Page 68 of The Chef and the Countess

Besides, he had no interest in learning French or gourmet cooking—not that there was anything wrong with such fare. Liam wanted to bring flavorful, everyday meals to the masses. Alexis Soyer’s cookbook had become an instruction manual for his life—the one he’d wanted most to live. He’d studied the famous chef and all aspects of his life and career. Alexis Soyer was French and started his career in the best Paris kitchens. However, the chef had grown up in poverty and understood what it was like to be hungry. Soyer believed that hearty eating and good cooking should not be only available to the wealthy. Liam believed that, as well.

Once the famous chef moved to London, Soyer became renowned for his extravagant banquets for any aristocrat who hired him. But it was Soyer’s work beyond cooking for the elite, like assisting in feeding those caught in the Irish potato famine or tirelessly assisting Florence Nightingale during the Crimea War, that caught Liam’s attention. Many soldiers had been ill from malnutrition, and Soyer had shown the army how to run a well-organized kitchen and create healthy meals, which slashed mortality rates.

While Liam could never aspire to the late Soyer’s multi-layered achievements, he could affect change in his little corner of Spitalfields. His customers consisted of the underprivileged, the working class, the middle class, and every now and then a few toffs even wandered in. That was when he’d been offered the position at The Savoy. Someone in upper hotel management had liked his meal and wanted to speak to the chef. It so happened that Liam had cooked it. What dish had he prepared that day? Probably grilled steak, onion puree, and grilled mushrooms. It had been—and still was—one of his most popular dishes.

Did he have any regrets? Liam may have been young, but he wasn’t without some intelligence. He took the man’s card and spoke to Walter about it. Walter touched his shoulder and told him, “Go if you want, but know that I’m leaving this place to you. I’ll put you in charge of the menus this very day, but I must agree to the meals. Nothing too fancy, eh? I’ll make up a will and show it to you. Stay, Liam, and become the carriage driver of your future. Once I’m gone, you can do what you want with the place. Until then, we’re partners, eh?”

Was that what Liam wanted with his son? His son. It was still hard to grasp. We move forward together.

Liam had no past regrets regarding his choice of occupation. His commercial plan came to fruition, and everything clicked into place—until the shed fire and the disturbance last night. Bad word of mouth could put him out of business, which might be what the person or persons behind this mischief wanted. Liam yawned. Enough of this. After collecting his wool coat and scarf, he turned the gas lights off and headed through the rear exit, locking the door behind him.

The bracing cold wind slammed him hard when he stepped outside to climb the stairs. The snow fell gently, collecting on his coat and in his hair. Hopefully, it would not accumulate, which might affect his customer traffic tomorrow.

Liam tapped his snow-covered boots against the stairs and then entered. Someone had lit the coal stove, which cast a rolling warmth along the long, wide hallway. He silently entered his room. Had Celia returned to her bed? God, he hoped not. He tore off his coat and scarf, tossed them to the sofa, and entered. He listened and then heard her quiet breathing. One panel of the draperies was open, casting muted moonlight across the floor. She was lying on her side and looked beautiful, her long golden-brown hair spread across his pillow. Removing his shirt and boots, he crawled in next to her. He was too bloody exhausted to wash up.

Celia stirred. “What time is it?” she whispered.

“It’s past one in the morning.” Liam hesitated. “Do you want me to carry you to your room?”

“No. I want to stay here. If you do not mind.”

Mind? What would he give to have this lovely lady waiting for him every night, warm in his bed? “Aye. Stay.” He curled in next to her, careful not to lay his arm across her injury. Celia sighed contentedly and pulled his arm under her breasts. Tired or not, he grew hard. “Ignore that; it happens whenever you’re near.”

“I don’t mind.” Celia yawned. “Good night, Liam.”

He kissed her cheek and drifted into a deep sleep. It turned out to be one of the most restful nights of his life.

* * *

“My lord!”

William snapped awake. Baldwin stood over him, looking worried. “What is it? Is the house on fire?” William roared.

“No, my lord. Detective Sergeant Morrisey from H Division wishes to see you as soon as possible. He says it is of the utmost importance.”

Damn, and blast it! “Did he ask for Shinwell?”

“No, my lord. Just you.”

“Hand me my dressing gown.” William had a sinking feeling that this copper visit had to do with his reckless son. Troy had been acting cagey the past few days. William tied his gown as he stepped into his slippers. “Where is this copper?”

“In your study, my lord. Shall I bring tea?”

“Yes, along with toast and cheese. I am ravenous.” William slowly descended the stairs and found himself breathless when he reached the ground floor. That boded ill. One usually became winded when ascending. William shook away the worrying thought and lumbered toward his study. He entered, and the detective stood.

“What do you want, Morrisey? And how dare you call at such an early hour! Coppers have no manners,” William grumbled as he sat behind his desk.

“It’s half past eight, my lord, the beginning of my work day. Regardless, here is my card.” Morrisey laid it on the desk and then sat in the chair opposite him.

William ignored the card. “Well, speak your piece.”

“Is your son, Viscount Shinwell, available? He should be included in this interview.”

“He is not at home. I assume he stayed at a friend’s residence.” The slugabed was likely upstairs, sleeping off a drunken revel from the night before.

Morrisey removed a notepad and pencil from his side coat pocket. “No matter. We will address that later. Last night, four hoodlums entered The Crowing Cock at approximately half past seven and caused a disturbance, even grabbing one of the female employees and holding a knife to her neck.”

William’s blood began to simmer. He fought to keep his expression neutral. “What is that to me?”