A slightly longer chapter and one I quite enjoy! I hope you enjoy it, too.

xx Elise

~I~

Chapter 9 - The Pastry Chef

"Your chocolate pastries have been a great success." Chef Peters approached where Bella was sitting icing a batch of petit fours a few days later. As a result of her encounter with Edward, she had been assigned to work permanently in the kitchen, a place where she would be safe. Heartily sick of cleaning, she was not displeased by the outcome.

After Edward had left her in the library, Bella had set aside her anger and gone in search of the French language section. Refusing to be distracted at discovering so many of her favourite authors amongst the wonderful collection, she had located a journal of French recipes. Without paper or writing utensils, she had been limited to memorising ingredients for just a couple of dishes. She was pleased the chocolate pastries had generated a positive response.

"I'm glad they've been appreciated." Bella smiled shyly. Not having to hide the fact she enjoyed creating culinary delights was one of the very few benefits she had discovered to masquerading as a servant.

"They've been more than appreciated. The marquis himself has asked to meet the new pastry chef and pay his compliments in person," the chef added, and her smile faded.

"I think it might be best if you went in my place."

"I'm not about to take credit for your work." Chef Peters frowned. "And I don't fancy sending word to the marquis that you refused his invitation. I don't expect he would be at all pleased."

Bella removed her apron with a sigh. She didn't expect he would be pleased either way. With no other choice, she set off for Edward's study, a tray of recently baked pastries in her hand. He was seated at his desk, his head bent over a pile of papers and his quill moving rapidly.

"I shall be with you in just a moment," he said after a footman announced her arrival, and Bella took the opportunity to admire the view. She particularly liked the way his hair curled behind his ears and the contrast between his snowy white cravat and the warm tone of his skin.

When he looked up, his eyebrows rose. "What are you doing here?"

"You asked to see me, my lord." She raised the tray holding the plate of pastries.

"I asked to see the new pastry chef. Would you care to explain why you are here in his stead?"

"Because I am the new pastry chef, my lord. Well, I'm not a real chef, but I baked the chocolate pastries you liked."

He stared at her for a moment before dismissing the footman who shut the door with a decisive click. Bella jumped, rattling the tray.

"You may as well join me." Edward gestured to where a silver tea service sat on a low table. After walking stiffly across the room, Bella placed the pastries beside the tea service, without rattling the tray this time. When she looked up, he had angled his chair away from the desk and stretched his legs out before him, the fingers of one hand drumming on the crowded desktop.

"I have been trying very hard to do the right thing, but it would seem fate is conspiring against me," he said cryptically.

He stood and then came to stand on the other side of the low table, eyeing the pastries with a bemused expression.

"You baked these?"

Bella nodded.

"And the profiteroles? The crème brûlée?"

"Yes, my lord," she said at his mention of the other dishes she had baked and been credited with, not by name, of course.

"Mmm." Edward took a seat on a long, leather couch. "Your French mother brought her French chef with her when she came to England to marry your commoner father. While a lady would never consider participating in such a plebeian activity, a girl of your station was not so hindered and took the opportunity to learn an admirable trade."

"Precisely, my lord." Bella stiffened at the backhanded compliment.

"You are a constant source of surprise," he said, sitting forward and resting his elbows on his knees.

Unsure if the words were meant as compliment or rebuke, she failed in her attempts not to fidget.

"What am I going to do with you?" He looked up at her through his long lashes. "Succumbing to temptation is beginning to feel inevitable. One can only resist for so long."

When he gestured for her to take a seat, she frowned. It wasn't done in a household of this standing for servants to socialise with their masters. Even minor households held staunchly to segregation based on class and station, though her father had allowed the lines to blur.

"Come, Bella, sit. It would appear at least some rules will be broken. Best we begin with the innocuous ones, don't you think?"

Obeying, she perched on the edge of the seat, her hands placed demurely in her lap.

"Would you like me to pour your tea, my lord?" she asked when he had stared at her for so long the urge to resume fidgeting was overwhelming.

The corner of his mouth curved into a smirk. "Can you manage without scalding yourself?"

Bella blushed. She had been practising but wasn't about to admit it, merely nodding her assent.

"I have a great many questions where you are concerned," he continued. "Maybe receiving some answers will assuage my interest."

Her blush deepened at his words.

"But I doubt it," he muttered beneath his breath.

"What would you like to know, my lord?" she asked, her voice uncharacteristically breathy. Edward's interest was both perplexing and exhilarating.

"What would I like to know?" he asked in a musing tone. Sitting back, he appeared to ponder for a moment before continuing, "Do you have other talents besides baking and bringing impertinent young footmen to their knees? What is your favourite colour and flower? You mentioned receiving an education. Do you have a favourite author? Tell me everything."

A nervous laugh escaped Bella's lips. Admitting she was an accomplished horsewoman didn't seem wise, as she doubted many maids received the opportunity to learn to ride, certainly not side-saddle, the acceptable mode for ladies of the ton.

"I like to sketch," she offered cautiously.

"Your creativity extends beyond the culinary arts. Do you also paint? Oils? Watercolours?"

Bella had more experience with watercolours than oils but was fairly certain neither options would have been accessible to a girl working in an inn. "Just pencil, charcoal, and, er . . . occasionally ink?"

Ignoring the uncertainty in her tone, he nodded. "And what do you like to sketch? Still life, landscapes?"

"Portraits, mostly. People and animals. It's called life drawing," she said and then snapped her mouth shut, worried her knowledge of the subject was too unlikely for a maid.

"I would very much like to see some of your work, if I may?" he asked, seeming unperturbed by her disclosures.

Bella shrugged and then tensed before shrugging again. Young ladies were not supposed to shrug. Miss Brewer would have been appalled by her lack of decorum, well . . . that and the fact she was conversing alone with a gentleman in a room with a closed door. Relatively speaking, shrugging was a minor impropriety.

"I wasn't able to bring many possessions with me when I left home," she said. "I haven't done any drawings since arriving at Worthington Hall, as I have no access to paper or pens."

And absolutely no time or energy to indulge in a hobby with the hours I work, she thought, but kept that piece of information to herself.

Edward stood and strode to a cupboard against the wall. Rummaging in the drawers, he returned with a pile of paper and an assortment of pencils, charcoals, pens, inks, and the like.

"There, that should get you started." He placed the material on the table, pushing it towards Bella who stared at it, nonplussed.

"Thank you, but I couldn't possibly accept such a gift, my lord. I don't have the time or anywhere to store and use them."

"What about during the evenings in your room or on your days off?"

She resisted the temptation to roll her eyes at his limited knowledge regarding the living arrangements and working conditions of the staff that served him.

"I share a very small attic room with two other girls, and I am generally too tired to do anything but sleep when I reach it quite late at night, my lord. I get half a day off a week, but so far all I have managed during my free time is to take care of personal chores and catch up on some rest."

Edward frowned. "How inconvenient."

Wanting to lighten the mood, as drawing attention to her lack of endurance as a servant didn't seem wise, Bella answered his earlier questions, listing the items off on her fingers. "So, my 'talents,' if you can describe them thus, are baking, drawing, and defending one's person under limited circumstances. To which I can now add pouring hot tea. I prefer bright colours, and as to my favourite blossoms, I like roses, chrysanthemums, poppies, daffodils. Flowers in general, I suppose." Pleased by his smile, she returned it shyly. "When it comes to authors, the list of my favourites is long and eclectic."

"What about siblings, family? Have you no one with your parents gone?"

Her smile faded.

"My mother and father were both only children, so I have no aunts or uncles. Mama died giving birth to my baby brother when I was just a girl. He only lived a few days."

Tears stung briefly at her eyes, and she blinked them away. Things would have been very different if her brother had lived. Deprived of the potential to gain an early inheritance, Lord Hunter would have had no reason to force his unwelcome presence into their lives.

"Come." Edward stood, and extended his free hand. It took Bella a moment to comprehend he wanted her to take it, and she did so hesitantly. When he walked to a door on the far side of the room to the hallway, she glanced over her shoulder.

"Don't worry. I shall make sure you don't get into trouble." He led her past a large sitting room and a masculine-looking bedroom, adding at her curious look, "These are my quarters when I stay at Worthington Hall."

"Oh." Bella didn't know what else to say. Walking hand-in-hand with a gentleman was not allowed, let alone entering his private quarters. Fearing these actions must surely constitute lascivious behaviour, she was about to question his intentions when they emerged in the hallway that led to the library.

"There's a sitting room over there where you can set up a studio for drawing and painting, if you would like to try it." Edward pointed to a door almost hidden in a corner of the vast room. "It is rarely used, and I shall make sure you have everything you need."

"A studio?" She frowned. So much for avoiding undue attention. "But, my lord . . ."

Ignoring her interruption, he began to pull various books from the shelves.

"These should give you some inspiration." He crossed to a table and spread out the tomes, motioning her closer. "My father keeps a collection of the latest anatomy volumes, as well as works on all the great artists, not to mention housing one of the best private collections of artworks in the country. Then there are the family portraits," he added wryly. "Can't turn around in this mausoleum without coming face-to-face with one of the ancestors."

Walking slowly to the table, Bella stood beside him.

"But I don't have time to indulge a hobby. I have duties, my lord."

"Yes, well. Something needs to be done about that. You are clearly being worked too hard."

"No more than any other servant."

She spread her hands, and Edward frowned.

"Wouldn't you appreciate a few hours off each day to relax and pursue an interest?"

More than you can imagine, Bella thought wearily. A mere month had passed since she had been forced to leave her home, but it felt like she had been working from before dawn till after dusk for much longer. The Duke of Worthington might provide better than average working conditions for his staff, but Bella felt utterly overwhelmed most of the time. Gently caressing the cover of a book containing illustrations by the great masters, she noted its similarity to one she had pored over with her art tutor, Master Gregson.

"Of course, I would appreciate it, my lord," she said. "But I am a servant. It's not possible."

"Well, it should be."

Intimidated by Edward's fierce expression, she lowered her gaze.

"Why do you care?' she asked when the silence that followed his words stretched for some time.

He didn't reply, and she looked up to see him staring out a window, one hand gripping the back of his neck.

"My lord?" she prompted.

"I just want you to be happy." He turned to face her. "Foolish of me, as you are obviously quite content with your lot and don't need me interfering. I shall send Stephens to escort you back to the kitchen."

Leaving the books spread out on the table, he strode towards the door.

"Lord Masen?" Bella called after him, not wanting him to go thinking she was unappreciative of his gesture.

He stopped and looked at her, his expression unreadable.

"Thank you for your kind offer." A rueful smile twisted the corner of his mouth, encouraging her to continue. "There is something you could do for me—grant me permission to do—if it wouldn't be too much to ask?"

"Anything."

"I don't want to be seen shirking my duty, but I would dearly love to borrow some books. Even if I could only read for a short while before bed, it would be such a treat."

"Of course, take as many as you like." He closed the distance between them. "No doubt you will surprise me with your choices. You did mention eclectic tastes. Maybe I can help to broaden them? Or quite possibly you will broaden mine."

"Since I am sure you spent many years studying at a fine university?"

"Eton." He nodded.

"And I merely had the educational benefit of a retired governess, I doubt you will find my tastes particularly enlightening."

"Let's see, shall we?" He gestured for her to precede him towards the teeming shelves.

They spent the next hour exploring the various sections of the library, comparing favourite authors, poets, and playwrights. Bella tried to hide the extent of her knowledge, but Edward seemed willing to excuse all manner of irregularity, just as he was happy to accept her fictitious background without examining the details too closely. The time passed quickly, but then she made the mistake of glancing longingly towards the French language section.

"Bella, parlez-vous François?"

"Oui, mon seigneur," she replied automatically and then whirled to face him.

"There's no need to be afraid. I suspected you'd speak the language. Your mother would have taught you when you were a child."

"Yes. Yes, of course."

She released the breath she was holding, and Edward launched into a discussion comparing various authors and poets in fluent French. Bella was more than happy to challenge some of his opinions and enjoyed the opportunity to use what sometimes felt like her first language. It was a while since she'd had someone to converse with in French, as Miss Brewer had left her father's employ just after Bella's eighteenth birthday.

Forcing aside her thoughts of home, she focused on Edward's passionate defence of a poet she considered sentimental. While their tastes overlapped more often than not, it was stimulating to debate their differences. She could have continued their discussion indefinitely, but to her embarrassment, her stomach grumbled. It was well past noon, and heaven only knew what Chef Peters thought had become of her.

"It was thoughtless of me to keep you from your midday meal, and your work, I suppose." Edward brushed aside her apology and put the book they had been discussing back on the shelf. "I had best let you go."

He seemed reluctant to end their time together, a fact she found immensely—and foolishly—flattering.

"One last thing?" she asked.

"Yes?" He moved closer.

"There is a French language journal I discovered the other day full of the most amazing recipes. It is handwritten, and I wouldn't want to risk it being damaged, but I wondered if I could sit and write out some of the recipes into English?"

"Of course. Is that where you found the recipe for the chocolate pastries?"

Smiling, she withdrew the journal from the shelves and placed it on a nearby table. When she opened it to the recipe in question, Edward came to stand behind her, close enough to read over her shoulder. Leaning forward, he began to leaf through the pages, his chest brushing against her back.

Bella froze, stunned by the feel of him surrounding her. Slowly, deliberately, she inhaled, drawing his masculine scent deep into her lungs. It was intoxicating, and she swayed a little against him.

"Delicious," he murmured, steadying her with a hand on her shoulder.

Bella could have sworn she felt him breathe in against her neck.

"Pardon?" She looked over her shoulder.

"This recipe." Edward pointed. "Blueberry Flan with Cognac. It sounds delicious."

"Oh yes, I have baked that before." She nodded and then froze again. He was standing so close, her hair brushed against his cheek when she moved. Turning her head to the side, she met his gaze, noting with surprise that his eyes had darkened to a deep, forest green.

"Would you like me to make it for you?" she whispered.

Edward smiled slowly.

"I would like that very much."

"Is there anything else you would like?" she asked, savouring the feel of his body so close to hers. "Any special requests?"

"Special requests?"

Edward swallowed, and Bella watched, fascinated, as his Adam's apple bobbed up and down.

"A favourite recipe," she clarified.

"Oh." He chuckled and stepped away. "I am quite partial to Cream of Truffle Sauce. I've had it with poached salmon, but I imagine it would go well with other dishes. Quail maybe?"

Bella nodded thoughtfully. She had only ever cooked with truffles a few times as they were difficult to obtain, but hopefully Chef Peters would know where they could be found. It would be such a pleasure to do something special for Edward after he had been so kind and attentive.

Leaving her writing out recipes from the journal, he promised to send Stephens to make sure she wasn't disturbed. Her enthusiasm dampened somewhat by her taciturn escort, she returned to the kitchens for a very late lunch. Chef Peters seemed sceptical of her excuse for being delayed until she showed him the recipes she had translated. His manner soon thawed, and they began discussing the possibility of acquiring black truffles this late in the season. When she found out how much they cost, she gasped. It would take months at her current wages to afford even the smallest piece.

"Don't worry," the chef said. "Your discovering the marquis has a favourite dish is well worth the expense, though I'm not sure who to send to market. There's a bit of an art to choosing a quality truffle."

"I've had some experience." Bella's words earned a puzzled look from the chef, and she rushed to explain. "My last employer catered to well-to-do holiday makers and cooked all manner of exotic dishes. He taught me what to look for."

The chef studied her for a long moment before nodding. "In that case, Miss Brown, I believe you have earned a trip into the village."

~I~

I'm so glad you're enjoying the daily updates. I might not manage one tomorrow, as it's our busiest work day of the fortnight, but I'll do my best.

xx elise