The Lord John Series

Lord John & Percy’s Man Omelette

Lord John & Percy’s Man Omelette

He was acutely conscious of Percy as he worked.  Small memories of the body lingered on his mouth, in his hands, making them uncertain with steel and flint.  He felt Percy’s eyes on his back, heard the small rustlings of quilts as that lithe bare body shifted in the bed.

His mouth tasted of Percy.  Each man has his own taste; Percy tasted, very faintly, of mushrooms — wood morels, he thought; truffles, perhaps.  Something rare, from deep in the earth.

The steel chimed and sparks flew, glowed brief against the char but didn’t catch.  He had tasted himself once, out of curiousity; faintly salt, bland as egg white.  Perhaps Percy would think differently?

Diana Gabaldon, Lord John and the Brotherhood of the Blade (Chapter 18 - Finally)

 

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Irish Soda Bread & Buttered Eggs from The Scottish Prisoner

Irish Soda Bread & Buttered Eggs from The Scottish Prisoner

He’d done what planning was possible.  Once the strategy and tactics of a battle were decided, you put it out of your mind until you came to the field and saw what was what.  Trying to fight a battle in your head was pointless and did nothing but fret the nerves and exhaust the energies.

He’d had a hearty breakfast of black pudding and buttered eggs with toasted soda bread, washed down with Mr. Beckett’s very good beer.  Thus internally fortified, and dressed in a county gentleman’s good wool suit – complete with gaiters to save is lisle stocking from the mud – and with several documents carefully stowed in separate pockets, he was armed and ready.

Qui nunc it per iter tenebricosum illuc, unde negant redire quemquam

Now he goes along the dark road, thither whence they say no man returns.

Diana Gabaldon, The Scottish Prisoner (Chapter 22 – Glastuig)

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Oyster Po Boy from Lord John and the Haunted Soldier

Oyster Po Boy from Lord John and the Haunted Soldier

“Fine,” Grey repeated, more firmly.  “Mere formalities.  As I said.”

“As you said,” Byrd echoed, with a trifle more skepticism than was entirely becoming.  “Covering their arses, I expect.”

“Certainly that,” Grey agreed dryly.  “Let us find a little food, Tom.  And we must find a bed, as well.  Do you know anywhere suitable?”

“To be sure, me lord.”  Tom squinted in consideration, and after a moment’s consultation with the detailed map of London he carried in his head, pointed off toward the east.

“The Lark’s Nest; decent house round the corner,” he suggested.  “Do a nice oyster pie, and the beer’s good.  Dunno about the beds.”

Grey nodded.

“We’ll chance the fleas for the sake of the beer.”

Diana Gabaldon, Lord John and the Haunted Soldier (Part I – Inquisition)

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Princess Louisa’s Raspberries, Brandy and Cream for Valentine’s Day from Lord John and the Succubus

Princess Louisa’s Raspberries, Brandy and Cream for Valentine’s Day from Lord John and the Succubus

Grey felt momentarily as though he had received an actual blow to the pit of the stomach; his mouth opened, but he was incapable of speech.  Or at least he thought he was.  To his surprise, he heard his own voice, sounding calm, politely admiring.

“They are very handsome indeed.  I am sure they are a consolation to your wife, in your absence.”

Von Namtzen grimaced slightly, and gave a brief shrug.

“Their mother is dead.  She died in childbirth when Elise was born.”  A huge forefinger touched the tiny face, very gently.  “My mother looks after them.”

Grey made the proper sounds of condolence, but had ceased to hear himself, for the confusion of thought and speculation that filled his mind.

So much so, in fact, that when the princess’s special dessert – and enormous concoction of raspberries, brandy, sugar and cream — arrived, he ate it all, despite the fact that raspberries made him itch.

Diana Gabaldon, Lord  John and the Succubus (Chapter 5 – Dark Dreams)

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LJ’s Steak and Mushroom Pie from The Private Matter

LJ’s Steak and Mushroom Pie from The Private Matter

“Have you eaten, Johnny?” she asked, flipping the fan open again.

“No,” he said, suddenly recalling that he was starving.  “I hadn’t the chance.”

“Well, then.”  The Countess waved one of the footmen over, selected a small pie from his tray, and handed it to her son.  “Yes, I saw you talking to Lady Mumford.  Kind of you; the dear old thing dotes upon you.”

Dear old thing.  Lady Mumford was possibly the Countess’s senior by a year.  Grey mumbled a response, impeded by the pie.  It was steak with mushrooms, delectable in flaky pastry.

“Whatever were you talking to Joseph Trevelyan to intently about, though?” the Countess asked, raising her fan in farewell to the Misses Humber.  She turned to look at her son, and lifted one brow, then laughed.  “Why, you’ve gone quite red in the face, John — one might think Mr. Trevelyan had made you some indecent proposal!”

“Ha ha,” Grey said, thickly, and put the rest of the pie into his mouth.

Diana Gabaldon, Lord John and the Private Matter (Chapter 5 – Eine Kleine Nachtmusik (A Little Night Music)

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