0764214101 by Tracie Peterson Page A

was about to drive her mad. The potatoes were a creamy, buttery goodness on her tongue, and she almost groaned in delight. This must be what heaven tasted like.
    Lillian sat up straight and reprimanded herself for her irreverent thoughts. Goodness, first her manners, and then her thoughts . . . what would her grandmother say? A little giggle escaped as she placed her fork into the roast beef. As it melted in her mouth, she knew she had to learn to cook like this. Swallowing, she wiped her mouth with a napkin. “Mrs. Goodman, this is by far the best meal I’ve ever had.”
    The older woman turned and smiled at her. “Thank you, dear.”
    “Do you think you could teach me?”
    “To do what?”
    “To cook, like this.” Lillian closed her eyes as she indulged in another forkful.
    The housekeeper dried her hands on a towel and sat across from her at the small worktable. “You don’t know how to cook?”
    Lillian shook her head. “I’m sorry to say, I don’t. At the manor—my grandparents’ home—we had an entire kitchen staff, and I was always shooed out.”
    Mrs. Goodman studied her for a moment. “Of course I’ll teach you. Every woman needs to know how to cook. Every man, for that matter.” She chuckled. “I’m a bit surprised, though.”
    “Why?” The last bite tasted just as good as the first, and Lillian was sorry to be finished.
    “Well, I noticed your clothes and trunks and such, and I wondered why you would be in need of work?”
    A shiver ran up her spine, but Lillian shook it off and breatheddeep. It was best to be honest up front. “My mother was an only child. She and my father died when I was a baby. While it’s true my grandfather is a very wealthy man, I’ve longed to live my own life. To find purpose and follow my parents’ dreams.” She looked away. “He—my grandfather—disowned me when I left.”
    “Gracious, child. That’s terrible.”
    Lillian leaned forward. “Please keep this to yourself, Mrs. Goodman. My grandfather doesn’t wish to speak to me or hear from me, and I’d rather just move on with my life from here.” Tears pricked her eyes.
    “Of course, Miss Porter.” The woman leaned forward and squeezed her hand. “But I can’t help wondering, if you’re his only family—”
    Lillian held up a hand. “I know. And I will try to reach out to him . . . in time, but my grandfather is a stubborn man. As stubborn as they come.”
    “Then we’ll just have to be your family now.” The older woman nodded. “Mr. Goodman—God rest his soul—and I were never blessed with children, and the Coltons have become my family.”
    The tears threatened to spill. “Thank you, Mrs. Goodman. I don’t have anyone else. I’ve been pretty sheltered most of my life. I’ve had a proper education and was trained in what my grandparents thought important, but I doubt arranging flowers and speaking French are of very much value here.”
    Mrs. Goodman sniffed and wiped the corners of her eyes with her apron. “Well, aren’t we a pair? Let’s get you to your room. I’m sure that a good night’s sleep will be just the thing for you.” She hopped out of the chair like someone half her age. “Leave the dishes. I’ll get them later.”
    Picking up her things, Lillian followed Mrs. Goodman, and they took another hall toward the back of the house.
    “This is the library—where Mr. Colton does most of his office work for the farm. If you can’t find him anywhere else, he’s most likely in there. I’ll show you the upstairs tomorrow. There are four more bedrooms and a sitting area.” She kept walking. “And this hallway leads to our wing. Your room is there on the left, and my room is on the right. The room at the end of the hall is our own private bathroom and water closet.”
    Lillian opened the door to her room. Her luggage sat at the foot of the bed. A beautiful mahogany bed with matching dresser were the main pieces in the room, but there was also a comfortable sitting