It’s just as charming as the rest of the manor. Suave country chic if I ever saw it. The room is all buttery timber and pale blue tile. There’s a deep farmhouse sink and a butcher block island with a gorgeous patina. Pocket doors open onto pantries, larders, a refrigerator hidden behind tasteful paneling.
It’s enough to make me swoon on my feet.
Margaret is standing by the windows with three men and two women, all of whom are dressed in chef’s whites. Something akin to jealousy rises up in me. I’ve been out of my whites for far too long.
“Ah, Jessa, there you are! You wanted to see the kitchens?”
“You’ve got her, darling?” Thomas asks.
“Of course,” Margaret says, waving me in. “You can go see to the chickens, Thomas. Come and meet my staff, Jessa.”
She does a quick rundown of everyon
