at dinner," Luke said, turning to Valeria. "If you want something at midday, ask your chef for some leftovers."
Valeria had never had leftovers. Everything that came to her uncle's table had been cooked fresh. "What should we ask for?"
"Meat, bread, cheese."
Valeria didn't know if her chef had anything like that.
Someone else had always ordered the food.
"It's clear we should have consulted you on that aspect of the trip before we set out," she said, determined to make the best of a difficult situation. She refused to apologize to him, but it would be foolish not to admit she needed help. "However, it's too late for that. In my country, it's not the custom for Hans, Otto, Elvira, or me to be involved in ordering provisions."
"Don't you know what you're going to eat?"
She sighed over her next admission. "Not until it reaches the table."
"People here generally take care of things themselves, or nothing gets done."
"I understand that," she said, trying hard to keep her voice steady. "I just need to know what you think we ought to do now."
"I need to talk to your cook. Go find him," he said to Elvira.
Valeria had to bite her tongue to keep from saying anything. Luke deplored her dependence on servants, yet he spoke to Elvira as if she were a slave. How could a man who kept talking about the importance of the individual act like people were of so little value?
Chapter Eight
Luke wondered why Europeans came to America thinking they could continue to behave as they had in the old country. Didn't they know anything about America? And the cook-Luke refused to call him a chef-had no concept of how to prepare anything except grand dishes. One of the drivers said he'd rescued enough leftovers from that night's meal to feed the whole party for two days.
"I don't care how you do it," Luke told the cook when he presented himself at the table. "You've got to do your work faster and make your food last longer."
It was nearly midnight, and they still hadn't finished cleaning up. Luke didn't know how he was going to get that many pots and pans washed when the river went underground and there was no surface water to be had without digging for it. There'd be a lot of dirty pots, pans, dishes, and glasses. Sorry, goblets. Royalty didn't drink from glasses.
"I cannot serve the princess ill-prepared food," the cook protested. "I would disgrace my profession."
"Fine. She can eat with us," Luke said.
"The princess cannot eat that melange you call food," he said, turning up his nose with enough disdain to have been a member of royalty himself.
"Do what you want," Luke said. "Just remember we leave at dawn tomorrow."
"When is dawn?" Otto asked.
"About six o'clock."
"I'll have to be up at four!" the cook exclaimed. "The princess will have to be up at four to dress. We will both be too tired."
"Your wagon leaves whether you're in it or not. That goes for everybody else. You should have been in bed hours ago."
"I haven't finished my cognac," Otto said.
"By all means, finish your cognac," Luke said as he turned away.
"Mr. Attmore."
Luke didn't stop at the sound of Valeria's voice. He'd had just about all he could take. Though they came from a country where revolutions happened all the time, they didn't seem the slightest bit concerned about danger.
"Mr. Attmore!"
"What?" Luke whirled to find Valeria had followed him.
"You can't leave like that," she said. "You haven't told us what to do."
"I have, but you continue to ignore it. Apparently you can only learn by experience. Well, you're in luck. You're about to get more experience that you ever thought possible."
She drew herself up just like he was certain her royal ancestors had when about to announce someone was going to lose his head. "Why don't you like us?"
"There are too many of you for one answer."
Her back seemed to get a little stiffer, straighter. "Very well, I'll make it easier. Why don't you like me?"
He'd never expected her to ask that question. "Give me one
Valeria had never had leftovers. Everything that came to her uncle's table had been cooked fresh. "What should we ask for?"
"Meat, bread, cheese."
Valeria didn't know if her chef had anything like that.
Someone else had always ordered the food.
"It's clear we should have consulted you on that aspect of the trip before we set out," she said, determined to make the best of a difficult situation. She refused to apologize to him, but it would be foolish not to admit she needed help. "However, it's too late for that. In my country, it's not the custom for Hans, Otto, Elvira, or me to be involved in ordering provisions."
"Don't you know what you're going to eat?"
She sighed over her next admission. "Not until it reaches the table."
"People here generally take care of things themselves, or nothing gets done."
"I understand that," she said, trying hard to keep her voice steady. "I just need to know what you think we ought to do now."
"I need to talk to your cook. Go find him," he said to Elvira.
Valeria had to bite her tongue to keep from saying anything. Luke deplored her dependence on servants, yet he spoke to Elvira as if she were a slave. How could a man who kept talking about the importance of the individual act like people were of so little value?
Chapter Eight
Luke wondered why Europeans came to America thinking they could continue to behave as they had in the old country. Didn't they know anything about America? And the cook-Luke refused to call him a chef-had no concept of how to prepare anything except grand dishes. One of the drivers said he'd rescued enough leftovers from that night's meal to feed the whole party for two days.
"I don't care how you do it," Luke told the cook when he presented himself at the table. "You've got to do your work faster and make your food last longer."
It was nearly midnight, and they still hadn't finished cleaning up. Luke didn't know how he was going to get that many pots and pans washed when the river went underground and there was no surface water to be had without digging for it. There'd be a lot of dirty pots, pans, dishes, and glasses. Sorry, goblets. Royalty didn't drink from glasses.
"I cannot serve the princess ill-prepared food," the cook protested. "I would disgrace my profession."
"Fine. She can eat with us," Luke said.
"The princess cannot eat that melange you call food," he said, turning up his nose with enough disdain to have been a member of royalty himself.
"Do what you want," Luke said. "Just remember we leave at dawn tomorrow."
"When is dawn?" Otto asked.
"About six o'clock."
"I'll have to be up at four!" the cook exclaimed. "The princess will have to be up at four to dress. We will both be too tired."
"Your wagon leaves whether you're in it or not. That goes for everybody else. You should have been in bed hours ago."
"I haven't finished my cognac," Otto said.
"By all means, finish your cognac," Luke said as he turned away.
"Mr. Attmore."
Luke didn't stop at the sound of Valeria's voice. He'd had just about all he could take. Though they came from a country where revolutions happened all the time, they didn't seem the slightest bit concerned about danger.
"Mr. Attmore!"
"What?" Luke whirled to find Valeria had followed him.
"You can't leave like that," she said. "You haven't told us what to do."
"I have, but you continue to ignore it. Apparently you can only learn by experience. Well, you're in luck. You're about to get more experience that you ever thought possible."
She drew herself up just like he was certain her royal ancestors had when about to announce someone was going to lose his head. "Why don't you like us?"
"There are too many of you for one answer."
Her back seemed to get a little stiffer, straighter. "Very well, I'll make it easier. Why don't you like me?"
He'd never expected her to ask that question. "Give me one
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