Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 127368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 637(@200wpm)___ 509(@250wpm)___ 425(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 637(@200wpm)___ 509(@250wpm)___ 425(@300wpm)
Until…
“Chelsea, tell us how your design business is going,” Lady Jane requested.
Richard’s head snapped up and his gaze was sharp and unhappy on his wife.
“She’s having just a few growing pains,” Michael quickly answered for his daughter.
And there it was.
According to Richard, Chelsea was here to dish it out so we’d take it.
Surprisingly, Lady Jane had other ideas.
And it seemed the person most surprised about this was her husband.
“Oh?” Jane inquired. “Too bad.”
“She had hoped,” Mary put in, “with all the work you’ve been doing here at Duncroft—”
“Oh no,” Lady Jane cut her off before Mary could finish her pitch. She inspected Chelsea from hair to spilling décolletage in a guileless parody of the famous Sofia Loren, Jayne Mansfield photo. “I believe Chelsea’s talents don’t quite fit in Duncroft.”
I choked on my halibut.
Ian needlessly rubbed my back. However needless, it felt nice.
“Daphne?” Lady Jane called.
Behind my hand, as decorously as I could, I coughed my throat clear and answered, “Yes, Lady Jane?”
“Are you all right?”
“Perfect.”
She smiled munificently at me and noted, “I know you’re on holiday, but I rarely get to London—”
“As in never,” Michael snorted under his breath.
“Dewhurst,” Richard hissed.
“—and I would love to try some of your pastries,” Lady Jane finished as if the byplay didn’t happen.
“You’re in luck,” I told her. “Bonnie asked me to show her a few tricks while I’m here. We’re going to work together on Wednesday.”
“Excellent,” Lady Jane decreed.
Ian was smirking at his fish.
Chelsea looked to be sucking a lemon.
“Who’s Bonnie?” Portia asked Daniel.
“Our cook,” Daniel answered.
“She’s studied at River Cottage and the School of Artisan Food,” I told Daniel. “This after she sous-chefed for Topher Lambeth for three years, and he’s won four Michelin stars. You’re tasting her food right now and have eaten it countless times before. So you must know, she’s not a cook. She’s a chef.”
“Semantics,” Richard scoffed.
I turned to him. “I can assure you the cooks who nourish school children and the chefs who make a study of the art of food would disagree,” I returned. “Both are important, but only one studies deeply before laboring under often-times exacting taskmasters for years before they earn their first kitchen.” My gaze moved to Stevenson, who was wandering the outskirts of the table with a bottle of wine wrapped neatly in linen, his eagle eyes sharp for the glass that needed filling. “Those who manage your house know precisely what they’re doing.”
A flush crept up Stevenson’s neck at my compliment, but otherwise, he didn’t falter in his duties.
“Well, all I can say is, this is utterly delicious,” Portia declared.
“Agreed,” Michael grunted.
We all fell into silence, but when Sam and Jack, with Stevenson overseeing, started clearing our dishes for the next course, Chelsea exclaimed, “Right, girls! Let’s have some fun. Which morbid tales of the women of Duncroft did Ian and Daniel use to do their wooing?”
My back snapped straight.
Ian emitted a low growl.
“I know Ian’s favorite is Joan, and Daniel favors Rose,” Chelsea shared.
Joan.
And Rose.
Joan and Rose.
Who was Rose?
“So?” Chelsea pressed.
“My dear, we don’t speak of such things at Duncroft,” Richard proclaimed.
“Oh Richard, of course you do,” Chelsea rebutted. “I know firsthand.”
“Chelsea, love,” Mary said in soft warning.
But her warning came too late.
Ian was done.
“I’m uncertain you understand,” he stated in a cutting voice I was instantly happy he’d never used with me, I felt lacerated, and it wasn’t even aimed my way, “how much of a fool you’re making of yourself.”
“Listen, son—” Michael began heatedly.
Ian turned to him. “You’ll know when I’m speaking to you. Now, I’m not.”
In affront, Michael’s eyebrows hit what should have been his hairline.
Ian’s attention returned to Chelsea. “You’re no longer in my bed, nor are you in Daniel’s. If this was something you desired again, I can assure you, with your behavior tonight, you’ve blown any chance. I can’t begin to imagine why you’re acting as you are. It has no goal but to wound, which isn’t nice at all and says terrible things about you. I held affection for you, Chelsea. But right now, I think you’re acting like a bitter cow.”
Chelsea’s face went slack in shock.
“My God,” Mary breathed, aghast.
“You’ve been sitting right here, Mary,” Daniel noted, his hand covering Portia’s on the table protectively. “You can’t have missed how she’s been behaving.”
“Is this how Duncroft will be run when you take over?” Michael demanded to know.
“If you mean when I ask someone to join me in my home to drink my wine and eat my food and grace my table, and they act like a vicious shrew, am I going to call them on their fuckery?” Ian asked in return. Then he answered, “Yes.”
I sat back with my wine and said, “I’ve gotta say, you Alcotts sure know how to throw a dinner party.”
Lou choked down a hysterical giggle.
“You’re not helping,” Ian murmured to me.