Kane’s huge and sunny kitchen, Araminta reached for her apron. Her hands didn’t tremble, but they were still not entirely steady after her latest meeting with the self-important Mr. Calverson.
She pulled the apron over her head, shoved back the thin curtains covering the windows and opened the back door that led out to the garden. A chilled draft swept through the kitchen, but the room would soon be filled with heat from the two ovens and the ranges.
Araminta stopped for a moment to catch the scent of early spring, a welcome change from the usual New York stink of waste from horse and humanity. The garden would soon be lovely, and for a moment, she regretted having to leave, but she consoled herself with the thought that when she finally found the perfect place, she’d plant her own garden, and include herbs for her future restaurant’s kitchen.
She made her way to the dark back pantry to fetch the pastry shells she’d made earlier and began to mix the ingredients for the filling. And to come up with another plan to deal with Kane.
Her staff had taken advantage of her unusual absence and had disappeared. Araminta enjoyed the peace.
Olivia drifted into the kitchen. She wore a flowing morning dress. She usually dressed formally, but today her girlish figure was unbound by stays—likely the bruises inflicted by Kane pained her too much. She drew back from the sunlight, and Araminta guessed her head still hurt.
She gave Araminta a tentative smile. “I looked for you earlier. Where did you go?”
“To see an acquaintance who’s visiting New York.” Araminta flipped open the lid on the smaller icebox to check the ice supply. The block was nearly gone. She’d have to put in an early order.
She straightened and surveyed her friend. Olivia’s soft blond hair still rippled down her back like a china doll’s. “I forgot Kane dismissed your maid. Do you need help with your hair?”
Olivia shook her head. “He wants me to wear it down.”
“Oh? There is nothing elaborate planned for tonight’s meal. Is he expected back here?”
Olivia’s ivory brow furrowed. “He—he doesn’t tell me when he’ll come back. I don’t dare ask.”
Araminta made an impatient noise and dropped a head of garlic onto the counter. God knew she wanted to help Olivia, but sometimes she wondered if the poor thing could be rescued. “Olivia, I lose patience with you. Grow a backbone, my girl.”
She seized a havy knife and pressed down on the cloves to loosen the skin.
A quiet sniff made her look up. Olivia’s china-blue eyes had filled with tears.
“Araminta, please, don’t. You sound like you would leave. I am trying, truly. I would—” Olivia’s voice broke off. A tear rolled down her cheek.
Araminta’s anger dissolved. She wiped her hands on the apron and pulled the girl into a hug. All bones. Olivia needed to eat, and she needed to be distracted from her troubles.
“Come on, now, never mind. I’ll teach you to make a proper béchamel sauce, shall I? Or better still you can help me get some work done. Maggie’s off doing errands, and I don’t know where Jack is.”
Olivia, lovely despite the tears, wiped her eyes and nodded.
Araminta set her up in the corner with a chopping board and a knife and a bunch of parsley.
Olivia clumsily hacked at the parsley. “When I came into the kitchen you looked positively grim, Araminta. Was the visit with your friend unpleasant?”
Araminta heaved a huge pot of water onto the top of the range, then shoved more coal into the firebox next to the oven.
“He isn’t actually a friend.”
Olivia stopped chopping. “Ah, a man then.”
Araminta shuddered. “Oh, indeed he is.”
“You are interested in him.”
Araminta opened her mouth to protest but knew there was no point in denying it. She’d had several dreams about Griffin over the last year. Disturbing and lingering dreams. And just thinking of his touch last night could make her feel as if her skin had been