Chapter 41
A tantalizing aroma wafted through the air, stirring my appetite before I even noticed.
I’d requested that the head chef prepare desserts perfect for tea, but now…
I questioned whether I’d placed too heavy a burden on him, particularly since he’d never laid eyes on the new lady of the house.
A twinge of guilt tugged at me.
“Was my request overly demanding?”
“What do you mean, Your Highness?”
Berni, the chef, beamed with enthusiasm, his cheeks tinged pink and his eyes alight with fervor.
“This is the first time I’ve felt such inspiration since arriving in Blenheim. At last, I can truly demonstrate my skills…!”
“Demonstrate your skills? Don’t you prepare meals for the Duke and me every day?”
“Well, yes, but…”
He paused briefly, met my gaze, then proceeded with caution.
“Apart from everyday fare, I haven’t had the opportunity to serve you proper specialties. Since your arrival, Your Highness, we’ve offered complete multicourse meals, but before that, with just the Duke here, the cuisine was exceedingly basic.”
My mind drifted to the Duke’s demeanor at our dinners.
He consumed his food in utter silence, face impassive, showing scarcely any response.
“Does the Duke eat lightly?”
“No, that’s not it. He’s simply indifferent to cuisine.”
Berni’s broad jaw quivered faintly, betraying restrained irritation.
“When I first arrived and inquired about his preferences, he replied with anything he could devour swiftly. I assumed it was a jest.”
“Mind your words before the Duchess,” Whitley interjected sternly, the one who’d escorted him.
It came across less as a rebuke and more as a soft nudge.
“It’s fine,” I assured them. “I can see it’s been challenging for you.”
Berni’s frustration made perfect sense to me.
“Anything I can eat quickly”? No chef deserves such a slight!
“I knew Your Highness would grasp my plight!”
The words burst from him like a floodgate unleashed.
“The Duke rarely sets foot in the dining hall. He prefers sandwiches at his desk. Even our most heartfelt creations go unappreciated…”
The kitchen staff lingering behind him nodded discreetly, echoing his discontent.
Indeed, he skipped breakfast altogether before I came.
Whitley cleared his throat—a subtle cue to rein it in.
Berni caught himself, straightening abruptly.
“Even so, since Your Highness arrived, the Duke has transformed noticeably. After three years, he issued a direct instruction to the kitchen.”
“The Duke did?”
Berni blinked at my surprise.
“He requested extra fruit in the desserts. I assumed it came from Your Highness.”
“From me?”
Had I ever mentioned that to the Duke?
Whitley interjected smoothly as I pondered.
“You once mentioned your fondness for fruit. The Duke must have noted it and passed along the order.”
He remembered?
—"Do you like cake?”
—"I prefer strawberries above cake. Fruit has always been my favorite.”
The exchange flooded back.
Lately, every sweet had brimmed with fresh produce. I’d chalked it up to ample inland shipments.
How endearing is he?
Sneaking in these thoughtful gestures without fanfare. Anyone else would have boasted endlessly.
A private smile curved my lips, delight warming me as it elevated my standing as Duchess.
“Your presence has turned tea time into pure delight.”
Tears glistened in Berni’s eyes at the praise.
“You can’t imagine my joy upon hearing of your tea gathering!”
It tracked. He’d surely arrived brimming with ambition as head chef of the Duke’s castle.
Yet no formal events had graced the place for a full year.
And the sole potential patron, the Duke, dismissed food entirely. To a culinary master, it must have felt like outright deception.
“We’ll host more occasions ahead, so I’ll rely on you.”
“I won’t let you down!”
His buoyant voice clashed charmingly with his burly frame, drawing a soft laugh from me.
“Let’s nail this tea time first. Which creation do you favor most?”
Berni’s face lit up as he launched into an fervent rundown of the offerings.
“These pair ideally with light tea, glazed in syrup… The chocolate cakes are petite, preventing any mess…”
In essence, every delicacy he’d presented was a triumph in sight and flavor.
Selecting proved agonizing.
“These cookies shine… But excluding that one would be criminal…”
Despite meticulous deliberation, the table overflowed.
“I’d love to offer all my selections… though will the table accommodate them?”
“They’re sampling small bites, so we can scale down portions for greater assortment,” Berni suggested.
Then he inquired,
“How many guests?”
“Nine, counting me.”
“A solid number.”
“Prepare at least two plates per item,” Whitley advised.
“The table’s lengthy. A single plate wouldn’t suffice for all to access easily.”
“Agreed, that’s suboptimal.”
The gathering already promised stiffness.
Picturing noblewomen rising awkwardly to stretch for treats made me cringe.
Everyone recognized this tea as a veiled audition.
Cosiness was out of reach, but I yearned for them to savor the spread stress-free.
Job interviews with superiors over meals had always felt strained.
At least those came with personal boxes—no reaching required.
Hold on!
Why assume communal sharing for tea?
Inspiration struck; I clapped sharply.
“Individual tea sets for each.”
“Individual sets?”
Berni and Whitley regarded me with bemusement at the abrupt notion.
Administrative meeting day had arrived.
As Perel strode the outer corridor beside Grand Duke Loic, he halted, smacking his brow.
“Oh no! Your Grace, I left the trade permit behind.”
He admitted it sheepishly, shame prickling him.
The Grand Duke seldom berated such lapses outright.
His mere glance conveyed such profound disappointment it shamed you deeper than words.
Yet when Perel glanced up, Loic’s eyes drifted beyond the hall, toward the courtyard.
“Your Grace?”
Someone there?
In serene tones, Loic replied.
“Proceed.”
“…Pardon?”
No reprimand tinged it—in fact, kindness softened his voice. Perel started.
“Go on. I’ll wait.”
Loic’s stare remained courtyard-bound.
“N-no, Your Grace.”
This uncharacteristic gentleness unnerved him.
“If you continue, I’ll fetch it swiftly—”
“It’s fine.”
Loic faced him at last, tone brooking no argument.
“Take your time.”
“I-I’ll hurry!”
Loic waved dismissively, and Perel dashed back to the office.
Drawer, perhaps?
Rummaging frantically, he yanked open the lowest one by mistake.
The Grand Duke’s private stash.
A sugary fragrance bloomed instantly.
Then shock rooted Perel.
Former contents had vanished. In their stead sat crisp white wrapping, a ribbon, and an inscribed card, all arranged meticulously.
What on earth?
He gaped.
A gift from the Grand Duchess?
Preserving even the ribbon with such care.
Perel had observed the Grand Duke’s recent uptick in spousal visits.
Post-collapse, his attentiveness had intensified.
Beyond mere duty—he doted genuinely.
Anyone might warm to the Grand Duchess, truth be told.
Bemused, Perel retraced his steps.
But the Grand Duke, pledged to wait, had vanished.
“Your Grace?”
To the meeting room ahead?
A lively voice from the courtyard halted him.
“Did you truly tell the chef that?”
Impossible…?
Perel edged closer.
In the modest garden courtyard, the Grand Duchess sipped tea at a table.
Opposite loomed the Grand Duke’s imposing form.
“You requested quick-to-eat fare? Whatever did you mean?”
“I… scarcely recall.”
“The knights mentioned it too—that you masticate food like bark from trees.”
“I lack strong tastes.”
“Then what do you truly enjoy?”
“Fruit, perhaps.”
“Truly?”
Perel watched, stunned.
His stoic lord, conversing so patiently with the Grand Duchess, seemed utterly transformed.
Has he ever regarded anyone with such tender patience?
Loic beheld his wife as though she were his world’s greatest treasure.
Unquestionably, the gaze of a man smitten.
