Once a Duchess(36)
By all that was holy, she could cook. And if her cooking could save Naomi from humiliation, then Isabelle would cook like her life depended on it.
While she waited for the maid to return with a dogcart full of meats and cheeses, she set about creating some desserts. Pastries had never been her strong suit, but Isabelle could do justice by a tart. For the under-the-stars evening Naomi envisioned, tarts filled with sweet summer fruits would be just the thing.
Two hours later, the tarts stood cooling on the counter. The scullery maid had returned, and Isabelle recruited a lad from the stables to help in the kitchen. The servants busied themselves cleaning up from Isabelle’s baking, while she planned out how to prepare the fifteen dishes she would need to do Naomi’s supper justice. She would make a large batch of Béchamel sauce, she decided, and divide it in thirds, adapting it into a crème, a Mornay, and a Soubise. Each of these could feature with a vegetable course, cutting down the time she’d have to put into each one. She silently thanked her mother for bringing French cookbooks with her to England, and the cook at Fairfax Hall for teaching Isabelle to use them.
• • •
Her friends appeared at about four o’clock and found Isabelle with her face over a steaming saucepan.
Naomi gasped, clasping her hands to her chest. “Look at these marvelous tarts!” Her eyes swept over the rows of strawberry, blueberry, and plum-filled desserts. “Did you really make them?”
“I did,” Isabelle affirmed. Both Lily and Naomi had changed into stylish afternoon dresses. Their hair was neatly coiffed, and they smelled of lavender and powder.
For her own part, Isabelle still wore her white muslin, long since ruined with berry juice stains. Her hair was tied in a knot, but sweat- and steam-dampened strands had begun working their way loose. Isabelle’s face flushed from leaning into the oven and over the stove, and she hadn’t yet begun the soups or roasts. No, she would be much worse for wear before it was all over.
“I cannot believe this is true.” Naomi pressed her hands to her cheeks. “You are an absolute wonder,” she declared. “Grant is mad as fire at me for continuing with the party, but I don’t care.” Her eyes sparkled with devilment. “We’re going to show him, aren’t we?”
Isabelle gave her a crooked smile as she stirred her sweating onions. “Yes, we are.”
Naomi’s eyes crinkled with her answering smile. “When will you be up to join us?”
Isabelle looked at Naomi askance. Was the girl funning her? She had fifteen courses to prepare for thirty guests with only her own hands and those of two inexperienced servants at her disposal. “I won’t be up. I’ll be working all the way through supper, and by the time it’s over, I shall be revolting to look at. I shan’t even begin to comment upon how I will likely smell.”
“But you must!” Naomi protested. “If you don’t come, then it’s all been for nothing.”
Isabelle shook her head. “No, it hasn’t been for nothing.” It was true. Even though Isabelle would miss the supper herself, she could do this thing to repay Naomi’s kindness. Besides, it felt good to be busy again. Her hands had been too idle since coming down for the Season.
“Do you need help?” Lily asked, already setting aside her shawl.
“Stay with Naomi. I’ll be fine.” Isabelle dipped a wooden spoon into one of her pots and ran a finger across the back of it. The creamy, white liquid stayed separated.
Lily shot her a questioning glance. “Are you sure? I’m only acquainted with a few of the guests in passing, so it would be no great thing for me to pitch in.”
“I’ll be fine,” Isabelle insisted. She bundled her two friends out of the kitchen, scolding them for being in her way when she had so much to do.
With everything running smoothly for the time being, Isabelle selected two large baskets from a pile of them in the corner and went out to collect vegetables and herbs from the kitchen garden. One thing to be said for working in a botanist’s kitchen, she thought when she found the expansive piece of land, there was no danger of running short on edible vegetation.
• • •
Marshall ran Grant to ground in the billiards room where his brother had ensconced himself with his foul mood and a bottle of whiskey. At this hour, Naomi’s gentleman guests would be mingling with the ladies in the garden. Grant was woefully neglecting his duties as host.
“What’s this about?” Marshall held up Grant’s hastily scrawled note.