Page 51 of Gone With the Rogue
“I think the sea has been his only true mistress,” Brina said. “He has been good to help you with finding the duke’s documents and trying to understand the ledger. I don’t think he’s going to sail away.”
“I can’t be sure,” Julia answered.
“Then you must enjoy the time you have with him. Before the duke returns, before Mr. Stockton leaves.”
“That’s what I’ve been thinking, too.” Julia swallowed hard and set her glass on the table, too. “What about you, Brina? If you go to live at Pilwillow Crossings, you will never have the possibility of being kissed again. Never have that feeling as if you’re walking on air again.”
“That’s what I’ve believed since Stewart died,” she said thoughtfully. “Now, when I hear you talking about how Mr. Stockton makes you feel, I wonder if I’m sure.”
“You must be—” Julia suddenly felt as if her stomach jumped to her throat. Was something burning? She turned and looked toward the doorway and sniffed.
“The bread!” Brina exclaimed.
They rose and raced each other down the corridor. Their elbows knocked, shoulders bumped, and skirts swished as they passed the dining room, the breakfast room and stopped inside the kitchen doorway.
Smoke billowed from the ovens on either side of the fireplace. Liquid from the soup was sputtering and bubbling over the top of the kettle and puddling on the floor. The stench of charred bread mixed with the harsh odor of burned wood and cooked food swirled in the air. Julia opened a window, grabbed a towel and started fanning the gray cloud.
“I’ll get the bread out of the oven. You take the soup off the rack.”
Julia couldn’t see into the oven to reach for the pans. She fanned harder.
“I can’t lift the soup by my—ouch!”
“Are you burned?” Julia asked.
“Only a little. It splattered on my hand. I’m all right, but the handle’s too hot. The kettle is too heavy. I need your help.”
Julia swung toward Brina. The ovens were going to continue to smoke until she got the bread out of them, but she was afraid Brina might hurt herself. She needed to help her first. Julia wrapped her cloth around one end of the handle of the kettle, Brina the other. They were trying to move when she heard booted feet running down the corridor.
Garrett.
He rounded the doorway and stopped, instantly taking in the situation. “What in the name of Hades are you two doing?”
“How did—”
“Not now,” he ordered. “Stand back before you catch your dresses on fire or get burned.”
Julia and Brina stepped away and watched him lift the scorching hot kettle from the rack as if it were empty and place it onto the far side of the hearth. He then pulled a bread paddle off the wall and slid it into the oven, bringing out the pans and tumbling them into the tub of wash water.
The damage of what almost happened flashed before Julia’s mind. She was furious with herself for what she’d allow to happen. What made her think she and Brina could cook anything? They could have burned down the house! Why did her best intentions always seem to turn out wrong?
The smoke was clearing. Garrett looked at Julia and Brina. His brow furrowed deeply. “What the devil are you two doing in here? Where’s your housekeeper?”
Julia swallowed hard. It was a rather awkward position she was in. As was often the case with her impulsive ideas, she’d landed herself in a predicament that was proving more difficult than she’d believed it would be. And it appeared there was going to be no easy way to get out of it.
“Hello,” came a girl’s voice from the back door. “We saw smoke coming out of the window. Is the kitchen on fire?”
Julia heard quick footsteps which was followed by two girls from the school. They stopped and looked at the soup and flour all over the floor and the leftover vegetable trimmings scattered across the worktable, and then their gazes settled on Julia.
“Mrs. Lawton is going to be mad at someone when she sees what’s been done to her kitchen, but it’s not going to be me she’s mad at.”
Chapter 17
“This is all my fault,” Brina said softly, a stricken expression on her face.
Everyone’s eyes turned to her. She stood solemnly with her smudged chin high. Julia appreciated her friend’s kindness in wanting to take all the blame but she couldn’t let her.
“Nonsense,” Julia said firmly. “It’s mine for even suggesting we should try to cook when neither of us know the first thing about it. I’m the only one responsible for this horrible mess.”
