The Way to a Man's Heart

By Wilma Counts

Temptation Is Sweet. . .

After critiquing the poor fare at a soirée, Miss Nicole Beaufort's cousins wager her to do better. The daughter of an English noblewoman and a French chef, Nicole is confident she can win the challenge. But she will have to secure a position in a gentleman's kitchen--and keep it for at least six weeks. . .

Disguising herself as a widowed cook, Nicole finds work at a nearby estate, where the health of her new employer depends on her pleasing his palate. Wounded at Waterloo, the handsome but ornery Earl of Thornwood refuses to eat. But while Nicole fully expects to tempt his appetite, she doesn't expect to tempt his heart as well. . .

Includes delicious recipes for you to try!

20,000 Words

• Language: English
• Publisher: eClassics
• Release date: Apr 3, 2014
• ISBN: 9781601832511

Wilma Counts

Wilma Counts devotes her time largely to writing and reading. She loves to cook, but hates cleaning house. She has never lost her interest in literature, history, and international relations. She spends a fair amount of time yelling at the T.V. She is an active member of Lone Mountain Writers in Carson City, Nevada. Readers can visit her website at www.wilmacounts.com.

Book preview

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ONE

Did Almack’s live up to your expectations? The Honorable Edward Jamison directed his question to his cousin, Miss Nicole Beaufort, as he helped himself from his mother’s breakfast buffet.

Stale cakes and watery beverages are not my idea of proper fare to offer guests, Nicole responded.

Trust Nikki to criticize the food at the marriage mart! Catherine, Edward’s sister, laughed.

Well, she’s French, don’t you know? They’re like that. He winked at his sister and grinned at Nicole.

Catherine sighed. "She is only half French, and one would hope twelve years in the Jamison family would have enhanced her English heritage."

"I see no reason for the ton’s leading hostesses to tolerate such inferior food, English or no. Besides—Nicole gestured at the laden sideboard—I do not see the Jamisons living up to—that is, down to—what is typically served in English homes."

Lillian, my dear. Uncle Jamison, Viscount Leighton, spoke in mock seriousness to his wife as he rose from the table. What is this talk of food? It was my understanding you were taking these young ladies to Almack’s to find husbands. I shall be in the library expecting hordes of suitors to present themselves. He patted his wife’s shoulder as he left the room.

Leighton is right, Aunt Lillian reproved mildly as she rose to follow her husband. You girls would do well to look to the future. At two and twenty, Nicole is nearly on the shelf already. And nineteen is none too soon for you to be seriously looking for a husband, Catherine.

I presume that means you should spend more time in ballrooms and less time in the kitchen, Nikki, Edward said as the door closed behind his mother.

"But Nikki prefers the kitchen to the ballroom," Catherine said.

I would not say that exactly, Nicole protested, "but I have certainly learned enough from Perkins—and in France earlier—to know most of the people in charge of feeding the ton are incompetent, to say the least."

Oh, really? Edward gave a hoot of laughter. And I suppose you could do ever so much better?

Yes, I could.

Nikki, you cannot mean that, Catherine declared.

I certainly do. Nicole raised her chin firmly.

Edward and Catherine looked at each other, their identical blue eyes sparkling. Uh-oh, Nicole thought.

Come now, cousin dear, Edward mocked. Ladies of the gentry simply are not found supervising kitchen staffs.

"Perhaps not, but I could do it—and do it better than most who have those responsibilities now."

Prove it, Edward challenged. I will wager ten guineas you would not be allowed near a gentleman’s kitchen.

Make it twenty and you have your wager, Nicole said, her brown eyes flashing.

All right. Twenty. But you must find a position and manage to keep it for, say, six weeks.

Done.

You are both quite mad, Catherine said. Papa would never approve, and Mama would have the vapors. And what about Nikki’s guardian? Monsieur Thibaud would have some say in this nonsense.

They need not know, Edward said airily. Nikki was away last year for three months at the Bensons’ estate in Durham. Besides, she is of age now.

The three of them continued to wrangle just as they had about many an escapade in the last decade and more. As usual, she and Edward, who were of an age, engineered the adventure, overriding the doubts of the younger Catherine.

Nicole admitted privately to some doubts herself this time, but she could hardly back down now. What? Have Edward call her craven? However, she did have qualms about deceiving Aunt Lillian and Uncle Jamison.

And Monsieur Thibaud? she asked herself. Oh, Papa. How I miss you.

Nicole had been born in a village near Paris during the infamous Reign of Terror. Her father lost his parents, two older brothers, and a younger sister to the insatiable appetite of Madame Guillotine, not to mention the loss of all family property and wealth.

He had taken his wife and baby to seek refuge with a childhood friend who owned a restaurant in Reims. Unable to take his place in French society as le comte D’Arcy, and unwilling to live off the largess of his wife’s family in England, he had joined his friend’s business venture and eventually became a chef of great local acclaim.

Nicole’s memories of her early childhood were happy ones. Although the family lived modestly, her parents loved each other and their daughter. Her mother taught Nicole to read and write. Later, she attended a local girls’ day school. In her free time, she enjoyed nothing more than being in the restaurant kitchen, where she was allowed to spell the boy turning the spit, chop vegetables, or stir a sauce.

When she was seven, her mother died, bearing a stillborn son. For a time the laughter was gone, but neighbors and friends stepped in to help the grieving husband. For three more years, life had gone on much as it had previously, though with an aching void her mother had once filled. Nicole was ten when her father sat her down to announce the decision that changed her life.

I am taking you to England to live with your mother’s people.

But, Papa, I do not want to go to England!

"Nor do I, my love. But you cannot stay here to grow up a mere chef’s daughter. There is no future for you here. Your mama was a nobleman’s daughter. You must have a proper place in society—even if it is English society," he said sadly.

Very well. She agreed reluctantly. As long as you will be with me.

Well, I will and I won’t be with you. When she turned frightened, tear-filled eyes to him, he added, I must take you to the Jamisons, but I will not, cannot throw myself on their charity. Your mama had a modest legacy which is to be yours one day. I must make my own way.

Shall we not live together anymore? the child asked plaintively.

No, my love. You must live with the Jamisons. Your mama loved her brother very much. I am sorry we never knew the English family. You will go away to school and become a proper English lady and marry a rich, handsome young man. He hugged her to him. I will see you as often as I can.

Must I do this, Papa?

Yes, my dear. His eyes, too, glistened with unshed tears.

And then had come the hard part. Papa would make his way in England as a chef, but it would spoil his daughter’s chances in society were it known her father was little more than a servant. He swore her to secrecy as he became Monsieur Thibaud, trusted family retainer of le comte D’Arcy, given the task of conveying the dead comte’s daughter to her English family. She had spent months learning to