Page 73 of Too Good to Be True

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.

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