Chemistry of Magic: Unexpected Magic Book Five (Unexpected Magic #5)(25)

She was actually starting to think like a wife! Knowing a bit of Dare’s history, she knew that couldn’t be good.

Awaiting them in the yard was a very large personage garbed in black muslin, in the slender fashion of a decade ago, but wearing an enormous bonnet adorned with. . . peacock feathers? Emilia tried hard not to stare as the woman crossed her arms beneath her generous bosom and dangled a shiny reticule over her belly.

“Is this your Mrs. Wiggs?” Dare inquired as the carriage halted, and he studied the apparition through the window.

“No. I don’t believe I’ve ever met this person in my life,” Emilia whispered back. “But I did ask Mr. Thornbull to spread word that we needed staff. I had just hoped Mrs. Wiggs would be here before we started hiring. She knows everyone.”

“Perhaps this is simply a neighbor come to call.” The laughter in his eyes put the lie to that belief as he clambered down and held out his hand to help her out.

How had she come to trust this impossible man so easily? “This is not London,” she whispered indignantly. “She could be our neighbor. Stop laughing.”

“M’lord, m’lady.” The woman performed an awkward curtsy. “Forgive my forwardness, but I heard you had need of staff and came right over. I am Mrs. Peacock.”

Holding Dare’s arm, Emilia could almost feel laughter rumbling in his chest at this explanation of the peacock-feathered hat. At least he wasn’t coughing. Not daring to look at him, she wondered what was expected of her. Did she invite the woman in for an interview? She had a hard time not staring at the exceedingly long and iridescent feather.

“How do you do, Mrs. Peacock?” Dare said in a gravelly voice that hid his laughter. “We had hoped to have Mrs. Wiggs interview staff.”

The woman drew herself up to her full imposing height. “Mary Wiggs and I have known each other since childhood. She will vouch for my abilities, even though I’ve never hired out before. My dear John passed away last winter, and I’ve been at sixes and sevens ever since. When I heard you were in need of a cook, I thought to myself, self, here’s a chance to see a bit more of the world. I’m that used to cooking for others, but not so much on my own.”

A bit more of the world. . . Their kitchen? Tongue-tied at her best, Emilia didn’t know how to proceed. It didn’t seem to matter. Mrs. Peacock proceeded for her.

“I’m sure m’lord has better to do than question me, but if her ladyship would grant me a few minutes, I can show you a menu I’ve prepared.” She bobbed another curtsy. The feather bobbed with her.

“A trial run perhaps,” Dare murmured. “What staff we have will rebel if they must eat eggs all day, every day.”

Emilia took a deep breath and tried to nod regally as her mother was wont to do. “Of course, Mrs. Peacock. So very kind of you to think of us. Won’t you come in? We’re not prepared for visitors yet, so you will excuse the disarray.”

“Never having been in service, I wasn’t sure of the etiquette,” the would-be cook said in her roundest accents, following as they climbed the steps. “But I’m not one to miss an opportunity when it beckons. I am most grateful for your understanding.”

The front parlor looked little better than it had the previous night. The covers had been left where they’d been dropped. In the morning light, the cobwebs on the ceiling and windows were visible. Emilia debated if interviewing in the formal parlor or her grandfather’s cluttered study would be preferable.

His noble lordship decided the matter for her. “I’ll leave you two here, shall I? I need to find a room for my work before the wagon arrives with our trunks.” Dare pressed a kiss to her cheek and ambled off as if he expected her to know how to interview cooks.

The prickles his kiss caused were rather. . . enticing. They stirred pleasure more than pain.

Setting her chin, determined to learn her new status as householder, Emilia chose a delicate chair for herself and gestured for Mrs. Peacock to take a seat. The cook chose a stout sofa dating back a century or two.

Mrs. Peacock rummaged in her reticule. “A gentleman likes his beef, he does. I understand that.” She removed a neatly folded paper. “But ladies like more genteel fare. I’ve been cooking for my family for forty years, so I have lots more recipes where these come from.”

Emily studied the long list written in an elegant copperplate she hadn’t expected from an uneducated servant. Written communication, she understood. “This is quite an extensive menu, Mrs. Peacock. I fear you may be bored with just me and my husband to serve. We do not anticipate many visitors.”

Mrs. Peacock’s feathers dipped in understanding. “A young couple, understandable. But that will let me learn what you like. Family and visitors will come in time. You just mark off what you don’t want, and leave me to see to what you need.”

Emilia desperately wanted someone other than herself in charge of the kitchen and meals. She’d never really met any cooks, except as a child. Mrs. Peacock seemed far above any servant of her station. Remembering Dare’s suggestion, she hesitantly offered, “Why don’t we agree to test each other for a week? Let us see if we suit.”

Mrs. Peacock beamed. “That’s fine then. Shall I start now? I’ll make a list of supplies.”

Thinking of the ancient kitchen, Emilia tried not to wince. “Sir Harry lived simply. We will need to order more than food. But you are welcome to study the situation and let us know what you require.”