Page 8 of The Chef and the Countess

Celia was stunned, utterly shocked, and dismayed right to the toes of her boots by her cousin’s shameful behavior. She clutched her mid-section. She did not feel well and her head spun. How naïve of her to fall for Shinwell’s story of going to the bank to give her a loan of ten pounds. Desperation made someone believe all sorts of things, she supposed. Did Uncle William know of the ruse? No doubt. Did they want to be rid of her that badly? Unwanted. Alone in the world. Just like when she’d been thirteen years old and sent away to school.

“My—name,” she whispered. “Celia Gillingham.” She wasn’t about to throw around her dowager countess title or married name. Why bother?

“I’m Liam Hallahan. What about your family?” Mr. Hallahan asked.

“I have no immediate family My parents are dead. I have no siblings.” Her extended family had never wanted her around, at least not her uncle and cousin. There was no way to write to Aunt Etta, as her husband and son had refused to share her aunt’s contact information. Nor did Celia know of any acquaintances of her aunt as she’d been away at school for years. She would never think of Darrington and Shinwell as her uncle and cousin ever again. “And I have no money. Shinwell took what little I had left.” She had discovered it just before they arrived here. Her loathsome cousin had made a point of telling her he searched her room while she’d slept. Knowing he’d been in her room when—she inwardly shivered. Shinwell returned her paper from the new earl’s solicitor. It was not a legal document. So her uncle, knowing she had no money, saw an opportunity to be rid of her.

Things were dire, indeed. Perhaps she should write the Winterwood solicitor and inform him what had occurred, although she didn’t hold out much hope. Still, perhaps they could spare a few pounds. Celia had been feeling so poorly since arriving in London that she never had a chance to finish her letters to Corrine and Selena. Perhaps the Duke of Barnsdale could tell her where Selena had gone. One thing at a time. Celia needed a place to stay before she did anything else.

“Your cousin is a despicable bastard, begging your pardon,” Mr. Hallahan barked. Celia looked up and caught his gaze. He must be a whole foot taller than her and ruggedly handsome. With a name like Liam Hallahan and with that coal-black wavy hair and sky-blue eyes—an even lighter shade than hers—he had to be Irish. However, she couldn’t hear much of an accent—just a hint of the Irish lilt.

“I agree. Despicable. In all ways.” Celia’s mind swirled in all directions. What would she do? “I have nowhere to go.”

“Is there anyone I can contact for you? A friend?”

“I have two friends in London, but both are away, and I don’t know how to reach them.”

“Then I can fetch a constable.”

The police? “What could they do? My uncle can legally toss me to the cobbles without a by-your-leave.” Her insides rolled, she felt all at sea. “And stealing my money? There is no way to prove it.”

“The police can find you somewhere to stay. A charity house or the like.”

“Is such a place safe?” she whispered.

Mr. Hallahan frowned. “Probably not.” He studied her closely, and his stare was mesmerizing, seemingly gauging if she told the truth. “Miss Gillingham, I’ll not turn you out into the street. I have a room upstairs you can use until you figure out what to do next. It’s not much, but it’s warm and comfortable.”

Celia was stunned once again. She gave him a warm smile. “Thank you. Your kindness is—”

Mr. Hallahan waved his arm dismissively. “I’m not kind. I remember what living on the streets is like, and a woman alone is in danger. You wouldn’t last the night out there. The room won’t be free. I could use a hand around here. You will not be paying the debt of that worthless cousin of yours, but paying for room and meals, and you can put some aside until you plan what to do next. Is that agreeable?”

What could Celia say? She was in a desperate situation. She didn’t even own jewels to sell, only the cheap gold band on her finger. Celia would be lucky to fetch a few pounds for it. “Yes, that is agreeable. At least until I find a way to contact my friends. Hopefully, one of them will take me in. In the meantime, I appreciate your kindness.”

He brushed aside her thanks. “Have you eaten lunch?”

“No. I have not.” It was good that she’d piled her plate with food four nights ago when she’d dined with her uncle and cousin because she hadn’t had much since. The earl had told the butler and the maid to stop bringing meals to her room yesterday beyond tea and toast.

“There is lamb stew.”

“Mr. Hallahan, if I may, I would like to go to the room. I am more tired than hungry.” And that was saying something. Honestly, the room was spinning and her eyesight grew even more blurry. Celia started coughing, then pulled a handkerchief from her wool coat pocket, and blew her nose. “Pardon.”

“Are you sick?” Mr. Hallahan demanded. “Or perhaps you’re drunk. You are slurring certain words.”

“Drunk? No! Although I started feeling dizzy after tea this morning. As for a sickness, it’s just a lingering chill. I recently completed a difficult journey from Northern England. I still have not recovered.”

Mr. Hallahan growled with a deep rumbling that Celia imagined frightened most people. But to her, it was endearing somehow. She couldn’t explain why and was too exhausted to delve into her reasoning.

Mr. Hallahan shot to his feet, opened the door, and yelled, “Enya!”

A young woman entered the office. “Yes, Liam?”

“This is Celia. Celia, Enya. Take her to the empty room on the left. She will be with us for a while.”

Enya was pretty, with reddish-brown hair, a smattering of freckles, and brown eyes. “Come with me, Celia.”

Celia opened her mouth to thank Mr. Hallahan, but he had already left the office.

“Don’t mind Liam’s gruffness. It’s just his way. Here, I have your bag. Now, out through the rear door,” Celia followed Enya outside, and a blast of cold wind slammed her, causing her breath to seize. “Someday soon, Liam intends to enclose this so we won’t have to go outside to take the stairs. Here we are, up we go.”

The wrought iron stairs were narrow, and Celia held on to the railing for dear life. Climbing the stairs took what little energy she had left. What was the matter? This seemed beyond a common winter chill. Enya opened the door, and warmth covered Celia as she entered the hall. She stumbled, and Enya grabbed her arm.

“Are you all right?” Enya asked.

“I am just exhausted.”

“The warmth from downstairs, the ovens and whatnot, heats the upstairs nicely. We hardly ever have to light the coal stoves. Here we are.” The room size immediately struck Celia. It was much more significant than the cubbyhole Darrington had stuck her in. “Now, the restaurant is not too busy at the moment, but during meal times, the din is hard to ignore. Even more so at night, when this turns into a pub and card gaming room. You’ll get used to it. My room is across the way.” Enya set her case on the floor. “Fresh sheets on the bed along with a wool blanket and quilt. There is an extra blanket in the wardrobe. Rest now. I’ll see to your supper later.”

“Thank you, Enya. I apologize for all this. My cousin—” Her voice trembled, and a knot formed in her throat. Emotion threatened to overtake her.

“There, there. No need to explain. I know what family can be like, as mine turned me out at fifteen. Don’t give that horrid man another thought. You’re safe. We look out for each other here. If Liam has offered you a haven, then you have no worries. He will not turn you out unless you give him a good reason. Be honest with him, work hard when asked, and all will be well.”

Enya patted her arm, then departed, closing the door behind her. Celia exhaled shakily, determined not to break apart. All she wanted was sleep. Shivering from the chills wracking her body, she removed her wool coat and gloves and dropped them to the floor. She had bought them secondhand before leaving Northern England, along with the sturdy wool gown she wore—and it was a good thing she had. The garments had kept her warm these past weeks. She’d sold the few fancy gowns she owned in Yorkshire, where she purchased a scarf, gloves, a woolen hat, and other suitable traveling clothes.

Aching all over, she pulled back the covers and climbed into bed. Her teeth chattered as she tucked the quilt under her chin. Blast this chill that had nagged her for days! It teetered between ‘feeling under the weather’ to ‘full-blown sickness’ from one day to the next. All this accumulating tension was not helping, either. Nor was this nausea and the overall feeling of confusion, as if her mind were in a fog.

Shinwell had brought her here to humiliate her and anger Mr. Hallahan. He succeeded at both. It would be easy to curl into a ball and give up, but Celia was made of sterner stuff. This was a temporary bump in the road. She had options. There was always hope. No matter what happened in her life, Celia always managed to find a bright side of things. She would do so here.

The image of the towering Mr. Hallahan entered her mind. When had Celia seen a man look so decidedly male? Virility came off him in waves—those broad shoulders, those mesmerizing eyes. She smiled as she drifted off to sleep. At least she would have pleasant dreams.