What a Lady Craves (19 page)

Henrietta ignored the glares, grumbles, and grunts that emanated from the cook, and focused her attention on the two little faces before her. “What kind of ices do you like?”

Francesca and Helena exchanged a look, and Henrietta braced herself for two contradictory answers. Not that either girl would bait her, but the pair had been at cross-purposes since their arrival.

“I don’t know,” Francesca said.

“We’ve never had ice,” Helena added.

“Never had ice?” The notion seemed impossible. They’d lived all their lives in a far
hotter climate than England and never known the soothing sweetness of the cold, flavored confection sliding down their throats?

Helena pushed herself onto her toes and craned her neck, as if she expected the delicacy to appear on the cook’s worktable. “We’ve never even seen it.”

That made sense. Where would they even get ice in such a hot clime? At the same time, Henrietta smiled to herself. When she’d cast about for an indoor activity to keep the girls occupied as well as under supervision, she’d never expected to hit on such a serendipitous idea.

“You’re in for a treat, then. Since you don’t know what kind of ice you’d like, perhaps you could tell me your favorite fruit.” She crossed her fingers, hoping they’d pick something in season.

“Strawberries,” Francesca said.

“Ye aren’t getting any of my strawberries,” Mrs. Brown muttered. “Her ladyship has ordered them in a soufflé, and I’ve got just so many.”

“We won’t take your precious strawberries,” Henrietta said through rigid lips.

“I need all my milk and cream.” The cook brandished a wooden spoon at them. “And I’m not sparing anyone to turn the freezer for you. I’ve got all I can handle, I do, with her ladyship’s requests. I don’t need extra people underfoot. Bad enough with that animal about.”

As if she’d been summoned, Albemarle darted out from somewhere in the back, slipped between Mrs. Brown’s legs, and galloped for the stairs.

“We won’t take your cream, either. We’ll manage just fine without it, and we’ll flavor our ice with lavender, I think.” That, at least, was readily available, and in sufficient quantity that Mrs. Brown could not argue.

But the grizzle-haired cook wasn’t finished. She tucked a graying strand back under her mobcap, and muttered something about the kitchens being no place to entertain children.

Henrietta ignored the woman. She might explain the necessity to keep the girls inside and under watch, but she had a suspicious feeling Mrs. Brown would still protest. Putting a hand on each of the girls’ shoulders, Henrietta nudged them toward a far table away from Mrs. Brown and the scullery maid.

But she didn’t miss the petulant expression on Helena’s face.
You didn’t ask me what I liked,
her eyes said. Poor thing, ever passed over for the more effervescent Francesca. Henrietta made a mental note to ask Helena’s opinion first from now on.

“Now, here’s what we need. Some sugar, some water, lavender oil, and ice. Lots of ice with salt.”

Francesca removed her finger from her mouth. “Why do we need salt with the ice?”

“I’m not sure, but I think it helps everything freeze.” She reached for a pewter bowl and started measuring ingredients. “We’ll have the receipt mixed in a trice, but then I’ll need your help. We’ll have to churn the mixture a long time, and you’ll each need to take turns at it. It’s work, but I promise it’ll be worth it in the end.”

A good while later, Henrietta was nursing a sore arm and closing her ears to Mrs. Brown’s grumbling. Why on earth had she ever thought this was such a good idea? A treat for the girls, certainly, but she’d forgotten how much turning the freezer required before the ice seized properly.

“Is it ready yet?” Francesca asked for at least the fiftieth time.

“Not quite, dear.” Henrietta could feel through the crank that the mixture was still too liquid. “Perhaps if we poured in some more ice.”

“We’ve used the last,” Helena said.

“We can’t have.”

“Ye have,” Mrs. Brown huffed. “Ye’ve used all my ice, and I needed it to chill the jellied eels.”

Henrietta glared over her shoulder at the woman. “Surely you can send someone for more.”

Mrs. Brown placed her hands on her ample hips. “It won’t be chipped in time.”

Henrietta stopped cranking. “Would you like me to help chip it for you?”

Not that she wanted the extra job. She could barely feel her arm as it was. If she had to wield an ice pick and a hammer on top of that, the limb might just drop out of her shoulder joint in protest.

Mrs. Brown thrust a wooden spoon in their direction. “What I want is me kitchen back without these two traipsing in at all hours of the day asking for chocolate and bread and honey and all manner of things. They’re worse than that blasted cat when I’m trying to gut a fish. Comes out of nowhere, that creature does. One of these days it’s like to trip me up. I’ve got work to do to feed this household.”

Henrietta cast a glance at the girls. Francesca’s lower lip was trembling, while Helena tried to remain stoic. Only the muscles about her mouth tightened to keep it from quivering. Damn. Double damn.

Resolutely, Henrietta went back to cranking. She’d made them a promise. The sooner she got this job done, the sooner they could clear out. “I’ll make certain the girls stay out of your
way from now on.”

“See that you do.” Once again, Mrs. Brown shook her spoon. “I’ve enough to be getting on with, without the likes of them under my feet. I’m liable to step on one of them if they don’t keep out of my way.”

Francesca took a step backward, and a tear welled in her eye. “Why is she so cross?”

“Because she’s nothing but an old cow,” Henrietta muttered.

“I heard that.” Surprisingly, Mrs. Brown didn’t sound put out, only stating a fact. Perhaps she was even proud of her status.

The sound of a masculine throat clearing caused Henrietta to look toward the entrance. Alexander stood in the doorway, his cheeks ruddier than the temperature warranted. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

Mrs. Brown spluttered. “Why not invite the entire household down for tea?”

“Don’t tempt me,” Henrietta said before adding to Alexander, “I’m sorry. I didn’t think to notify you of our whereabouts. You were gone when we had the idea to come down here.”

“Humph,” grunted the cook.

“I should have known you wouldn’t go too far afield.” He watched her closely, the same way he had earlier in the study. Yes, and he’d been frightened then, too.

Good Lord. He must have come home, expected to see his daughters, and panicked when he couldn’t find them above stairs. “Has something happened?”

“No, nothing new. I’ve questioned the servants, and no one else heard anything last night. What are you up to?”

“I thought the girls might have fun making something, so I brought them down here. Then they informed me they’ve never had an ice.”

He crossed to her and without a word nudged her. “Ice is an unheard of luxury in India. It has to be transported from the Himalayas at enormous cost. The Raja might serve it, but only on the most important occasions.”

Her hip warming at the contact, Henrietta stepped aside and let him replace her at the crank. She shook out her aching arm. “They could have their first taste if it would ever take.”

“Mrs. Brown?”

At Alexander’s question the cook let out an incomprehensible sound.

“Would you send someone for another block of ice?”

“Why certainly, my lord.” She dipped into an exaggerated curtsey that only emphasized her sarcastic tone. “It’s not as if I’ve anything better to do.” And yet, annoyingly enough, when
Alexander gave the order, she obeyed.

“Francesca,” he said, ignoring the cook, “do you know what I just recalled?”

She removed her finger from her mouth again, and Henrietta suspected she’d been dipping it into the sugar. “No, Papa.”

“They have the most marvelous shops in London with goods from all over the world. Laces from France, cotton from Italy, wool from the Netherlands. But there’s one shop on Bond Street. Do you know what they do there?”

She shook her head.

“They make all those lovely things into clothing for wax dolls they import from Germany.”

Francesca hopped on her toes and let out a squeal. “Oh, did you bring me one?”

He laughed. “I haven’t been all the way to London. I thought I could take you to choose the one you like best.”

The entire time, he beamed at his younger daughter as if she were the only child in the room. Henrietta stole a glance at Helena, and her heart turned over. The poor thing was studying the floor of the kitchen as if it revealed the most fascinating of secrets to those who knew how to read the code patterned in the reddish-brown tiles.

Damn the man, did he not see his older daughter? Did she not exist for him? But then, if Helena took after her mother, as Henrietta suspected, perhaps the sight was too painful for Alexander. But that was no reason to ignore the girl. No reason to shut her out.

“I’m sure Helena would enjoy the outing, as well,” she said mildly.

“Oh. Oh, yes.” Alexander glanced in Helena’s direction, but Henrietta was certain he didn’t really see. “But you still have the doll your mama gave you last year, don’t you?”

She nodded. No doubt the girl could not bring herself to speak.

“Perhaps you might find a new dress for her.” If she was overstepping with the suggestion, Henrietta did not care. “Or even a whole new wardrobe. Would you like that?”

Damn it all, could the man not see his favoring the younger daughter hurt his older one? As long as she had to serve as the girls’ governess, she’d make sure Helena was treated equitably. If Alexander had a problem with that, he could bloody well take it up with her.

And if circumstances were different, you’d have been Helena’s mother. You’d have ensured her fair treatment.
She shoved aside the insistent voice in her mind. Now was hardly the time.

Alexander kept on turning the crank, as if nothing were amiss. As if Henrietta had every
right to make such decisions where his daughters were concerned. Or, perhaps in Helena’s case, he simply remained indifferent.

Another few minutes passed before Francesca returned to her litany of questions over whether the ice was ready. Alexander kept up his good humor at every chirp, while Helena maintained a stony silence.

Henrietta probed her imagination. What might she come up with just for Helena? Something special, away from her father and sister? But nothing came to mind. She couldn’t very well badger Mrs. Brown for more ingredients, and she didn’t wish to take Helena through the house, where they might run into Lady Epperley.

At long last, Alexander proclaimed, “I believe we might have something worth eating here.”

“It’s about time,” muttered Mrs. Brown.

He lifted the lid from the container to reveal a light purple concoction, not liquid, but not solid, either. “Now, if we had a spoon, we might just have a taste.”

Before anyone else could move, Henrietta grabbed a spoon, and offered some to Helena. She set her tongue to the glob of ice, before opening her mouth and eating the rest. Her eyes went round, and she smiled.

“Good?” Henrietta encouraged.

“It’s cold.”

“Of course.”

“It’s so odd.”

Francesca bounced on her toes. “I want some.”

“How does a proper young lady ask?” Henrietta prompted.

“I would like a taste, please.”

“Excellent.” Henrietta spooned up some ice for Francesca.

“It tastes funny,” she said once she’d swallowed the bite.

“Perhaps another time, Mrs. Brown will see fit to let us have some strawberries.” Henrietta glared over her shoulder at the cook, who was beating egg whites with a firm arm. The whipping of her whisk filled the kitchen, and Henrietta suspected, she was taking out her frustrations on those poor eggs.

“If not,” Alexander said, “I will see to procuring some myself.” He served some ice into a bowl and handed it to Henrietta. “See what you think of your creation.”

Henrietta tipped some of the confection into her mouth, all the while aware of
Alexander’s eyes on her. The frozen sweetness melted on her tongue, leaving behind the sharper taste of the lavender. She quite agreed with Francesca—her mixture did taste more of herbs than sweetness. Yes, fruit would have been better for a first attempt.

“Well?” Alexander prompted.

“I think I’d prefer strawberry myself,” she admitted, “but since we weren’t allowed any, this will have to do.”

“I’ll take my kitchen back anytime you say,” Mrs. Brown said over her shoulder.

“We’ll just leave the washing up, then, shall we?” Alexander asked.

Henrietta suppressed a laugh as they ascended the stairs. “You realize the scullery maid will have to clean that up, not her.”

“Yes, but I couldn’t resist.”

She watched the girls scamper up the stairs ahead of them. “I wonder if we might go somewhere we can keep an eye on them from a distance.” Lord only knew she didn’t want to place herself in a position where Alexander might tempt her to lose herself in him. Not after last night’s encounter. “There’s a matter I should like to discuss with you.”

“You need to stop playing favorites.” Henrietta glared an accusation at him.

Alexander concentrated on the opposite end of the courtyard where his daughters played safely out of earshot. Helena had pulled a ribbon from her hair and was tempting a fluffy gray kitten with the length of grosgrain, while Francesca wove the stems of flowers into a crown.

“What on earth are you prattling about?” he replied.

“Your daughters. You clearly favor Francesca, and Helena resents it. You have to stop.”

“I do not.” Thank God that reply sounded like conviction. He damned well knew he favored Francesca, but he could not have this conversation with Henrietta. Not when he might let slip the reason why.

“You do. I cannot believe you’re unaware of it. What’s more, Francesca expects it.”

“Helena’s mother”—Lord help him, but he couldn’t refer to Marianne as his wife. Not in front of Henrietta—“doted on the girl. She’s spoiled.”