The Admiral's Penniless Bride. Carla Kelly

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      ‘His name is Etienne Dupuis, and I won him with a high card after the Battle of Trafalgar,’ the admiral whispered as they went quietly down the stairs. ‘He was the best cook in the fleet, but he can be moody at times.’

      ‘This is one of those times, I take it,’ Sally whispered back. ‘Why are we whispering?’

      ‘He told me if I ever allowed my sisters here again, he would leave me to Starkey’s cooking and return to La Belle France.’

      ‘And would he?’

      ‘I don’t intend to find out.’ His lips were close to her ear, and she felt a little shiver down her spine. ‘Let us see how charming you can be, Mrs Bright.’

      They came into a pleasant-sized servants’ hall. Thankfully, there were no cupids painted on these walls, but all was dark. The Rumford didn’t look as though there had been a fire lit for several days.

      ‘I think we’re too late,’ she whispered, not minding a bit that the admiral had pulled her close. ‘See here, sir, are you more afraid than I am?’

      ‘Absolutely,’ he told her. ‘You didn’t know you had married the coward of the Blue Fleet, did you? Good thing there was no Yellow Fleet. Stay close, Sophia. He threw a cleaver at me once.’

      ‘Goodness! In that case, I think I should stay far away!’

      He took her hand and towed her further into the kitchen. ‘Etienne? I want you to meet my wife. She is the kindest creature in the galaxy.’

      Sally smiled. ‘You don’t even know me,’ she whispered into his shoulder.

      ‘I think I do,’ he told her, raising her hand in his and kissing it. ‘You’ve been here twenty minutes at least, and you haven’t run screaming away from this den of iniquity I purchased. I call that a kindness. Etienne? She’s nothing like my sisters. Can we declare a truce?’

      The admiral nodded towards the fireplace and a high-backed chair, where a little puff of smoke plumed. The man in the chair—she could see only his feet—didn’t move or say anything. He cleared his throat and continued to puff.

      ‘He’s more than usually stubborn,’ Bright whispered.

      ‘He sounds very much like the old ladies I tended,’ Sally whispered back. She released her grip on the admiral. ‘Let me see what I can do.’ She couldn’t help herself. ‘What is it worth to you, sir?’ she teased.

      Before he spoke, the admiral gave her such a look that she felt her stomach grow warm. ‘How about a wedding ring that fits?’ he asked at last, with the humorous look she was used to already, the one that challenged her to match his wit.

      ‘Solid gold and crusted with diamonds,’ she teased. ‘And an emerald or two.’

      Sally picked up a chair at the servants’ table and put it down next to the high-backed chair. She seated herself, not looking at the little man. ‘I’m Sophia Bright,’ she said.

      There was a grunt from the chair, but nothing more.

      ‘Honestly, how can my husband even imagine you can work in this place, with no pots-and-pans girl, and no assistant? What was he thinking? And his sisters? That’s more than even a saint could endure. I shouldn’t be surprised if you have already packed your valise.’

      Another puff. Then, ‘I have been thinking long and hard about packing.’

      ‘I could never blame you,’ she said, shivering a little. ‘Do you have enough bed covering down here? I believe it would be no trouble to find a proper footstool for your chair. I will go look right now.’

      That was all it took. The little man got up from his chair and bowed. ‘Etienne Dupuis at your service, Lady Bright. Bah! What would I do with a footstool?’

      ‘Make yourself more comfortable?’ she asked, keeping her voice innocent. ‘And I will worry about you, shivering down here in the dark.’

      In a moment, the chef had pulled down the lamp over the table, lit it and sent it back up. He shook coal into the grate and lit it, then turned to the Rumford. ‘Would madam care for tea?’

      ‘I’d love some, Etienne, but I know you are a busy man and it isn’t time for tea yet. Besides … weren’t you about to pack?’

      ‘I will make time,’ he said, bowing graciously again and ignoring her question. ‘I shall have Starkey serve tea on the terrace.’

      ‘That is so kind of you,’ she said, not daring to look her husband in the eyes. She could see that he had not moved from where she had left him. ‘Perhaps some tea for the admiral, too.’ She leaned closer in a conspiratorial manner. ‘Poor man. It’s not his fault that he has such sisters.’

      ‘I suppose it is not,’ the chef said, busying himself in the pantry now. ‘They order me about and tell me what to do in my own kitchen! Me!’

      Sally tisked several times and frowned. ‘Not any more, Etienne. I am here.’

      ‘You think you can stop them?’ he asked, waving his hands about.

      ‘I know I can,’ she answered simply, mentally shouting down every qualm rattling around in her brain. ‘There are no limits to what I would do to preserve the sanctity of your kitchen.’

      Dupuis stopped and blew a kiss in her direction. He looked at the admiral. ‘Sir! Wherever did you meet such a gem?’

      ‘In a hotel dining room, Etienne. Where else?’

      The chef laughed and smiled in conspiratorial fashion at Sally. ‘He is such a wit.’ He made a shooing motion with his hands. ‘Zut, zut! Upstairs now!’ He drew himself up. ‘Etienne Dupuis will produce!’

      Sally clapped her hands. ‘You are everything my darling husband said, and more! In future, perhaps you would not mind showing me at the beginning of each week what you plan for meals? Just a little glimpse.’

      He bowed elaborately this time. ‘I will bring my menus upstairs to your sitting room each Monday. And you might be thinking of your favourite foods.’

      Lately it has been anything, Sally thought. I am just partial to eating again. ‘An excellent arrangement,’ she said. ‘This, sir, is your domain.’ She nodded to him, turned on her heel and rejoined her dumbfounded husband. ‘Come, my dearest, let us return to the terrace. I believe I saw some wrought-iron chairs there.’

      With a smile, Bright held out his arm to her. ‘Amazing,’ he murmured. ‘My dearest?’

      ‘He is French and we are newly married. Do you have a better idea?’

      The admiral glanced back at the chef, who was watching them, and put his arm around her waist. ‘I rather like it. Sophia, peace is suddenly getting interesting. I thought it never would.’

      What he said, whether he even understand or not, went right to her heart. She impulsively put her hands on his shoulders. ‘I do believe I understand you now.’ She said it softly, so Etienne would not hear. ‘You’ve been at loose ends.’

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