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James.
    He smiled and reached for her weathered hand. “Allow me to present Mrs. Mendoza, my cook.” Instead of curtsying, she merely nodded, openly appraising the ladies one by one.
    There was a scandalized silence.
    â€œPleased to meet you, Mrs. Mendoza,” Lady Dorothea finally said.
    Josefa studied Lady Dorothea. “Such a beauty,” she said in her thick Spanish accent. She turned to James. “ Hermosa, no?”
    Dalton winked at Josefa. “Señora, you are the most charming of all.”
    Josefa wagged her finger at Dalton. “You naughty boy.” She turned back to Lady Dorothea. “Your father, he is a very important man?”
    Lady Dorothea’s brow puckered. “Ah . . . yes.”
    Josefa gave an approving nod. “Good. I like this one. She has manners.”
    â€œGood gracious,” exclaimed Lady Desmond, not bothering to hide her astonishment.
    James choked back a guffaw. If they knew the truth there would be a true uproar.
    Josefa was only posing as his cook. In reality she was his business associate, and she had a vested interest in James finding a well-­connected bride.
    â€œI hope you enjoy the beef, ladies,” Josefa said. She inclined her head toward the footmen. “ Bueno, you may serve.” She walked out of the room, the dark brown chignon of hair twisted on top of her head held as regally high as the marchioness’s feathers.
    Dalton caught James’s eye, a wide grin on his face.
    â€œMy goodness,” said Lady Gloucester. “What a singular person.”
    James could envision the ladies recounting the ordeal of Dinner with His Disgrace over tea with their friends when they returned to London.
    Oh la, you’ll never believe what he did next. He introduced his cook to us at the table. And she didn’t even curtsy. I could have just died. . .
    â€œI’ve never in all my life been introduced to a cook while dining,” said the marchioness. “And what on earth is this sauce? It’s quite pungent.”
    The ladies pushed the beef around on their plates.
    Lady Vivienne took a small bite and immediately brought her napkin to her lips to camouflage a bout of coughing. “Whatever is this flavored with?”
    â€œI believe it has red chili peppers, anise, some coriander. And powdered cocoa beans. Rumor has it the Aztec ­people served a similar dish to Cortez when he arrived to conquer them, thinking he was a god.”
    â€œCocoa? You mean the cocoa we drink?” Lady Augusta eyed her plate with more interest. “I never thought it could be used in a sauce.”
    â€œSome contend that one ounce of cocoa contains as much nourishment as one pound of beef. Man could subsist on chocolate alone if he had to,” James said.
    â€œYou have opened a cocoa manufactory, as I understand.” Lady Vivienne smiled smugly. She’d prepared.
    â€œA small one. Not far from here, near Guildford. I’m modifying Banbury Hall.”
    The marchioness raised an eyebrow. “Surely you have no need to engage in trade.”
    â€œNeed, no, but passion. I dream of Parliament lowering import duty taxes on cocoa beans grown on farms that use no slave labor.”
    Josefa’s family owned just such a farm in the remote coastal village of Chuao, in the country of Venezuela and James was her primary investor.
    Lady Dorothea smiled approvingly. “That’s a wonderful idea.”
    â€œIf import taxes are lowered, and better production methods discovered, everyone will be able to afford the nourishment and pleasure of drinking chocolate.” He waved a hand through the air. “Chocolate for the masses.”
    â€œAdmirable, I’m sure.” It was evident that Lady Vivienne thought it was anything but admirable that he advocated for something as plebeian-­sounding as chocolate for the masses .
    Lady Dorothea took a small taste of sauce. A blissful smile tilted up the edges of