Heirly Ever After - Vernon, Magan (pdf ebook reader .txt) 📗

She stopped mid-pour and glanced up at me, her brows slightly raised. “No one told me they hired a new pastry chef.”

I shook my head. “I’m not, well…” I grabbed an apron from the rack behind the table. “I just want to work some of the dough. Just tell me what you need and I’ll do it.”

She put the bowl of flour down, her eyes scrutinizing me as I tied the dark apron around me. She chewed on her chapped bottom lip for a second then nodded to herself as if she decided something silently in her head. “All right, I guess I can’t turn down the extra help.”

Motioning a hand toward the subzero fridge behind her, I followed, eager to get started.

“Lord Gavin has requested a variety of English desserts for tonight’s dinner as a sampling for the Americans. A little bit of savarin, some Victorian sponge, iced fingers, fondant fancies, and petits fours. Are you familiar with any of those?”

I nodded.

“Really?” Her eyebrows rose so high, I swore they disappeared into her hairline.

“Want me to start on the dough for the savarin or the Victorian sponge?” I smiled, showing her that I was being genuine.

She laughed. “Why don’t you do start on the Victorian sponge and fondant fancies? I’ll finish this up for the savarin.”

I nodded. “Point me to the mixing bowls and I’ll get started.”

Without a word, she handed me a bowl and showed me where the pantry items were. Then I got to work.

I was in my element.

Most of my family members were more comfortable behind a desk or a bar cart.

Not me.

There was nothing like getting lost in my hands. The rhythmic movement of rolling the sponge by hand and forming it into the perfect shape before baking it.

Echoes of simmering pans and the chatter of chefs around me formed the white noise I needed to push aside the voice of my sister and my family and just focus on what was in front of me.

It was the first time in days that I’d finally been at ease.

I should have been listening, maybe seeing what the murmurs were around the kitchen.

But I was lost in my own thoughts.

That was until I put the first batch of sponge for fondant fancies in the oven and heard a familiar voice call over my shoulder.

“There you are.”

I straightened, catching my breath as I made sure not to drop the baking dish before shutting the oven door. Standing slowly, I found Madison at the end of the prep table staring at me and my pastry work, her head slightly tilted as if she was confused.

She’d changed out of her riding outfit and into long, flowy blue dress that whooshed around her ankles. The high neckline landed close to her chin and brought out the hints of gold flecks in her eyes. With her hair down in a light wave over her pale shoulders, she was breathtaking.

“What are ye doing here?” I demanded, taking a step forward and hoping I didn’t mess up that perfect exterior with my powder-covered hands.

“I could ask you the same thing,” she challenged.

“I’m the one with the apron and you’re all dressed up for dinner, so I think that answers your question.” I smirked.

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, so why are you in the kitchen? Did you get hired on as staff? Or another thing you were keeping from me?”

I winced, taking the verbal slap.

There were so many more secrets she didn’t know about. So much more I couldn’t tell her. But this was one thing I could be honest about.

“I enjoy baking, so I thought I’d come and help with dessert. Take a little break.”

“Oh…” Her words trailed as she gazed around the room.

A few chefs were whispering amongst themselves, but most were too busy cutting and mixing their dinner items.

“Need any help?” Her tone rose slightly, as if she was unsure of how I’d respond.

“You’re all dressed for dinner, though.”

She smiled and pointed at my chest. “That’s what an apron is for, right?”

I raised an eyebrow. “Have ye actually made sponge before?”

She shook her head, her shoes clicking on the marble floor as she made her way to the rack beside me. “No, but I’m willing to learn.”

My shoulders tensed as I searched my brain, thinking of an excuse. This was my time to listen to the kitchen staff, maybe ask around and see if they knew about the MacWebleys. Something I should have been doing instead of getting lost in the dough.

But no one had ever been interested or willing to help when it came to my baking. My own family had always seen it as a hobby, something I did to get out of real responsibility. Something below me.

Madison’s honest offer had me blowing out a breath and nodding. “Sure. Get an apron and I’ll show you how to make the icing sugar.”

“You had me at sugar,” she said, grabbing an apron and sliding it over her head. Pushing her hair back, she then reached behind her, her nose scrunching as her hands moved quickly behind her back.

“Need some help tying it?”

“No, I think I’ve got it,” she stammered, her hands clumsily fidgeting behind her back.

I shook my head, feeling the smile creep back onto my face as I laughed. “I’ve got you.”

She shook her head. “No, it’s fine, really.”

Of course, I didn’t listen and circled the table then slid behind her.

The kitchen was full of intense smells of the nightly baking, but her sugary vanilla scent was all I could inhale. Darn, maybe I was too close.

I placed my hands on hers, and she stilled, her hands slightly shaking against the fabric straps at her back. Not enough that I would have seen it, but as I wove my fingers with hers, my thumb rubbed a slow circle on her palm just like I had when I’d been helping her on the horse.

Maybe it was the wrong thing to do, because as soon as