you telling me, darling lady?”
“Much, of course. Jules is a sot.”
Sot was a harsh word, and Jeanette was not a harsh woman. Pragmatic of necessity, but not harsh.
“I am aware that he samples the inventory. How could he prepare fancy dinners without knowing wines and spirits?”
“I overhear the footmen and waiters talking, Sycamore. Jules helps himself to anything and everything in the cellars and blames the results on breakage or accounting errors.”
Sycamore had wandered home from the club at this daylight hour because Ann Pearson’s notice bothered him, and thinking through a bothersome problem was best done with Jeanette’s guidance.
“Jules intimates that the footmen and waiters help themselves to the occasional bottle.” Jules made those accusations out of the hearing of the staff, of course, and with apparent reluctance.
You must not blame them, Mr. Dorning.
They work hard, Mr. Dorning.
In a private home, Mr. Dorning, the remainder of any opened bottle would be consumed in the kitchen.
“Theft can get a man hanged or transported,” Jeanette said. “Rather than bring scandal down on the club by having Jules arrested, you’d let him slip quietly away to France. He knows that.”
And therein lay the bothersome problem: scandal and the club, the club and scandal. In a minor way, the Coventry was a scandal, being technically illegal as all gaming establishments were illegal. But the Coventry was also entirely different from a dimly lit den of thieves where crooked cards presaged ruin for the unsuspecting.
“I miss Ash,” Sycamore said. “He would know to the penny if accounting errors bore any responsibility for an inaccurate tally of our wine and spirits.”
“I can do an audit, Sycamore. Winter approaches, and Ash has done much better since spending less time in Town.”
Ash, dearest of brothers, suffered periodic, paralyzing bouts of melancholia. “He’s done better since taking a wife, as have I. He’s after me to finish buying him out.”
Jeanette set aside her stitchery. “Tell me the rest of it.”
And there was the magic of marriage to Jeanette. Sycamore hadn’t known he needed to discuss the rest of it until Jeanette had parsed the topic with him.
“Ash would typically take over managing the club in summer, and I’d be free to nip over to Paris, pop in at Dorning Hall, or venture down to Brighton. I did the same for him in winter, and that meant we were both free of the damned club for weeks at a time, confident that all would run smoothly in our absence.”