The Worthington Wife. Sharon Page

June and not stifling hot yet. She’d made mulligatawny because the spice would cover up for any number of evils. The aspic was setting up properly, but it almost slid off the plate when she set it down and her heart just about stopped.

      A pot boiled over and Hannah took off at a run, lifting it off the heat. The salmon! How long had it been since she’d last looked at it? She set down the pot, opened the oven. Not burned, thank heavens.

      Hannah set to spooning the mustard sauce over the salmon. She looked over. Tansy was halfheartedly stirring the sauce for the Chicken Lyonnaise.

      “Why am I running about like a chicken with my head cut off, Tansy?” she demanded. “I’m trying to do everything while you stir a spoon in a pot. You’re supposed to be taking care of half of these things I’m doing.”

      “I am doing things. You’ve shouted at me and ordered me about all day!”

      “I’m the cook now! That’s what I’m supposed to do. When I was the kitchen maid, I took orders all the time. And I got an earful if I wasn’t always rushing at full speed. You didn’t finish cleaning the stove after lunch and you forgot to wash half the pots. I would have been sacked for that. You heard his lordship—you’re all supposed to help. I am being nice to you.”

      “Well, thank you, Your Highness,” Tansy said, her words dripping with sarcasm.

      Hannah sighed. Why couldn’t she be commanding? One word from Mrs. Feathers and they all used to quake. But Mrs. Feathers did it with words as sharp and wounding as her cleaving knife and Hannah couldn’t do that.

      Tansy started to hum a jazz song. She swayed back and forth while she stirred, which made the bowl tip precariously.

      “Mind. You’ll have it on the floor,” Hannah declared. She hurried over and grabbed the bowl. Hannah hated to think badly of anyone, but she feared Tansy was deliberately trying to make her fall flat on her face tonight.

      “I’m just happy. Do you want to know why?” Tansy dimpled.

      Hannah hated the sour feeling that came over her. She’d never really thought about how she looked until Tansy came. Her mum had always insisted she look “presentable.” On her afternoon off once, she’d bought a lipstick and put some on, then forgot about it and had gone home to see her parents with her lips painted red. Mum had scrubbed so hard her lips had stung all day. Of course, now Mum and Father were gone and she had no one.

      Hannah brushed back a stray hair with her flour-covered forearm. She had plain brown hair and brown eyes. Tansy’s hair was blue-black and she was truly lovely enough to be a film star. Hannah hated the awful feeling of jealousy that now seemed to live in her heart. “Why are you happy then, Tansy?”

      “My beau’s going to take me out tonight in his motorcar. He’s going to wait for me and take me for a quick spin when I’m supposed to go to bed. Says he has to see me tonight. He can’t wait any longer. You know what that means?”

      “Aye, it means he’s going to expect you to give him something in return for these motorcar rides and gifts. You’ve let him think you’re fast.”

      “I’ve not let him do anything more than kiss me! I think he’s going to marry me.”

      Hannah’s heart sank. “Oh, Tansy, I don’t think so.”

      “He will.” Tansy stuck out her lower lip.

      “Who is he, anyway? You’ve never told me his name. Where’d you meet him?”

      “Just outside the village. I was waiting for the bus after visiting me family. It was raining something terrible and freezing cold. He offered to give me a ride back here. He’s a gentleman, you know. I think he’s the younger son of an earl. He doesn’t like to talk about it much, but I can tell from his cut-glass accent that he’s a toff. Gloriously handsome and he’s mad about me.”

      “What’s his name, Tansy?”

      “I call him Geoff.”

      “He didn’t tell you the rest, did he? Oh, Tansy, do be careful. An earl’s son isn’t going to propose marriage to a kitchen maid!”

      “These days, gentlemen are a lot more interested in a girl with sex appeal than in marrying some dowdy lady who has a big dowry and a horsey face.” Tansy stuck out her tongue. “You’re jealous. That’s why you’re so hard on me.”

      “I’m hard on you because I know the standards of this house and you have to meet them. And I’m not jealous. I have your best interests at heart.” Hannah wagged a spoon at Tansy. “There was a girl I knew. She was the daughter of the people at Lilac Farm. She went out in a car with a handsome gentleman one night. Maybe she ran off with him, or maybe he ruined her and she had to run away for the shame. Either way she disappeared. She was never seen again.”

      * * *

      Hell, he found himself looking forward to seeing Julia again.

      Rain spattered down as her car pulled up at the front door. Cal ran out so she wouldn’t have to get out. He let himself in on the passenger side. Seeing her was like being hit in the gut—and that had happened to him a lot in the Hell’s Kitchen neighborhood where he’d grown up.

      Her lips were painted a darker red. A gray raincoat covered her, but revealed her stocking-clad legs below the knee. She had gorgeous legs. She smelled...probably the way heaven smelled.

      “How was your dinner last night?” she asked.

      “Great. Hannah did a good job. We had a dessert that I’ll never forget. Fruit and cream and lady fingers soaked in liquor.”

      “English trifle.” She smiled at him. “I’m so glad it was a success.”

      And off they drove. Along tree-lined lanes that swept up and down hills. Meadows and green fields stretched around them. In the distance he saw a soaring church spire, and buildings nestled among the hills. He had to admit it was pretty.

      “This is Lilac Farm.” Julia brought the car to a stop beside a low stone wall. Within the wall, a few stone buildings sat in a cluster with a muddy yard between them. The wall continued along a downhill slope, defining small square fields.

      Julia pulled up the parking brake. She strode ahead, opening a wooden gate in the stone wall. Cal followed, and as they stepped into the yard, someone inside the largest stone building shouted, “Damn and blast!”

      A stream of snorting pigs spilled out of a barn and headed toward them like an unstoppable wave. Pigs moved a hell of a lot faster than Cal expected.

      They were going to be crushed against the stone wall. Planting his hands on Julia’s small waist, Cal hoisted her up, over the wall. Then he jumped over himself.

      The animals scurried everywhere, grunting and squealing. An elderly man stumbled out of the barn. Covered in mud, the white-haired man wheezed, “Stop ’em. They’ll get away. Get two of ’em in the front and force ’em back.”

      Julia scrambled toward the rampaging pigs.

      “Go back,” Cal shouted. “Let me do this.”

      He got his hands on one of the pigs but his attention was on Julia. The animal pulled him off his feet. He fell as Julia cried, “Cal!”

      Rolling over in the muck, he avoided the hooves and jumped to his feet. Hell, Julia had clambered back over the wall and was waving a scarf at the pigs like a Spanish bullfighter. This time he knew what to expect when he got his arms around one. He held on tight and dug in his heels. Julia flapped frantically and he managed to wrestle the pig so it was facing the barn. Spooked, it ran back toward home. He got a second animal running after the first. Sure enough, the rest began to follow. A splashing sound came as the farmer dumped the contents of a pail into a wooden trough. Grunting, the pigs scrambled over each other for a spot, their desire to escape long gone.

      Julia latched the gate, then ran up to him, laughing, gasping for breath. Her shoes sank in the mud. She stumbled