“Good evening, Mrs. Constable.” Adelia failed to rise, as was her right as the bereaved mother, and both the vicar and his wife converged on her, making soothing noises.
Alexander turned back to Lady Christabel and her brother as the least of all evils. For some reason Adelia’s justifiable grief over her lost son infuriated him, mocking his own pain. But then, everything about the woman infuriated him and always had. Perhaps it was simply that he couldn’t despise her grief; he was much happier hating the woman who had tricked his father into marriage and then done her best to get rid of him.
He should have sent her packing long ago. There was no way to prove she’d had anything to do with the various accidents that had befallen him before Dickens had come to look after him. But he loved his younger brother, and he simply couldn’t have left him to Adelia’s tender mercies.
Once his father had died, his brother had been under his protection, but there was no way Alexander could deny the boy his mother, particularly since he’d just lost his father. And so he endured the woman, for his brother’s sake. That time was coming to an end, and his relief made him feel guilty.
This evening was going to be endless. He hadn’t decided whether he was going to make the trek down into the kitchens to find the cook’s quarters, or if he was going to summon her to his bedchamber like a regal satyr. Or whether he’d put it off for a day or two, long enough to get the Forresters out of the house and to come up with a comfortable plan. By then he’d know whether they could manage to stomach her cooking or if he needed to end that particular charade and cart her off to the dower house. He could think of no reason why she’d want to cook, when she could earn her living much more pleasantly on her back. But perhaps she wanted to leave the life of a whore and thought cooking a more respectable occupation. Either way, it didn’t matter. He didn’t care about the way her mind worked, he only cared about what lay under those ugly clothes.
It was going to be a long night, and even if he had no particular interest in food, for once he was hungry. Starving, in fact, all his appetites awakened by that pert little miss in his kitchen. Anticipation usually made the reward that much sweeter.
“Word has it you’ve a sweet little crumpet downstairs,” Freddy was saying, and Christabel, who still had a proprietary hand on Alexander’s arm, suddenly dug her fingernails into his evening jacket.
“You seem to be more conversant with my staff than I am, Freddy,” he said, so mildly that the fool might have missed the edge of danger in his voice. “But if you think the maidservants are fair game, I must inform you that they’re out of bounds. I doubt they’re a particularly virtuous bunch, but Adelia transported them all from London, and it would be too expensive to replace them.” How the hell had Freddy found out about Madame Camille so quickly? Probably through his valet, Alexander realized.
“Wouldn’t think of it, old man,” Freddy said with a leer. “It’s the cook I’m talking about. You know the one. You were seen deep in conversation out in the stable yard. I hear she’s quite gorgeous.”
Christabel had now released his arm, and for that Alexander could have kissed the foolish ass. “Don’t be gauche, Freddy darling,” she said, her irritation profound. “Mrs. Griffiths is in no condition to see to menus, and I gather Lord Griffiths doesn’t hire a housekeeper. Why don’t you?” She was turning some of her ire on him, and the question was accusatory.
“Actually, I tend to molest all the female servants and we simply couldn’t find one pretty enough to suit me.”
Freddy’s braying laugh rang out. “Don’t believe him, sis. The new viscount isn’t known for his indulgences, at least not out here. Now, Mrs. Lefton’s establishment . . .”
“This is hardly fit conversation for either the drawing room or your sister’s ears,” Alexander said, losing some of his amusement. “Bad taste, old boy.”
Oh, things are getting even better, he thought, as Christabel stiffened. The one thing more important than snagging his unwilling hand in marriage was her devotion to her spoiled younger brother, and any hint of disapproval raised her hackles like a bitch with a favored pup.
“I hardly think my brother needs to be lectured on proper conduct by a newly minted peer who’s lived most of his life in the wilds of . . . of . . .”
“Yorkshire,” he said with real enjoyment.
She faltered for a moment, but rallied. “Well, society there is hardly like that of London.”
“I am chastened,” he murmured. “Perhaps I’d better make certain my stepmama is not tiring.”
But Christabel wasn’t to be deprived of her goal so easily. She gave what she obviously hoped was a light laugh. “Well, of course it takes a little time to acquire the proper mien of a viscount. A wife of the proper background could be immense help.”
For a moment he was struck dumb, a rare occurrence for him. She was even more gauche than her brother with his mention of well-known brothels. He gave her his devastating smile. “You’re right, of course. Someone with discretion and delicacy would fill the bill quite nicely.” It was said so sweetly that Lady Christabel wasn’t certain whether she’d been insulted or not. “Let me see what’s keeping dinner.”
“That new cook of yours,” Freddy said with a laugh, loud enough for Adelia to hear and cease her posturings for a moment.
“A new chef?” She almost brightened.
“Indeed, Mama.” He liked to call her that, simply to annoy her. “She just arrived this afternoon, so I have no idea whether she’s managed to improve our menu as yet.”
“Gorgeous little thing, I’ve heard,” Freddy said, and Alexander briefly considered strangling him.
Adelia’s beady eyes narrowed. “To my mind the best cooks are large, ugly, and usually male. If she can’t improve our repast then I’ll know what to do.”
Probably eat her, Alexander thought without shame.
“Then why don’t we find out just how good she is?” he suggested, and signaled to Dickens, who was standing at attention near the door, flanked by the handsome footmen Adelia had insisted upon.
“Yes,” said Adelia, rising majestically and taking the reverend’s proffered arm. “I could manage something sustaining.” And she began her journey toward the large dining hall.
Here I come, ready or not. The child’s game came into his head as he took Lady Christabel’s arm, leaving Freddy to follow up with the redoubtable Mrs. Constable. His little darling was about to have a baptism by fire. He could only hope she wouldn’t go up in flames.
CHAPTER FIVE