When Polgrain left twenty-three minutes later, Caroline was shaking her head, trying to keep her hands from fisting up. She rolled her neck, feeling the knots in her shoulders. She had known she would have to do a lot of the suggesting because Polgrain would probably be perverse because she was female and not male and thus shouldn’t even be here, much less giving orders to him.
When she’d asked him what he had in mind for their dinners, he’d merely stared at her blankly. She gave him one of her father’s looks and said, “Very well, I am quite fond of potted venison.”
“There is no venison available.”
“You’re resourceful, Polgrain. I’m certain you will manage.”
“Resourcefulness is part of the Polgrain heritage. However, the managing of venison could be in doubt.”
“Doubt is unacceptable, Polgrain, in the Derwent-Jones heritage. Now, Miss Mary Patricia is fond of pork with apples and sage, and Miss Evelyn told me her mouth watered for steak pie, you know the kind—with all the potatoes and fresh green peas. Miss Alice adores oxtail soup.”
“There is no sage. I do not make steak pie without sage.”
“Ah, you will have someone fetch some from the village. Old Mrs. Crimm grows all sorts of condiments in her garden. Didn’t you know that, Polgrain?”
“I knew that. I merely don’t understand how you could have discovered Mrs. Crimm in such a short time.”
“I am a woman, Polgrain. I am very smart. It’s very possible I see things you don’t see.”
“His lordship detests oxtail soup.”
“Then you can make him turtle soup. He is quite fond of that, isn’t he?”
Polgrain chewed on his lip but remained silent as the faded dark wallpaper on the three walls, wallpaper he’d always admired, with the dubious gray gobs that were probably clouds, that or dust swirls that Timmy the maid had missed or Robert the former footman hadn’t even noticed. Oh yes, she doubtless saw things because she was female, curse her eyes. But now she was going to ruin this precious room. He did love that wallpaper that he knew would soon be on its way to the dustbin. It wasn’t to be borne. Doubtless one of the females would clean it now and not Timmy the maid, who didn’t see all the things that he should perhaps see, but it surely wasn’t all that important that every single little dust mote be wafted away. Timmy was learning. He would have been the perfect maid if the females hadn’t descended on Mount Hawke.
“Oh yes, some Italian bisket bread, cassia biscuits, and orange cake. Ah, and Shrewsbury cakes for Miss Alice. They’re quite delightful, don’t you think? It’s the lemon and ginger, I think.”
He shook his head, opened his mouth, but Caroline beat him to it. “I imagine it’s difficult for you, being a man and being called upon also to cook. Perhaps cooking and being male don’t go well together. Perhaps men simply aren’t fashioned to be good cooks or learn new recipes easily. Perhaps I could speak to Mrs. Mayhew—”
“I assure you, miss, that I am quite the best cook in all the county! I can prepare anything using ingredients women don’t even understand and I—”
“I’m pleased, Polgrain. Some baked cod and soaked mussels would also be a treat. You will please incorporate the other things you think will complement these dis
hes. Here’s my list of requests. Thank you, Polgrain. This time next week? If you need my assistance or advice or the actual help of any of the females in the house, do ask. All of us—all seven of us—are quite willing to help you. Oh yes, the new servants will, naturally, eat with you in the kitchen. They really didn’t like having to take trays to their bedchambers. They say it makes them feel like outsiders. They want to be a part of the Nightingale family. No, they will eat with you.” She gave him a smarmy smile and handed him the foolscap with her neat handwriting. “Oh yes, until further notice, there will always be six to meals.” She patted his arm and left him to wonder what had befallen Mount Hawke.
At promptly six o’clock, Caroline was staring at the clock in the drawing room wondering where the devil North was. She listened with half an ear to Owen, who was speaking very quietly to Alice.
Then she heard him, his steps fast and solid on the stairs. Then the door opened and he strode in, his hair still wet from his bath, dressed in evening black, and looking more delicious than any meal she’d ever seen. There was no chance of Polgrain preparing something that could look better than North. She realized she was just staring at him when silence fell and she heard Evelyn snicker.
North was standing in front of her then, smiling in a satisfied way down at her, his knuckles lightly stroking over her cheek. “Good evening,” he said, and he looked at her mouth. She swallowed, opened her mouth, aware that she was trembling here in front of all her pregnant ladies, and managed to say, “It was overcast today.”
“Yes, and the clouds didn’t move much in the sky, just hung there.”
“I ate an apple in the orchard.”
“I know. So did I.”
“Where have you been?”
“In Goonbell. It was business, all business, and to be honest, I quite enjoyed it.”
Owen said, “I say, North, did you discover anything more about Mrs. Pelforth?”
He stilled, the laughter gone momentarily from his face. He turned to Owen and said, “Nothing of import. Bennett was drinking at Mrs. Freely’s inn, damn and blast. I’ll tell you the rest of it later, though there’s little to tell.”
“I don’t believe that for a minute,” Caroline said.
“Later,” North said. “I don’t wish to upset anyone before dinner, or after it, as a matter of fact.”