Cook bobbed a curtsy. “I was just bringing this to Irving.” She held up a glass bottle with a silver top. “Your special dressing.”
Francesca’s eyes lit. “You found it!” She held out her hand.
Cook handed over the bottle. “It was stuck away on a shelf in the pantry. I came across it just this minute when I went to put some of the jam away.”
“Thank you.” Francesca smiled delightedly. Cook bobbed her head and retreated.
Gyles watched as Francesca shook the bottle vigorously, then sprinkled the liquid over her vegetables. “Here.” He held out a hand when she finished. “Let me try it.”
She handed the bottle over. It had a conical lid with a hole in the top.
“What’s in it?”
She picked up her knife and fork. “A mixture of olive oil and vinegar, with various herbs and seasonings.”
Gyles did as she’d done, dribbling the shaken liquid over his potatoes, carrots, and beans. He lowered his face and sniffed-he sat back.
He looked at the bottle, still clasped in his hand-looked at Francesca, raising a sliver of carrot to her lips-
He lunged over the table and grabbed her wrist. “Don’t eat that!”
Eyes wide, she stared at him.
He was looking at the piece of carrot speared on her fork; it gleamed with a light coating of dressing. He forced her hand down. “Put it down.”
She released the fork. It clattered on her plate.
“My lord?”
Irving was at his shoulder. Easing back, fingers still locked about Francesca’s wrist, Gyles held the bottle out to his butler. “Smell that.”
Irving took the bottle, sniffed. His eyes widened. He stared at the bottle. “Well, my word! Is that…?”
“Bitter almonds.” Gyles looked at Francesca. “Get Wallace in here. And Mrs. Cantle.”
Irving sent the footman hurrying off. He himself whisked the plates from before them.
Francesca was staring at the bottle. “Let me smell it.”
Irving gingerly brought it to her. She took it, sniffed, then met Gyles’s gaze. He raised a brow.
“It smells like bitter almonds.” She set the bottle down.
The door opened; Mrs. Cantle entered, followed by Wallace. “My lord?”
Gyles explained. The bottle was passed around. The verdict was unanimous-the dressing smelled of bitter almonds.
“I don’t understand how…” Wallace looked at Mrs. Cantle.
Her color high, the housekeeper faced Gyles. “The bottle went missing-it’s been gone at least a week. Cook found it just a few minutes ago.”
Gyles motioned to Irving. “Fetch Mrs. Doherty.” Irving left. Gyles turned to Mrs. Cantle. “Tell me about this dressing.”
“I asked if it could be made.” Francesca twisted her hand and gripped Gyles’s fingers. “It’s a habit I developed since coming to England-I find dishes here too bland…”
Cook arrived, pale and shaken. “I had no idea. I saw the bottle there and grabbed it, and brought it straightaway-I knew m’lady had been missing it this past week.”
“Who makes the dressing?” Gyles asked.