Living London Read Online Free PDF Page A

hadn't eaten in…wait. With a slightly hysterical laugh, I remembered all the times I had complained to my grandmother when I was hungry. But Nanna, it feels like I haven’t eaten for two hundred years! Who knew that some day it would be true? With a shake of my head and a wry grin I continued on my trek to the kitchen. After searching a while, I finally heard the commotion of pots and pans rattling and inhaled the blissful smell of fresh bread. Carbs . At least no one in Regency England was on the low carb diet. It might have killed me.
    I pushed a door open and entered the room filled with smells from heaven. One maid leaned over a pot, stirring something, while yelling at a young boy to fetch some eggs. As I took another step in, all the motion in the kitchen stopped.
    "Mademoiselle Westin?" An older woman with rosy cheeks and a thick French accent spoke to me with a question in her voice and a disbelieving expression.
    "Yes, ma'am," I responded automatically, forgetting the British accent and whatever protocol I should have followed. S hould I call a cook ma'am? If not, what do I call her? I should have paid more attention to Nanna and all my Regency romance novels. By the look on her face I knew I hadn’t addressed her correctly.
    Think fast, distract her . "Could I please have some tea and breakfast? I find myself quite famished after yesterday's…ordeal." I breathed a sigh of relief as I noticed the rest of the kitchen staff's understanding glances. Next I waited for the cook's response.
    "Oui, mademoiselle. We will serve you immediately. Please accept our sincerest hopes that you are feeling better."
    "Thank you." Somehow the simple words sounded better with a British accent.
    I waited, unsure of what to do or where to go. There was a small kitchen table, but I didn't think the lady of the house was meant to eat there. I needed to find a dining room, but I had no idea where it was.
    Might as well ask. If I was stuck here, I needed people to have a reason for me not knowing very much, even about my own home. The servants would talk—at least they always did in the novels—and everyone would know by tomorrow, but that would work in my favor as well. Here goes nothing.
    "Excuse me, but would someone please direct me to the dining room? After yesterday's incident I am having a hard time remembering… well, anything."
    The cook's eyes widened and she gasped, placing a hand to her cheek as she openly stared at me. Then something shifted in her eyes — she visibly straightened and regained control. "Mademoiselle Westin, you follow me. I will take care of you. Henrietta, bring her favorite breakfast in the family dining room. Bring a pot of hot tea as well. Margaret, continue with the preparations for luncheon, and I will be back shortly, oui?" She nodded and glanced to me. "Come."
    With gentle compassion she opened the door and waited for me to precede her. She walked behind me and gave me discreet directions, down the hallway and to the left, into a moderate-sized room with a beautiful view of what I assumed to be Hyde Park. The carved wooden table had seating for ten. As she pulled out a chair for me, she leaned over to whisper, "Do not worry. Should you need anything, simply ask. It is our delight to serve you, my lady, and that is the truth."
    She left quietly, leaving me alone with my loud thoughts. The room was grand, with dark wooden paneling and wall sconces giving off golden light. As I glanced around, I noticed various similarities to the home Nanna left to me. The realization comforted me.
    Soon Henrietta brought in breakfast on a tray and served me. It was strange to have servants attend me. She laid everything out and curtsied as she left. I blinked hard and gazed around the room again, as if it would all blur and I'd wake up realizing it had all been a dream.
    Breakfast was delightful and far more than I could have eaten in a day. The hot tea, eggs, ham and even kidney pie were incredible. Once I’d