Page 57 of The Chef and the Countess

“That will not be easy. And pardon for asking, what did the lad mean when he said you are Tommy’s father?”

Liam exhaled. “That, my friend, is another recent disclosure. I’ll explain on the way.”

* * *

Celia sat at the dining table with the daytime wait staff and the evening pub staff. Everyone was talking animatedly, passing around platters of sandwiches and pouring tea. She had long yearned to be a part of such a scenario, surrounded by family and friends, but it had never come to pass. Her dreams had been cut short by her parents’ tragic and untimely deaths.

Although she had experienced comforting camaraderie at the finishing school with Selena and Corrine, they had all grown apart as friends often did. Granted, their unstable lives did not translate to writing letters and visits. Could she be opening herself up for more rejection from Liam or the people seated here at the table? Yes, she had moments of doubt. But closing herself off emotionally was not an option.

“We should do this every day,” Celia announced.

Everyone quieted and stared at her. “Do what, ducks?” Fiona asked.

“Gather together for a staff meal—all of us. Let us call it—a family meal. Right at this time and place, when the restaurant closes and before the pub opens.” Celia felt her face grow hot. Did she long for a family so much that she revealed her innermost longing to people she had only known for a few weeks? She had gone too far. Embarrassment covered her from head to toe.

Fiona gently patted her hand. “A family meal. I like that. We are a sort of family, yeah?”

Everyone agreed, which eliminated much of her mortification. Warming to the subject, Celia continued. “We can eat leftovers, or for menu purposes try out new recipes or make suggestions for different types of food from our backgrounds.”

“I have a suggestion!” Tommy cried. “Let me go get my book!”

Tommy was back in a flash and handed a book to Celia. The cover was well-worn. “The Cook’s Oracle, by William Kitchiner.” Celia opened the cover. “Published in 1817? My, that’s going back a few years.”

“I marked the page there.” Tommy pointed to a piece of paper between the pages.

Celia turned to the section. “Fried potato shavings?”

“That’s it,” Tommy said proudly.

“‘Peel large potatoes, cut a quarter of an inch thick or in shavings, dry thoroughly, then fry in lard or drippings.’ That sounds interesting. What would we serve them with?”

Tommy rubbed his chin, deep in thought. “Well, they would go with hot sandwiches on the side of the plate, like when Liam serves toasted cheese and bacon. Or we can serve them in the pub! It only takes a few minutes to cook them. We always have potato skins and shavings left. Why not use them? Maybe we can salt them and put some malt vinegar on them!”

Fiona clapped, and the rest joined in. “Well done, Tommy!”

It was that boisterous scene Liam walked into. His face looked like thunder, which immediately silenced everyone. “What’s this, a bloody tea party? Fiona, the pub opens in thirty minutes. Let’s get a move on, chop, chop. This isn’t a countess’s parlor. Tommy and Timmy, clear these dishes and start the stew prep for tomorrow. Hannah and Enya? Start cleaning the kitchen and readying glasses and mugs. Teddy isn’t returning. He’s staying with his father. Don’t ask me any bloody questions about it now. Get to work!”

The staff scattered, but Celia remained seated. A countess’s parlor? Was that sarcasm directed at her? Celia fumed. “No orders for me?” she asked mockingly. “Scrub the floors, clean out the chowder pots?”

Liam plopped in the chair opposite and unwound his scarf, tossing it on the table. His angry look changed to one of weariness.

With that, Celia’s irritation dissolved. “What happened with Teddy?” she asked gently.

“I sent him into the lion’s den,” Liam murmured. “Lucian Sharpe is an acquaintance I’ve known for years. He came to The Crowing Cock for Walter’s hot pot and the doings upstairs. He’s a rookery boss at Devil’s Acre, a slum area in Westminster. Long story short, I used Teddy to deliver something to him, not knowing they had a shared past.”

Celia waited for him to continue. Liam grabbed a wedge of sandwich from the platter and devoured it. “My gut told me not to send him, but I did. So that’s on me,” Liam continued gruffly. “Get this, Teddy is Sharpe’s son. Or so they say. He wants to stay with his father because Tommy now has a father—or some such reason. What a bloody mess.”

“Is he Sharpe’s son? Could it be possible?” Celia asked, stunned by the turn of events.

Liam shrugged. “He knew Teddy’s mother. Intimately. So, it’s possible.”

“Sometimes, the pull of family can be hard to ignore. From what you’ve told me, Teddy had a rough time. Perhaps he wished for familial contact and stability.”

“He had that here!” Liam barked. “I gave him a home, schooling, clothes, and more besides.”

“He was an apprentice, Liam. You only took him in because Tommy insisted. I am not denying you were kind to him because you were. But you are not his father. Perhaps he wants more from life than what you offered.”

Liam snatched another sandwich wedge and chewed thoughtfully. “Teddy is sixteen, can you believe it? I thought he was no more than twelve. He says he will take Sharpe’s derelict chop house and turn it around. I believe he will do it, as the lad seemed determined. What an unbelievable turn of events.”