Page 10 of The Chef and the Countess

She did as she was told.

“It’s delicious,” she murmured, giving him a sweet smile. The warmth from that ready smile arrowed straight to his heart, giving it a jolt. It was a reaction he had not expected.

“It’ll chase away the cold.” Liam offered another spoonful. When a spot of stew dribbled from the corner of her mouth, he gently wiped it away with the napkin.

Unshed tears gathered in the corner of her eyes. Not tears—can’t abide those, either.

“Why are you doing this?” she rasped between spoonfuls.

“I feel you have had enough men treat you with disrespect lately. I wasn’t about to add my name to the list. Can you cook?”

The abrupt change in topic caused her to blink rapidly. “No. But I can learn.”

“When you’re well, you will start with scullery work. Chopping, slicing, or is that beneath you?”

* * *

Beneath her? She was in no position to turn her nose up at honest, hard work. Celia closed her eyes as the body aches rolled through her like waves crashing against the shoreline. Logically, she understood she needed a roof over her head to recover from her traveling ordeal. Then, she could start to plan her next moves. If that meant she had to peel potatoes and chop carrots, then so be it.

“Not at all. I’ll take on the work gladly. And gratefully.” The warmth from the stew was welcome. “There was no need to call in a doctor. I’m not that sick. I do not want to cause you any extra expense.”

Liam held up another spoonful of stew, and she took it. “He’s an acquaintance.”

“Living at Gloucester Square?”

“He’s related to the peerage. His uncle is a duke,” Liam scoffed, saying ‘duke’ as if it were offensive.

“You don’t like peers?”

“I’ve got no use for them. Arrogant, bloody pillocks. Well, maybe not all, but most.”

Holy Crow. Celia would be wise to keep her ties to the peerage under wraps, at least until he asked any further probing questions. Hopefully, he wouldn’t, but if he did, she wouldn’t lie about her life. Celia did not plan to be here long enough for multiple in-depth conversations.

Celia pushed away the spoon. “I can’t eat anymore. Not now. Thank you.”

“Fair play.” Liam dropped the spoon on the tray, stood, and then took the tray away. “I’ll leave you to rest.”

He departed, closing the door behind him.

With a shaky exhale, Celia curled up under the covers. All she needed was sleep.

She was shaken awake in what felt like minutes. Glancing at the wall clock, she saw that she had slept for an hour, which wasn’t nearly long enough.

A man stood beside her bed. Tall, handsome, with golden blond hair, he pushed his spectacles up his nose as he regarded her. “Miss Gillingham? I am Doctor Hornsby.”

Celia sneezed as she struggled to sit upright. The doctor placed his black bag on the table next to her.

“How long have you felt under the weather?”

“Just before I arrived in London close to a week ago.” It seemed longer than that to Celia. “I had a distressing journey from Northern England. There were many railway delays, so I hired a private coach part of the way. It was freezing inside and out, and I caught a chill. I cannot seem to get warm.” What a waste of money, too. The slow journey by carriage had depleted most of her funds.

Doctor Hornsby sat in the chair beside her bed. “It is plenty warm in this room. You do not feel it?”

The doctor’s voice was pleasant but professionally distant. He also had an upper-crust accent. Of course, Mr. Hallahan—Liam—said the doctor was related to a duke.

“Not really, no.” Celia sneezed again. This time, she was able to cover her nose with her hand. The doctor reached into his bag and handed her a laundered hankie. “I cannot accept that.”

“I have plenty, made from sturdy cotton. Keep it.”