Nan gave him a pitying look. “You’re smitten. No shame in it, milord. Missus don’t flaunt her wares, but she does make an impression.”

“Was married once meself,” Cook said. “Settled me doon, ye might say. The handsome laddies aren’t so charmin’ when they wake up with a sore head on Sunday. Missus knows about more than just how to make boot black or cook up a bully-base.”

“That’s French,” Nan said, shifting her bulk on her chair. “Fish stew with spices and whatnot.”

Where had Matilda Merridew learned to make bouillabaisse? Where was Matilda, for that matter?

“What else does Missus know about?” Tremont asked.

“Men with sore heads, would be my guess,” Cook said. “She don’t suffer fools, that one, and the lads know it. Dantry tried to give her some sass, and she just give him the ‘you-should-be-ashamed-a-yersel’ eye. Davis kicked him under the table, and that be that.”

“A woman learns the hard way that she can’t bluff,” Nan said, pouring herself another cup. “Missus would have drummed Dantry out o’ the regiment if he’d kept it up. Coulda heard a snowflake hit the winda, got so quiet.”

Dantry was one to test authority. Tremont should have expected that. “I’ll have a word with Dantry,” he said, rising. “Insubordination and disrespect—”

Matilda marched into the kitchen, her plain beige dress covered by a spotless full-length apron. “You will do no such thing, my lord. Mr. Dantry and I understand each other quite well, and if you take him to task, he will sulk. Good day.” She bounced a curtsey at Tremont. “Ladies, I must steal his lordship from you, though I’m sure you are anxious to get back to your duties.”

Nan finished her whole cup of tea at once. “That, I am. The rugs don’t beat themselves, I always say.”

“Nor does the goose pluck itsel’,” Cook said, pushing to her feet and following Nan to the back hallway. “No rest for the wicked.”

They bustled out the back door like a pair of naughty schoolgirls, leaving Tremont to face a woman who was apparently not at all glad to see him.

“Is something amiss?” Lord Tremont asked, his tone perfectly polite.

“You must not abet them,” Matilda said, trying without success to undo the bow at the back of her apron. “Cook likes to cook, but there’s much more to running a kitchen than preparing the food. One must tidy up—regularly and well. The larders must be inventoried, lest half the day be spent in last-minute trips to market. The regular marketing must be undertaken early in the day before the best produce has been picked over. One must find new recipes, or the menus never change. Silver wants polishing… Drat this apron!”

Tremont circled behind her. “Allow me.”