“That is a challenge,” Mayson admitted. “We are still cleaning the cellars. But I have made some apple pies, and have spiced them in what I am told is the fashion in the colonies. It seems odd, for I would think that they did not get shipments from the British East India Company.”
“Perhaps they are trading with the French,” Evelyn suggested. “I understand that some parts of the colonies supported Napoleon, and that they bought land from France.”
“How odd,” Mayson commented. “I suppose that is how they obtained funds to continue their end of the war. What a relief that it is over.”
“Is it over?” Evelyn asked.
“For all intents and purposes,” Mayson replied.
“I think that there has always been conflict raging across the English Channel,” Evelyn said slowly. “The tutor who instructed the children in my neighborhood would become quite incensed by what he called ‘Frankish nonsense.’ I wonder what ever became of him?”
“Would you like to go back to your old neighborhood and inquire?” Mayson asked.
“I am not sure. I think I would like to remember it as it was, not as it has probably become.”
“I understand,” Mayson said, putting the last finishing touches on the tea tray. “Would you like for me to carry this up for you?”
“You are so busy,” Evelyn replied. “I would hesitate to ask it of you. I can manage today, no more than is on it. I do not want to take you away from planning dinner for the Duchess’ guests.”
“If you are sure.” Mayson gazed longingly at her. He had seen so little of Evelyn in the last few weeks, between her being mostly confined to the upper chambers with a cast on her foot, then with the flurry of activity that centered around training a young cook and keeping an eye on Mr. McElroy.
“I can manage. Do not fret, Mayson. There will be time for us when the harvest is over.”
“I hope so. I miss our half-days.”
“As do I.” Evelyn sighed. “Sometimes I think we should simply run away together, but that would be shirking our responsibilities. How is Jemmy coming along as under cook?”
“Quite well, actually. He did a complete baking of bread this last week, and had mastered roasting and frying long ago, thanks to Mr. Sparks lack of diligence.”
“How fortunate that something good came of that. Well, I must get this tray up the stairs before the tea grows cold. Perhaps we will find some time to talk after the Duchess’ dinner party.”
“I do hope so,” Mayson said.
He watched for a moment as she picked up the tray, its weight causing the muscles in her back to emphasize her slender waist. Then, he chided himself for being a dolt, and hurried to hold the door open for her.
Mayson gave a sigh of his own as he returned to assembling vegetables in the baking dish. It was not an imaginative preparation, but with a little meat broth and fat for seasoning, some spices and a crust, it would do well enough as a side dish.
Would it not be wonderful to run away with Evelyn?
Mayson imagined the two of them planting a small garden and cooking a meal of some wild-caught thing over an open fire. He tried to think what they might hear or see, but his imagination only served up the sounds of an English forest.
He tugged his mind back to what he was doing before despair overtook him. Sometimes it seemed to him as if he were caught in a trap of his own devising and would never find his way out. He could not, in good conscience, leave the Duchess without a competent cook. Even though he had visited with his magistrate friend, and started the process of proving his identity, it would be some time before he could return to Hillsworth as its master.
What a tangle. I ran to preserve my life, but how it has complicated everything. Why did I not go to my friend in the first place? But then, I would have never met Evelyn. She makes all the rest worthwhile, even trying to make turnips, carrots, and onions into a dish fit to serve to a Duchess.
Little did he know that the quiet tenor of his life was about to change, and not necessarily for the better.
Chapter 30
Evelyn trudged up the steps to the Duchess’ chambers, her mind spinning fanciful air castles about a future that would include Mayson. In her heart, she knew that they had no foundations. He was already making inquiries through his magistrate friend about taking back his inheritance.
But I can dream, can I not? It harms no one, and it makes me feel good for a moment or two.
Deftly, she entered the Duchess’ chamber without even making the tea service rattle on the tray and set it down on the tea table. “Look, Your Grace, Mr. Rudge has prepared some special biscuits and some fortifying black tea.”
“Just the thing,” the Duchess exclaimed. “Oh, my... pink tulips. I do adore tulips. Some people think they are too stiff and formal to be pretty, but that is just why I like them.” She bit into one of the biscuits, then stared at it in puzzlement. “An odd flavor.”
“Mr. Rudge is working with the last bits of last year’s supplies. It is my understanding that the new harvest will be here in a day or two, and we shall be feasting.”
