morning,” he murmured.
“As can I,” added his uncle. “However, I feel we must show the English flag, so to speak.”
“I doubt the poor grouse give a fig for what nationality is blasting them out of the air,” she replied. “Though given the amount of spirits that were consumed last night, the aim of the hunters might be a bit erratic.”
“Yes, and the flasks of hot coffee will be fortified with brandy,” said Saybrook. “So it’s not likely to improve.”
Mellon chuckled.
“Have a care,” she joked.
“You appear to be alone,” observed Mellon as Saybrook gathered up their hunting coats. Arianna was the only female who had come down to breakfast. “I fear that most of the other ladies won’t appear until noon.”
“I have plenty to keep me occupied,” she assured him. “I have brought a notebook of Dona Maria’s chocolate recipes to transcribe.”
Saybrook’s late grandmother had spent years researching the history of Theobrama cacao , and her collection of historical documents pertaining to the plant was a treasure trove of fascinating information. The earl was writing a history of chocolate and its various uses, from ancient Aztec times to the present, while she was compiling a cookbook.
“However, it’s deucedly difficult to work out the proper measurements,” she went on. “Especially when the ingredients are written out in German.”
Her husband quirked a sympathetic look. “Ah, I take it you have brought her journal on Austria and the Holy Roman Empire?”
“Yes, and I am learning that Charles VI and his daughter Maria Theresa were immensely fond of chocolate. She had her personal chef experiment with adding a number of flavorings, including the essence of certain fruits.”
“Chocolate was very popular among the Hapsburgs,” explained Saybrook to his uncle.
Mellon nodded abstractly.
“Don’t let me keep you,” said Arianna, thinking the poor man was growing tired of their constant commenting on cuisine. “The wagons look ready to set off.” Gathering her skirts, she seated herself at the table and signaled for tea. “After my breakfast, I intend to curl up in a cozy spot with my flora while you men pursue your fauna .”
Saybrook slapped his hands together in mock enthusiasm. “Indeed, the age-old masculine rite of spilling blood should put everyone in a jolly mood for the rest of the day.”
She shot him a look of silent reproach.
With that, the two men moved off, leaving her alone with the sumptuous smells wafting up from the line of silver chafing dishes.
A fortnight of playing aristocratic games? An unappetizing thought, especially as she dared not upset convention by asking if she might spend some time in the marquess’s kitchens, experimenting with the contessa’s Austrian recipes.
Highborn ladies do not soil their dainty little hands with manual labor.
Arianna cracked her knuckles. Thank God she had brought plenty of books to keep herself occupied.
The sudden whir of wings filled the air as a brace of birds exploded from the thicket up ahead.
“Lord Saybrook?” Rochemont, who had been paired with the earl for the morning beat, cleared his throat with a low cough. “I believe it is your turn to shoot.”
“Hmmm?” Saybrook lifted his gaze from the patch of mossy ground beneath his boots. “Ah, sorry. I was distracted . . .”
The ghillie carrying the cartridge bags gave him an uncomprehending look before squinting into the hide-and-seek sunlight. “A plump pair,” he said somewhat accusingly. “But no matter, milord. The beaters will flush more.” He shaded his eyes. “The line of the hunt is shifting, sirs—we had better move to keep our proper place in line.”
“Are you not enjoying the shooting, milord?” asked Rochemont. “Your skill with a firearm is quite evident, and given your military background . . .” He let his voice trail off as he gave a Gallic shrug.
“As you say, I’ve spilled enough blood—the thrill of
“As can I,” added his uncle. “However, I feel we must show the English flag, so to speak.”
“I doubt the poor grouse give a fig for what nationality is blasting them out of the air,” she replied. “Though given the amount of spirits that were consumed last night, the aim of the hunters might be a bit erratic.”
“Yes, and the flasks of hot coffee will be fortified with brandy,” said Saybrook. “So it’s not likely to improve.”
Mellon chuckled.
“Have a care,” she joked.
“You appear to be alone,” observed Mellon as Saybrook gathered up their hunting coats. Arianna was the only female who had come down to breakfast. “I fear that most of the other ladies won’t appear until noon.”
“I have plenty to keep me occupied,” she assured him. “I have brought a notebook of Dona Maria’s chocolate recipes to transcribe.”
Saybrook’s late grandmother had spent years researching the history of Theobrama cacao , and her collection of historical documents pertaining to the plant was a treasure trove of fascinating information. The earl was writing a history of chocolate and its various uses, from ancient Aztec times to the present, while she was compiling a cookbook.
“However, it’s deucedly difficult to work out the proper measurements,” she went on. “Especially when the ingredients are written out in German.”
Her husband quirked a sympathetic look. “Ah, I take it you have brought her journal on Austria and the Holy Roman Empire?”
“Yes, and I am learning that Charles VI and his daughter Maria Theresa were immensely fond of chocolate. She had her personal chef experiment with adding a number of flavorings, including the essence of certain fruits.”
“Chocolate was very popular among the Hapsburgs,” explained Saybrook to his uncle.
Mellon nodded abstractly.
“Don’t let me keep you,” said Arianna, thinking the poor man was growing tired of their constant commenting on cuisine. “The wagons look ready to set off.” Gathering her skirts, she seated herself at the table and signaled for tea. “After my breakfast, I intend to curl up in a cozy spot with my flora while you men pursue your fauna .”
Saybrook slapped his hands together in mock enthusiasm. “Indeed, the age-old masculine rite of spilling blood should put everyone in a jolly mood for the rest of the day.”
She shot him a look of silent reproach.
With that, the two men moved off, leaving her alone with the sumptuous smells wafting up from the line of silver chafing dishes.
A fortnight of playing aristocratic games? An unappetizing thought, especially as she dared not upset convention by asking if she might spend some time in the marquess’s kitchens, experimenting with the contessa’s Austrian recipes.
Highborn ladies do not soil their dainty little hands with manual labor.
Arianna cracked her knuckles. Thank God she had brought plenty of books to keep herself occupied.
The sudden whir of wings filled the air as a brace of birds exploded from the thicket up ahead.
“Lord Saybrook?” Rochemont, who had been paired with the earl for the morning beat, cleared his throat with a low cough. “I believe it is your turn to shoot.”
“Hmmm?” Saybrook lifted his gaze from the patch of mossy ground beneath his boots. “Ah, sorry. I was distracted . . .”
The ghillie carrying the cartridge bags gave him an uncomprehending look before squinting into the hide-and-seek sunlight. “A plump pair,” he said somewhat accusingly. “But no matter, milord. The beaters will flush more.” He shaded his eyes. “The line of the hunt is shifting, sirs—we had better move to keep our proper place in line.”
“Are you not enjoying the shooting, milord?” asked Rochemont. “Your skill with a firearm is quite evident, and given your military background . . .” He let his voice trail off as he gave a Gallic shrug.
“As you say, I’ve spilled enough blood—the thrill of
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