One Scottish Lass A Regency Time Travel Romance Novella

Chapter 2

Sorcha's tension eased as she stepped into the warm, large kitchen. The room was well lit by countless candles and lamps on all walls. A butcher-block table at the center held pork, pheasant, veal, and lamb, all in various stages of preparation. A maid in a crisp black uniform lifted a silver tray peppered with salmon rounds and moved through a doorway. An apple-shaped woman with a starched white cap and apron diligently stirred at the contents of a large, black pot over the fire, sniffing with approval at the contents within it.

She turned to smile warmly at the newcomer. "Welcome, lass! Look at those eyes. You must be Mistress Bryson's daughter. Or Mrs. McClintock, as she is now. It seems only yesterday she was tumbling around in the great room with young Lydia and the others, racing in delight when I brought out the apple tarts."

Sorcha found it hard to believe that her mother had ever tumbled around any floor, never mind raced for anything at all, but she quietly nodded her head.

The cook's eyes twinkled. "The polish and sheen of everything a bit much for you, lass? I know how you feel. Come and have a seat by the fire. You look stretched thin. There's fresh, hot bread just out of the oven and some sage butter to spread on it as well. That'll set you just right, I reckon."

Sorcha took in another deep inhale, savoring the aroma. She didn't need a second prompting – she was starved. The tiny apartment her mother had gotten for them two miles down the road had strained their expenses, and she'd been living on crusts of bread and bowls of broth for the week they'd been in town.

The moment the cook placed a tray of food before her, Sorcha downed the first piece without breathing. She only paused on the second when the woman laughed out loud.

"Slow there, lass, you'll get the hiccups! Here, have a swallow of claret with that. It'll settle the nerves." She handed over one of the pewter punch cups full of a ruby red liquid.

Sorcha took a tentative sip of it, and then smiled. Like everything else in this house, it was top notch.

The cook gave a stir to her stew. "My name is Mrs. Morton, but everybody here just calls me Biddy."

"I'm pleased to meet you, Biddy. You can call me Sorcha."

Biddy gave a short curtsey. "Welcome to my kitchen, Miss Sorcha. So, have you been in Bath long?"

Sorcha took another bite of the bread. It was absolutely delicious. "About a week."

"Oh? And what do you think of our lovely town?"

Sorcha gave a wry smile. "My mother didn't want to risk the wintry air, so we stayed in our room with the curtains drawn. I'm afraid I haven't seen much of it at all."

Biddy shook her head, tut-tutting. "It's a classic town with beautiful Roman architecture. I'm something of a painter, when I get my days off. I could sit in front of Bath Abbey for hours, trying to get the detail of those windows just right." Her face glowed. "You really should get out and explore. Go on your own, if your mum wants to stay cooped up."

Sorcha flushed, looking down. "Oh, I could never do that. My mother would be quite upset with me."

Biddy's eyes twinkled. "Ah, lass, you're at an age where you need to set out on your own. Find your own adventures. Your mother can't rule your life forever."

Sorcha focused steadfastly on her cup of wine, drinking down another swallow. It certainly seemed that her mother would dominate her life for decades to come. At every event they attended, her mother demanded the spotlight. If anybody made even the slightest move toward talking to Sorcha, her mother would be quick to intervene, to claim that attention for herself. Sorcha could count on one hand the number of men who had shown interest in her.