Page 4 of The Chef and the Countess

“It does not matter. All I need is a bed.” The room was blasted cold, which would not help with the permanent chill overwhelming her. There was no fireplace in the room, either. “I hate to ask, but is there any way someone can bring me something hot? Tea? Soup? Anything?”

“I will see what I can put together.” Baldwin glanced about the room. “I will see that a brazier is brought to the room, my lady, as well. And an extra quilt. It may not come all at once, for I must do this without the earl and viscount knowing.” He lit the large gas lamp, and illumination filled the room.

Celia managed another smile. She had always liked Baldwin and had always been polite with him. Now, he was paying back that esteem in return. “Thank you. Anything you can arrange will be most welcome.”

Bowing slightly, he left the room. Celia kept her coat on and plopped onto the bed. Shivering, she pulled the quilt over her. She must have fallen asleep because the next thing she knew, she was shaken awake.

“My lady,” a woman whispered.

“How much time has passed?” she asked groggily.

“You’ve slept for two hours, my lady,” the maid said. She held a tray, and the aroma of chicken soup and fresh bread filled her senses, making Celia’s mouth water.

Celia sat upright, her back straight, as the maid placed the tray on her lap. “Mr. Baldwin had the footman bring up a brazier an hour ago. If you don’t mind me saying, my lady, it’s a disgrace the earl put you in here. It’s a servant’s room! The last one to stay here was a scullery maid about five years ago. Shameful, it is.” Her words resonated with Celia, making her feel less alone in her predicament. She nodded as she shoved spoonfuls of hot soup into her mouth.

“Mr. Baldwin added lavender seeds and orange peel to the coals, my lady, so the smell from the brazier will be sweeter,” the maid continued, her voice carrying a note of empathy. “On the chair is an extra blanket and another quilt. I also opened the window a crack to allow air circulation.”

“Thank you—what is your name?”

“Jane, my lady.”

“Thank you, Jane,” Celia replied kindly. “And thank Baldwin for me. I’m very grateful.”

“I wound the clock on the wall. It’s the correct time, my lady. The earl says you’re to join him and the viscount for dinner at seven. I’ll come at half past six to wake you.”

Celia glanced at the clock. It would give her another three hours of much-needed sleep. “Jane, I hate to impose, but when you come, could you please bring ink and paper? I have pennies for the post. I need to send letters to my two friends.”

“I’ll mention it to Baldwin, my lady. Good gracious, you finished the soup and bread already. I’ll take the tray.”

Celia snatched the mug of tea. “I will keep this to sip on. Thank you again.”

Exhaustion was covering her in waves, but Celia forced herself to stay awake, taking large gulps of tea. With that and the soup, warmth spread throughout her at last. Draining the last of the tea from the mug, Celia pulled the quilt over her, curled into a ball, and fell asleep.

Baldwin escorted her to the dining room promptly at seven. “While you are dining, I will dust and tidy the room, and ensure fresh coals are added to the brazier,” he whispered as they approached.

“Thank you,” Celia murmured. “You are most kind.”

Neither her uncle nor her cousin stood when she entered.

“Sit there,” her uncle grumbled, pointing to the chair opposite her cousin. Typically, Troy gave her an ogling look that made her skin crawl. Celia must make a point of asking Baldwin if the bedroom door locked. Her reprobate cousin was three years older, and when they were younger, he had tormented her to such an extent that her uncle had felt it necessary to send her away to school. When she was twelve and her cousin fifteen, Troy tried to get into her bedroom late at night--and more than once. Celia inwardly shivered. She had hoped her cousin would be married and out of the house by now. But what intelligent woman would have him? Well, one who someday wished to be a countess, Celia reasoned.

The footman served the fish course, and Celia was tempted to take two portions of the salmon but restrained herself. She had to remember to eat slowly.

“How is your room?” Uncle William asked, smirking.

“Why, it is lovely, Uncle. Thank you,” she replied brightly, her voice steady and her gaze unwavering. Celia would not give her uncle and cousin the satisfaction of seeing her displeasure. They thrived on others’ misery. She remembered that much about them—two peas in a pod. But she would not be another victim in their game.

“About you staying here—” Uncle William began.

“I need to contact two friends of mine,” Celia interrupted. “Baroness Addington and the Duchess of Barnsdale. As soon as I can arrange it, I will leave.” She looked him squarely in the eye. “Aunt Etta will not appreciate you treating her niece in such a shabby manner.”

“Addington? Do you not receive London newspapers in that God-forsaken place?” Uncle William boomed. “Addington was murdered nearly three weeks ago. Shot by a criminal with a notorious reputation. But that is not the worst of it. Baroness Addington has already remarried and to a lowly policeman. The bloody cheek of it. I hear they are off on an extended honeymoon and will be gone for months.”

Celia dropped her fork on the plate, and a small piece of salmon bounced across the tablecloth. “Murdered?” she whispered—and Corrine gone for months? Celia’s heart sank. While she was glad her friend found happiness—and no doubt the man Corrine previously mentioned had caught her attention—it meant Celia had lost one possible place to stay. It was selfish, perhaps, to think of her travails when a man had been murdered, but survival remained of paramount importance. The news about Corrine’s marriage blew Celia’s hopes of finding a safe haven to pieces.

“Not many options left, eh, Cousin?” Troy smirked. “And Barnsdale? What have we heard about the duke, Father?”

Celia kept her expression neutral. She hurriedly finished eating the fish as the footman had reentered to remove the dishes.