“Father, you’re overreacting,” Portia put in. “It’s scarcely Allegra’s fault that she’s a talented pianist.”
“It’s literally her fault,” Uncle said. “She taught it to herself.”
“My mother taught me,” Allegra said quietly.
“Did she teach you to gainsay your betters instead of bear a bit of humility?”
“We’re not her betters, Papa,” Dorcas said. “We’re her cousins. Her mother was your sister. Doesn’t that make us equal?”
“You’ve taught my own daughters to challenge their father’s authority? I’ve had enough of your poor influence. If we’re so equal, then you certainly don’t need us. You are on your own from this moment forward.”
Portia and Dorcas blanched. “But Papa—”
“Come, Allegra. I shall walk you to the door, after which neither I nor my daughters expect to see you again.”
Chapter 18
John knocked on the door of his rented lodgings using the toe of his boot. He had never before knocked on his own door, because he lived alone and traveled the same way.
Until now.
The door swung open and Allegra’s eyes widened. “Here, let me take that.”
He stepped around her with the tray. “I’ve got it.”
“I know you do.” She followed him to the table. “It smells delicious and I want it in my face. And in my belly.”
“Ask and you shall receive.” He set the steaming plates before her.
Offering Allegra one of the unused bedchambers in his rented apartment was beyond scandalous. However, all the other rooms at Siren’s Retreat had been booked up for months. None of the other reputable establishments had any vacancies either. Not with the Season almost over, and lords and ladies trickling in by the day.
Though Portia and Dorcas must certainly have their suspicions, no one knew this was where Allegra was staying, thus saving her and John from the scandal of “compromise” and a forced wedding.
Not that such an event was likely to occur even if their sleeping arrangements made the front page of tomorrow’s paper. Allegra had no wish to marry and, at a few weeks shy of thirty, could not be commanded to wed against her will. Nor did her mercurial Uncle Townsend possess any incentive to rush a suitor into making his niece a bride.
It was only John who would have shown up at the chapel willingly.
Instead, he filled her plate with food and her goblet with wine. “Bon appétit.”
“To you as well.” She lifted a canapé to her lips and moaned at the first bite. “Oh, how right you are. Everything served at Mrs. Oswald’s soirée was rubbish.”
He grinned at her. “Wait until you try the salmis de canard.”
“Mmm. They’ve no idea what they’re missing.” Her eyes sparkled. “But they will, once you replace the Old Ship Inn’s famed chef at next week’s ball.”
“Er,” said John. “Perhaps my wild and increasingly emphatic gestures were somehow unclear. There is no possible chance of me doing any such thing.”
“But why wouldn’t you?” she said in obvious surprise. “It’s a wonderful opportunity.”
A wonderful opportunity to turn one of Brighton’s most emblematic tourist spots into flames and cinders. The Great Fire of London had started in a bakery before decimating half of the city. He had no wish to stage a reprisal.
“It’s too risky,” he told her. “There’s not enough time to prepare.”
She narrowed her eyes. “In your estimation, is there an amount of time you would consider adequate for sufficient preparation?”
“No,” he admitted. “I vowed never to cook in any kitchen but my own, ever again. There are too many unknowns and no way to control the outcome.”
“And yet, you just brought me a tray of five dishes you whipped up in someone else’s kitchen,” she pointed out.
“These were extenuating circumstances,” he protested. “We were tossed out of the soirée before the meal was served—”
“I was dragged from the soirée by my ear. You were a hanger-on to my ignoble departure.”
They were able to retrieve her meager belongings from her uncle’s quarters—including the copy of the will and testament she kept under her pillow—but they had not been allotted any more courtesy than those short five minutes allowed.
“The point is that you were forced to leave a supper party without the eponymous supper—a situation which no self-respecting dastardly pirate could be compelled to let stand. You were hungry. I had no choice but to feed you. It’s part of the code of the open sea.”
“Ah. In that case, on Wednesday night I shall present myself at the Old Ship Inn in a miserable state of extreme famine. You shall have no choice but to feed me, using any means necessary. Such as, for example, the large and well-stocked kitchens currently in want of a master chef.”
“You shall do no such thing. You’ll be performing at the pianoforte, and you would never allow your music to suffer due to completely avoidable hunger pangs.”
“Portia and Dorcas will be there, and you won’t want them to go hungry. Or to consume inferior canapés along with overcooked meats congealing in incorrectly prepared sauces.”
He shuddered. “A fate I would not wish upon my worst enemy. Yet I find myself forced to point out a flaw in the practicality of your scheme.”
“A flaw?” drawled Allegra with exaggerated shock. “In one of my schemes?”
“You should change your terms for providing the music at the ball. Take the managers’ money, instead of wrangling me into their kitchen. One never knows what could happen.”
“Exactly,” she said. “If you let this opportunity slip by, who knows if it will repeat? This is your chance to show the world and yourself exactly what you are capable of.”
“Such as…leaving an innocent woman indigent in order to selfishly pursue my own dreams?”
“I’m less than a month away from my inheritance. In the meantime, I am certain someone in Brighton must be in want of a maid.”
“A maid!” He set down his fork in horror. “I cannot possibly allow you to spend the next few weeks toiling like a servant.”
“You seem to be operating under a marked misconception as to how I’ve spent the past twelve years,” she said dryly. “If someone wishes to pay me for my labor, my station will have risen considerably.”
“Then here are my terms,” he said. “I will cater the event, and possibly poison or otherwise endanger everyone in the building. In exchange for this folly, you will allow me the indulgence of covering all costs related to your board or lodgings between now and the moment you find yourself in possession of your fortune.”
She tilted her head, her pretty eyes considering him.
“And,” he said quickly, “you can either accept the gift of transportation costs to the Bank of England in London, or you can allow me to escort you there myself, as I’ll be returning home anyway.”
There. The owner of that gorgeous empty corner restaurant refusing to lease the building had worked out for the best after all. With no tea room to open, there would be no reason to stay in Brighton. Particularly if Allegra was not present either.