Page 79 of The Chef and the Countess

Liam sat in his office, looking over the list of food. He had already paid the bills and counted the restaurant income. They did well today. The toff food had helped. One of these days, some aristocrat would wander in, order food, and recognize his personal chef’s handiwork. According to Drew, this food came from peerage houses that agreed to participate in the scheme, so no one would likely cause a fuss. But as he’d said before, he could rely on this food. Enough toffs stayed in London during the winter to have a few weekly trays. Come summer, however, when Parliament took an extended break, the upper crust would travel to their country estates, and there’d be no food for him to reuse. Liam opened the safe, placed the money inside, and spun the lock. He’d have to go to the bank in a day or two to make a deposit. Next on his agenda?

Celia.

It felt as if someone had shoved a sharp spear through his heart when she’d revealed that her aunt had invited her to Italy. Celia should go. She could become reacquainted with her aunt, smooth over their estrangement, recover from her ordeal, and live the life she was born into, the life she deserved. Why would any woman want to share his life? Drudgery, long hours, hardly any profit margin.

Fiona stuck her head in. “Liam, where’s the coffee grinder?”

“It was cleaned today. Ask Timmy.”

“About Celia… Don’t let her slip through your fingers. Tell her how you feel.”

Liam growled.

“Give over with that nonsense,” Fiona admonished. “She’s perfect for you, and you know it.”

“She’s a countess,” Liam snapped.

“I’ll wager you my tips tonight that if you ask her, she’d give that life up in a trice. Try it and see. You love her. You know it. Don’t muck it up.”

Fiona disappeared before he had a chance to respond. Don’t muck it up. Easier said than done. He stood, grabbed his coat, and headed upstairs. He knocked on Celia’s door and then entered. She was sitting upright on the bed.

“How are you feeling?” he asked. “The injury?”

“It twinges a little, but I am healing,” Celia replied softly.

Liam entered the room and closed the door behind him. He then grabbed the wooden chair and sat at the foot of the bed. “So, Italy. Are you going?”

“I honestly do not know. Aunt Etta was contrite about the past and appalled at what had transpired in her absence. She is sending a letter with more information regarding traveling to Italy if I wish to join her. I want to reconcile with my aunt. She’s the only family I have.”

You have family here. But Liam couldn’t say it aloud. Not yet.

“What did Winterwood want, or is it none of my concern?” Liam cringed at his snappish tone. “I didn’t mean to sound as if I had some claim on you. I’m upset.”

“At my leaving?”

“Aye, that,” he murmured. “You’ve become such a vital part of the restaurant.”

“And?”

“And a vital part of my life. And my heart. I do have one.”

Celia’s look softened. “Oh, I know you do. I knew it from the start. Winterwood came to make amends. His wife, the new countess, told him ‘to make it right’ regarding my situation.”

“As he bloody well should,” Liam muttered.

“Franklin apologized and said he’d been following the solicitor’s advice. I cannot fault him entirely.”

Liam crossed his arms. “Franklin, is it?”

“Yes. I forgave him.” Her luscious mouth curved into a smile. “Especially after his proposal.”

Liam listened, transfixed by her explanation, and, in turn, was heartsick because Celia now had the means to live her own life. She could live as she pleased between the money and her aunt’s invitation to Italy. He should never have allowed himself to feel deep emotions because this would always be the result. People left, people died--like his mother and Walter Henning. He should have learned that by now.

But Liam understood these were the conclusions of an emotionally damaged boy. He was thirty years old! And it is time to step into the light. He had already made a start with his staff and his son. Now came the most challenging part of all.

“What do you think?” Celia asked, bringing him out of his thoughts.

“I’m pleased for you.”