Ann thought back to earlier discussions with her husband. “What’s your compensation to be? The Coventry is a jealous mistress, Orion, and hasn’t had a dedicated manager before. You will find that what the Dorning brothers did not enjoy doing often went undone. Mrs. Dorning has made some inroads on things like the linen inventory, but all is not in order.”
“My compensation is to be a share of ownership that increases over time, if Dorning offers suitable terms in other regards. The original owner, a fellow named Tresham, has been gradually bought out, and now Ash Dorning is similarly easing away from the business. Dorning would like to ease us in.”
“Let’s think about it,” Ann said, tucking an arm around her husband’s waist. “We are soon to be toasted at length with the finest champagne in the world, and I would like to enjoy that pleasure with my new husband.”
“Twenty minutes,” Orion muttered as Sycamore Dorning got to his feet with glass in hand. “I will put up with this nonsense for another twenty minutes, and then I’m taking my new wife away for a few toasts made in private.”
“Surely nobody can offer twenty minutes’ worth of toasts?”
The toasts lasted nearly twice that long, and when Orion was inclined to let good manners prevail still longer over marital priorities, Ann took her new husband by the hand and stole away for many toasts made in private, only a few of them involving the finest champagne in the world.
To my dear readers
To my dear readers,
I devour well written biographies of writers from days gone by, and in the course of my reading I came across a recounting of the life of Victorian author Thomas Hardy.
His mother, Jemima Hardy (née Hand), harbored a girlhood aspiration to work in the kitchen of a fancy London club, though her ambition was never realized. She saw such a post as well above the options available to her in rural Dorsetshire, and as sufficiently remunerative that she could enjoy life in the big city. Her unfulfilled dream made enough of an impression on young Tom that when he had the chance to see London for himself, he took it.
Jemima Hardy’s wistful ambition stuck in my mind, as did memories of my childhood. My mom made dinner every night for a family of nine, and she regularly fed whatever shirt-tail cousins, neighbor children, or stray colleagues of my father’s needed a meal that day. Her dinner parties were legendary, and she collected recipes with a passion. She made sure each of her daughters had a copy of The New York Times cookbook, though among my six siblings, my brother Tom is probably the most dedicated cook.
As much as my mom knew about keeping a gang of people fed, it was my father who was the tenured professor of food science. With all due respect, Dad could just about make an edible omelet. Later in life, Mom pointed out to him that he had retired from the professorship, but she was still on KP day after day, decade after decade. He agreed to take over responsibility for half the meals, and this resulted in my octogenarian parents eating a lot of Don Bravos’ carry out fish tacos.
Which are wonderful, but still…
I got to thinking about these matters when I met Ann Pearson in The Last True Gentleman, and I already knew Orion Goddard had some tricky personal matters to sort out. So what if the colonel and the cook took a shine to each other? Wheee!
And if you’re wondering what’s up with Alasdhair MacKay and the ladies of the night… So am I! His story, Miss Delightful, is book two in the Mischief in Mayfair series. Excerpt below.
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Happy reading!
Grace Burrowes
Read on for an excerpt from Miss Delightful, book two in the Mischief in Mayfair series!
Miss Delightful—Excerpt
Miss Delightful, Mischief in Mayfair, book two
Dorcas Delancey, preacher’s daughter, spinster, and do-gooder at large, has seen her late cousin’s infant son ensconced in the household of his new guardian, Major Alasdhair MacKay. The wee lad has kept Alasdhair (and the whole household) up all night for several nights running. When Dorcas visits to look in on the baby, Alasdhair all but collapses at her feet. Modern folk might say Alasdhair is prone to hypoglycemia, but Dorcas apparently thinks he’s swoony…
Mr. MacKay had switched sides of the bed, but not roused. Dorcas took the reading chair when she should have left him to slumber on in solitude.
She was merely resting her eyes when an annoyed Scottish burr roused her.
“Have they gone? I know Powell and Goddard were here, or did I dream that?”
She sat up to behold Mr. MacKay sitting up amongst his pillows, his hair sticking up on one side, his gaze disgruntled.
“Your cousins have traveled on to the Aurora Club, where they await you, though you are not to hurry to join them. A tray is on the way, and I forbid you to leave the house until you eat something.”
Mr. MacKay sank back and nuzzled his pillow. “I love it when you give me orders.”
Was he still half-asleep? “I do not love it when a grown man in otherwise apparent good health collapses in a heap at my feet. I don’t care for that at all.”
“Every woman should have a grown man collapsing at her feet in a heap from time to time. Keeps us grown men humble.”
“Mr. MacKay, you frightened me.” Dorcas hadn’t meant to say that. Hadn’t allowed herself to think it, but if anything happened to Mr. MacKay, where would that leave the baby John?
He sat up, scrubbed a hand over his face, and swung his feet over the side of the bed. “You for damned sure intimidate the hell out of me. You are fearless, woman, and I apologize for my language, but profanity is another indication that I need to eat.”
“I am not fearless.” Far from it.
“Then you bluff exceedingly well. I ought to shave, and I refuse to do that with you glaring daggers at me.”
“Your cousins said you weren’t to bother, that they’d seen you looking far worse.”
He sighed and looked around the room as if he expected those cousins to pop out of his wardrobe. “What else did they say?”
“Not much. That you needed to eat very regularly or you got into difficulties. They weren’t worried.”
“They were worried. They are my nannies, those two. In Spain, they carried extra rations at all times…” Mr. MacKay rose, stretched, and gazed down at Dorcas. “I did not mean to frighten you, but that’s part of the nature of the beast. I don’t realize I need to eat, and then I get too muzzy-headed to think through the situation. I always come right, so please don’t fret. My cousins admonished me not to shave because when I’m peckish, my hands shake too badly to manage a razor. I could always shoot straight though.”
“I can shave you. I have shaved my father from time to time, when he’s ill, or once when he sprained his wrist. I will be careful.”
“One suspects you are always careful. Has the wee fiend gone to sleep?”