Page 22 of The Chef and the Countess

Chapter 7

Celia squeaked, sinking lower in the tub. “How dare you burst in here? Please leave at once!” It was his house and business, but barreling into the room unannounced wasn’t polite.

Liam’s intense gaze made her heart skip a beat. He didn’t move, nor did his regard waver from taking in every inch of her naked state. Celia’s cheeks flushed from his heated scrutiny.

He let out a shaky breath. “I’ll be back after luncheon. We need to talk,” he ground out. Liam’s mouth turned downward. “I’ll meet you in your room—Countess.” He spat the last word, drawing out the s-sound. Then he turned on his heel and marched from the room, banging the door so violently, she jumped.

Countess.

He had learned of her identity before they even had a chance to discuss it. Celia had had every intention of informing him of her status—eventually. How had he discovered it? Of course, Doctor Hornsby. Liam Hallahan, for all his sullen ways, had taken her in, offered a warm bed, meals, and time to recover, and this was how she repaid him? Granted, she wasn’t well enough the first day to enlighten him, especially after his disparaging remark about peers.

But she’d had ample opportunity since then to broach the subject. Sighing, Celia reached for the pitcher and poured water over her head to rinse out the soap. Then she stood, grabbed the towel from the rack, and dried herself.

A knock sounded at the door more than two and a half hours later. Celia was dressed in the only other wool gown she owned, sitting on the edge of the bed with her hands folded in her lap. After her bath, she washed the clothes she had been wearing for the past week. They hung on a hook near the window.

Clearing her throat, she said, “Come in.”

Liam entered, closing the door behind him.

“I apologize for not telling you about my situation in more detail,” Celia said contritely. “I intended to do so soon. I reasoned it had no bearing on my present circumstances. What did it matter what title I held? I have no money and no present opportunity except what you offered. I am so grateful you took me in.”

Liam grabbed the chair and sat facing her. “I can’t have a countess working for me.”

“Why not? And I am not a countess but a dowager countess, a courtesy title. The new heir is married with children. He is a distant cousin of my late husband. I had no idea he even existed until just before my husband died.”

Liam folded his arms. “What’s the difference? You’re a peer.”

“I am a peer only by virtue of marriage, and now my husband is dead. My late father was a baronet, not part of the peerage. Dowager means ‘to endow’ and is related to having a dowry. Guess what? I did not have one. Therefore, I have nothing to live on. My so-called uncle could not be bothered to give Winterwood a dowry, and Winterwood could not be bothered to include me in his will.”

Liam shook his head. “That can’t be right. You must be entitled to something.”

“I have seen the books. The new earl and the solicitor, Mr. Sanderson, were forthright about allowing me to see the accounts. There is very little money. In generations past, peers owned vast properties with numerous tenants paying rent. As a dowager and according to the rules of the primogeniture, I would be entitled to an income from those rents. Alas, most peers no longer have tenants, Winterwood included. No dowry, no rental income from the estate, nothing for me.” Celia counted off on her fingers to punctuate each point.

Liam’s eyebrows shot skyward. “How did the earl live these past years?”

“He lived frugally. He had a few investments but left them to the heir—not to me. His will was twenty years old. Winterwood never bothered to update it once we married.” She shook her head. “Part of this is on me.”

“I don’t see how.”

“I should have demanded that my future was secure.”

Liam scoffed. “You were young, far too young to marry an old man. Your family should have protected you. Where was your aunt in all this?”

Celia exhaled. “She and my uncle fought on the exact point you raised. I heard the yelling. Ultimately, Aunt Etta had no say, and neither did I. I did not want to stay in that house. I accused my aunt of taking my uncle’s side. We did not part on the best of terms. Only years later did I realize she had no power to stop it—and neither did I. I planned on writing her when we returned from London on the first of December. We have been estranged long enough. But—” Celia shrugged.

“Doctor Hornsby has a few rooms you can stay in, in a small flat at the rear of his house in Gloucester Square. That address would be more fitting for the widow of an earl. You can stay there until your aunt returns from her holiday. Doctor Hornsby and I will see to your meals and the like.”

Celia shook her head. “No.”

Liam crossed his arms, giving her a dubious look. “No?”

“I thank you both for your generous offer, but it’s time I stood on my own two feet. I want to earn money, pay my way, and be independent for once. Surely, you must understand that. I have been handed off to men my entire life--no offense to you and the good doctor. No one here needs to know I’m a dowager countess. It means nothing. Not to me, and it shouldn’t mean anything to you. I want you to pay me a wage and take the cost of this room from the salary.”

“First, the on-site staff do not pay for the rooms, so neither shall you. Meals are included. Second, we all pitch in, whether handling meal preparation, cleaning the cooking areas, or keeping the living area spotless. It means scrubbing floors and the like.”

Celia smiled. “That will not discourage me. I want to do this, Liam. I need to do it.” Her smile slipped away. “Since my parents died, I have been shunted off to school, married off to an old earl, and then dragged from my aunt’s house. Please do not send me to another place I do not want to go. I don’t want to be shut away any longer. I want to be free to live my life.” Her voice shook with each word spoken. It would be the equivalent of a death sentence if she were cloistered in a few rooms for weeks or months.

Liam looked away, as if her openness made him uncomfortable. “I must be off my head to even consider this. All right, then. I’ll pay you thirteen shillings a week.”