A recipe of love

Nathaniel

Margaret sat at her husband's old desk, the soft scratch of her pen marking the passing of time as she sifted through the day's paperwork. The estate demanded more of her now, with every decision resting on her shoulders. As she signed document after document, her mind wandered to the future changes in the household-especially the arrival of the new baker, Nathaniel. She had pictured him in her mind many times since Mr. John spoke of him. A young man with rosy cheeks, perhaps a bit chubby from the constant tasting of his own creations.

A soft knock on the door pulled her from her thoughts. One of the domestics entered quietly, bowing her head respectfully.

"Madam, Mr. Nathaniel has arrived. Shall I send him in?"

Margaret set her pen down, gathering herself before giving a slight nod. "Yes, have him come in."

She sat a little straighter as the door opened, her eyes focused on the papers in front of her until she heard the creak of the wooden floor beneath the steps of her new baker. When she finally looked up, her breath caught for just a moment. This was not the man she had imagined.

Nathaniel was tall-remarkably so, towering over Mr. John who stood beside him. He was broad-shouldered and muscular, the kind of build that spoke of hard labor rather than the delicate craft of baking. His hair was a rich brown, neatly kept, and his full beard framed a pair of striking green eyes that held both confidence and a quiet humility. Margaret blinked, feeling a flicker of surprise. She had expected a man who resembled his uncle, short and round, with ruddy cheeks. Instead, here stood a man who looked like he could chop wood in the morning and bake bread in the afternoon.

"Madam," Nathaniel greeted her in a deep, steady voice, his hands clasped respectfully in front of him. "It's an honor to be here."

Margaret composed herself, masking her surprise with a small nod. "Welcome, Nathaniel. I trust your journey went smoothly?"

"Yes, madam. It was uneventful," he replied, standing tall and composed. Despite his size, there was a gentleness to his demeanor, a soft-spoken nature that seemed at odds with his rugged appearance.

Margaret studied him for a moment, still adjusting to the reality of this man who stood before her. "Tell me, Nathaniel," she began, folding her hands in front of her, "how old are you?"

"I'm thirty-two, madam," he answered without hesitation.

"Thirty-two," she repeated thoughtfully. He was a few years younger than Mark had been. For a moment, her mind wandered to memories of her husband, but she quickly refocused on the task at hand. "You are here to replace Samuel, as you know, and I have high expectations. The kitchen is the heart of this household, and I demand excellence from those who serve it. Have you been briefed on how things are run here?"

Nathaniel nodded. "Yes, madam. Uncle John has told me much about the estate and the way the kitchen operates. I understand the standards are high, and I intend to meet them."

Margaret raised an eyebrow, her tone firm but not unkind. "Meeting them is not enough. I expect you to surpass them. The quality of our bread and pastries has long been a source of pride for this house, and I expect no less now that you are here."

Mr. John, who had been standing silently beside his nephew, cleared his throat and offered a reassuring smile. "Madam, I can vouch for Nathaniel's skill. He has a gift for the craft, and I am certain you will be pleased with his work. I will ensure he settles in and works hard to uphold the reputation of the estate."

Margaret's gaze flickered between the two men, noting the quiet confidence in Nathaniel's expression. There was something about him that reassured her, though she couldn't quite place what it was. Perhaps it was his calmness, or perhaps the steadiness in his eyes.