In My Wildest Dreams by Christina Dodd Read Free Book Online

Hyacinth and Ellery were as befuddled as Celeste, but they all took a spoon, tasted and nodded. Hyacinth nodded with a great deal of enthusiasm, Ellery with much less.
    By his gestures Throckmorton urged him to eat more. Yielding, Ellery ate as rapidly as he could. Clapping Throckmorton on the shoulder, he tried to edge away.
    Throckmorton smiled the kind of smile that raised goosebumps on Celeste’s arms, and glanced toward the window, his gray eyes wickedly amused.
    She jumped back.
    She didn’t know why. He surely couldn’t see her. The lights were bright outside. No candles glimmered in this part of the house. And she had no reason to hide from Mr. Throckmorton. None at all. But for some reason shedidn’t want Mr. Throckmorton to think she spied on them.
    He smiled toward the window, then moved Hyacinth to stand beside Ellery.
    Celeste fled toward the ballroom.

5
    D epending on her whim, the gardener’s wife, Aimee, had alternately cursed and praised the size and the age of the Blythe Hall kitchen. Yet Milford had always liked the room. You couldn’t call it cozy, not with the three worktables, or the huge fireplace with spit that took up one wall, or the ovens that were built into the brick. But when extra servants were brought in for a party and the place bustled with the business of cooking for a hundred guests and their servants, well, then it was a fine, loud, merry place filled with smells that reminded him of the days when his wife was in charge.
    Except, of course, that above all the commotion, Esther’s voice rang out. Esther, who had taken Aimee’s place as head cook.
    It wasn’t that Milford minded having another cook take over his wife’s domain. No, he was a sensible man who understood the need for food on a regular basis. Itwas Esther herself who had been the thorn in Milford’s side since the day she’d arrived, hired over from the Fairchild household, the third cook to arrive after Mrs. Milford’s death and the one who wouldn’t leave, no matter how fervently he wished it. And Scottish to boot—that is to say, stubborn, raw boned and sharp tongued. She had for the past eight years held the reins in the kitchen, and during that time he’d not had one peaceful meal. She didn’t care how loud the scullery maids got with their tales of which stable lad had asked them to Midsummer’s Night. Nor did she care if the laughter got too raucous or the jokes too salacious. All she cared about was whether the food got to the table warm and on time, and despite Milford’s worst expectations, that was always done. Always. No matter what calamity befell the kitchen—and he’d never sat in a kitchen uncursed with calamity—Esther always sailed through with flying colors.
    But none of that vexed him. No, what truly vexed him was that she always dragged him into some spirited discussion. Dragged him in when all he wanted was to eat his meals in peace and quiet and then get back to his dirt and his flowers.
    Right now the kitchen staff, temporary and permanent, struggled to produce the canapés that circulated with the footmen as well as the formal dinner that would be served at midnight. So it took the loud clang of a silver salver on the long kitchen table where Milford ate his supper to capture anyone’s attention. Herne stood there, eyes twinkling, belly heaving, and when he had everyone’s attention, he proclaimed, “Celeste is dancing with Mr. Ellery.”
    As announcements went, this one provoked thedesired effect. Brunella, the senior upstairs maid, froze with her fork in the air. Elva, the newest scullery maid, stood with her scrub brush upraised. Adair, the footman who had returned to reload his tray with a variety of canapés, stared at his superior with awestruck eyes.
    Esther gave a great laugh that caught like contagion among the bustling kitchen staff. “Our little Celeste has gone to the ball at