He nodded, set aside the spoon, and reached for the long baguette of bread. “Did you have any trouble finding the house?”
“How could I miss it?” she countered flippantly. “It takes up the entire block.”
“Not quite,” he corrected as he began tearing bread into chunks. “There’s a mews as well.”
“Which doesn’t really count, since your carriages probably take up most of it. Either way, your house is terribly grand, isn’t it? Grand enough to need two entrances to accommodate all the servants. I had to toss a coin to decide which door to use.”
He grinned at that. “Only the one you came through is for servants. The other,” he added, nodding to the door to his left, “is the tradesman’s entrance.”
“Oh, of course, the tradesman’s entrance,” she drawled, waving one hand as if fanning herself. “Well, my word and la-di-da.”
“I can see you are of a mind to tease me tonight,” he replied, “but since we are friends now, I suppose you have the right.” He gestured to the viands on the table. “I’ve made something to eat before we dance. I hope you don’t mind, but I didn’t have time to dine before I came, and I’m absolutely famished. So, I bought a few things on my way here and raided the rest from my cook’s store cupboard. Care to join me?”
“I already ate in my room.”
“And how are you enjoying room service?”
“It’s heavenly, although they give you far too much food for one person to eat. But I am enjoying the respite from cooking over a gas ring in my flat.”
“I’m sure. Although, again, we come from such opposite experiences. Doing for myself is proving to be a nice change of pace. I’m enjoying this.”
She watched as he reached beneath the table, opened a drawer, and extracted a knife with an easy familiarity that surprised her. “You’ve never prepared your own food?” she asked, puzzled. “But you seem quite at home here.”
He chuckled, shutting the drawer with his hip. “Well, this is my house.”
“I meanthere, in the kitchens,” she said, laughing with him.
“I spent many hours down here as a boy, perfecting my ability to steal tarts or cakes from under the cook’s nose without getting caught, so I know where everything is.” He opened another jar and scooped out some of the contents, then picked up a hunk of the bread. “You’ve already dined, but nonetheless, I’m happy to share. Care for a bite?”
She leaned closer, eyeing the pinkish brown paste he was spreading on the bread with doubt. “What is it? Fish paste?”
“Pâté.”
“Liver?” Her opinion of that must have been obvious, for he laughed.
“Not liver,” he corrected, placing a gherkin from the pickle jar atop his creation. “Pâté. It’s completely different.”
“But still liver,” she pointed out.
“You’re far too literal,” he chided, holding the canapé out to her. “Here. Try it.”
She pulled off her gloves, set them aside, and took the offered snack. Still skeptical, she hesitated, but when he gave her an encouraging nod, she took a bite.
“It’s delicious,” she exclaimed around the mouthful of food in her mouth, too surprised to be polite.
“Of course it is. I’m a member of the Epicurean Club, you know,” he reminded, preparing another canapé for himself. “We don’t eat anything that isn’t delicious.”
She savored the combination of creamy pâté, soft bread, and crunchy pickle a moment longer, then swallowed it and said, “It’s not at all what I expected. As a little girl, I remember our cook serving me fried liver with onions for supper.” She shivered at the memory. “It was nothing like this.”
“I imagine not. Fried liver sounds ghastly.” He took a bite of his own canapé, chewed, and swallowed. “So, your family had a cook?”
She nodded. “And a housekeeper. In those days, we owned the entire building. The shop took up half, and our home was in the other half. After I went away to school, Papa let both servants go. He said it was silly, having servants for just one person, that he’d never had servants growing up, and that he was accustomed to doing for himself. He even said he preferred it. I didn’t really believe him, but there wasn’t much I could do. When I graduated and returned home, however, he was forced to admit that his reason had really been the expense, warning me that we would have to practice strict economies from then on, since we had very little money. I didn’t know just how little until—”
She broke off, looking away as memories rose up, memories of pain and grief, the anguish and fear of being utterly alone and nearly destitute.
“Until?” he prompted in the wake of her silence, sliding a canapé into her line of vision.
She took the offered snack, but she didn’t look up. Instead, she kept her gaze on the table. “Until he died,” she finished. “That’s when I found out that though I’d inherited everything, there was really nothing much to inherit.”
