and Colette, turned from placing a silver chafing dish on the mahogany serving table and smiled. “Good evening, Abby,” she said in the same strong accent all of the sisters spoke with. Her soft gray eyes were the first thing a person noticed about Zoé. While the color was soft, because of the way her eyes were shaped, they appeared hard as if she were angry all the time, which she wasn’t.
Abby looked at the long table set for two. Her mother’s silver candelabra stood tall in the middle. Silver pedestal dishes set on each side piled high with fresh fruit and French pastries. Wedgewood bone china and crystal glasses sparkled like bright sunshine raining down on a clear mountain brook here in Colorado. Silverware...polished to perfection. “This looks great, Zoé.”
The eighteen-year-old girl’s face lit up. “You think so?”
“Yes. I sure do.”
“Zoé,” Veronique hollered from the other side of the swinging door.
Wisps of chestnut-blond hair swayed when Zoé yanked her attention in that direction. “I will be right there.” She curtsied and scurried into the kitchen.
Abby followed. Fresh bread, beef and pine aromas from the wood stove met her nostrils.
Veronique stood in front of the massive cook stove, wearing the same blue-and-white uniform as Zoé, stirring something in one of the copper pans sitting on the stove with a wire whisk. Without looking, Veronique told Zoé to grab the pastry-wrapped cinnamon apples out of the oven.
Colette sat at the table, slicing and peeling carrots. She, too, wore a matching uniform.
Abby wasn’t too keen putting on fancy dinners, but she had better get used to them for when she opened her dinner theater. “Something sure smells good, Veronique.” Abby raised the lid on one of the pans, leaned over and breathed deeply. “Umm. What is that?” She pointed to the dish.
“It is filet de boeuf charlemagne,” Veronique explained without taking her eyes off the pan she was stirring.
“Trans-la-tion...?” Abby drew out the word and let her sentence hang, waiting for Veronique to interpret what she’d said into English.
“Beef tenderloin Charlemagne.”
“Huh?” Abby frowned.
“Simply put, it is beef fillet steaks with mushrooms. What I am making now is a béarnaise sauce. I hope you like it.”
“I’m sure I will. I haven’t eaten anything of yours yet that wasn’t absolutely delicious.”
Veronique flashed a quick smile Abby’s way before putting her attention back onto the saucepan.
Abby glanced up at the kitchen clock. Five-twenty. “Well, I’ll get out of your way. Mr. Kingsley will be arriving in a few minutes.”
Veronique nodded as she placed the copper lid on the pan she’d been stirring. She removed it from the heat, tossed a pot holder onto the breadboard counter then set the pan down.
Abby had just turned to leave when she noticed a tray of strawberry and apple tarts. With a quick glance back at Veronique, like a little kid sneaking an early dessert, she snatched a strawberry tart off the plate and tossed it into her mouth.
Through the dining room and into the main room of the mansion she went, munching happily on the delicious treat.
A knock came at the door. Abby chewed fast and swallowed. Colette, Zoé and Veronique were busy, so she hollered, “I’ll get it.” Her heels tapped along the floor as she made her way to the front door. She swung it open and blinked. There stood Harrison holding a small boy in each arm.
“I’m sorry, Abby, that this notice is so late, but a few minutes ago, the boys’ nanny and my valet came down sick. Must’ve been something they ate this afternoon because my sons aren’t sick. The food they ate wasn’t the same as what Miss Elderberry and Staimes ate. I don’t know anyone in town, and I won’t leave my boys with a perfect stranger. So, I’m here to let you know that I won’t be able to make it to dinner this evening. I’m sorry.” Remorse wrinkled his handsome face.
Abby glanced at the two boys. A fresh ache filled her heart, but she refused to let it get her down or to dwell on what could never be. Instead, she sent the boys and their father her most inviting smile and quickly swung the French doors open. “Don’t be silly. There’s no need for you not to stay. Besides, there’s more than enough food. I’ll just have Zoé set two more places and find something for the boys to sit on. It’ll be just fine.” Now she just had to convince herself of that by reminding herself that God had a plan, as vexing as that could be sometimes. She leaned toward the boys, eyeing each one with a smile. “And who might you boys be?”
Neither of them said a word; they just tucked their tiny shoulders closer into their father’s chest and eyed her warily.
“This one here—” Harrison nodded toward the child on his right “—is Graham. And this one—” he nodded at the child on his left “—is Josiah.”
“Hello, Josiah and Graham. Welcome to my home. Won’t you come in?” she said to the twins who resembled their father in much, much younger versions. They even had Harrison’s light brown hair and grayish-blue eyes. Except neither of their eyes had a portion of hazel coloring like their father’s did.
“Can you say hello to the nice lady?” Instead of saying hello, they buried their faces into their father’s shoulder.
“It’s okay,” she mouthed, and waved him in with her hand. She moved out of the way, and Harrison stepped inside. “Are you sure about this, Miss Bowen? We really hate to impose.”
She wasn’t sure of anything, but she’d make herself be. “It’s Abby, and of course I’m sure or I wouldn’t have said so. Listen, why don’t you take the boys into the parlor, and I’ll inform Veronique there will be extra guests this evening? I’ll be right back.” Abby whirled around and headed toward the kitchen. Those adorable boys in their skirts and knee socks resurrected the pain shoved deep down in Abby’s heart and soul. The one she rarely allowed to surface into her actual consciousness lest it rob her of her happiness completely. “Lord, help me get through this evening.”
* * *
Harrison lowered himself onto the settee in the parlor, and settled a son on each leg. When Staimes and Miss Elderberry came up sick at the last minute, Harrison’s own stomach had taken ill. Not from food sickness, but with worry. He feared upsetting Miss Bowen by ruining her dinner plans, but he didn’t. Women of his society back home in Boston wouldn’t have been so gracious. They would have shunned him for days, and some indefinitely over something like this.
He would have hated it if Abby would have shut the door in his face. And even though it couldn’t be helped, he wouldn’t have blamed her. After all, a lot of hard work and hours of preparation went into making a meal, not to mention the food that would have gone to waste if he hadn’t been able to come.
Relief skimmed over him the instant Abby had smiled and opened her doors to him and the twins, and his stomach stopped hurting. He no longer had to worry about how she would be with the children.
Harrison’s lips curled, knowing he wouldn’t have to miss dinner with the twins. He and his sons almost always ate breakfast and dinner together, unlike most of his friends who sent their children away to boarding
