Reborn as 8yo Regency Girl, OP All the Way

Chapter 11 Delicacies·Regency Gown

Tending the fire proved the greatest trouble. Elara fetched the kitchen maid, asking her to stoke the flames—and the woman brought a bundle of firewood too, all for a price. Elara pressed a shilling into her palm as a tip, a small cost for the help.

The maid lit the fire and carried in a bucket of clean water before taking her leave, and Elara thanked her warmly.

With the fire crackling, Elara scrubbed the copper pot clean and boiled a pot of water. She scored the tomatoes with a knife, dropping them into the simmering water for a moment. The blanching made the skins slip off easily, ensuring a smooth, velvety tomato sauce.

She fished the tomatoes out, chopping them fine on the wooden board—slow, careful work, for a good sauce demanded patience.

As she stirred the simmering tomatoes, Miss Temple appeared at her side, a small bowl of sugar in hand. “A little sugar will tame the tartness, I think.”

Elara smiled, grateful. “Perfect timing. It will balance the acid beautifully.” She spooned a small amount into the pot, just enough. “This should do.”

Miss Temple set the sugar bowl aside, then returned a moment later with a slab of beef—palm-sized, likely part of the school’s rations for the teachers. “Fry this for us, if you would.”

“Leave it to me,” Elara promised.

Miss Temple smiled and nodded, her gaze drifting to Jane, who was peeling and slicing potatoes at the basin. The usual melancholy and stubbornness had softened from Jane’s brow, replaced by a quiet ease. Since Elara’s arrival, Jane had bloomed, light and happy in a way Miss Temple had rarely seen.

It eased a weight from Miss Temple’s heart. She’d long worried about Jane—what would become of the girl when she left Lowood?

Jane was too proud to share her grief, too reserved to lean on others. Miss Temple had a fiancé, a man who’d waited years for her while she taught at the school. In two or three years at most, she would leave Lowood to marry him, and Jane would be alone again.

But now Jane had Elara. A friend, a confidante. Miss Temple hoped their bond would hold, that Jane would not grieve her departure so deeply with Elara by her side.

Eager to leave the girls to their friendship, Miss Temple excused herself to grade papers—though not before fetching a small jar of spices and a pat of butter from her larder, setting them on the kitchen counter for Elara to use.

Alone again, Elara stirred the sauce and spoke to Jane, her voice light. “Did you see Miss Scatcherd’s gown today? No stays, no hoop skirt—simply lovely.”

Elara had brightened at the sight of it that morning. The high empire waist, the square neckline framing the teacher’s collarbones, her hair coiled high to show her slender neck—it reminded Elara of the Regency gowns she’d seen in paintings of her past life.

Jane’s cheeks flushed pink, and her eyes sparkled with longing. “I did. I dared not stare, for fear of being rude—but it is the most beautiful dress I have ever seen.” Jane had never much liked Miss Scatcherd, who was quick to punish the girls, especially Jane’s late friend Helen Burns. But the gown had been too exquisite to ignore.

Elara grinned. “It is lovely. When we receive our next allotment of cloth, we ought to make one each. What do you say?”

Jane’s face lit up. “Truly? I thought the same—but I was too shy to wear it alone.” With Elara beside her, the idea felt brave, not foolish.

“Then it’s settled,” Elara said. “After we finish cooking, we’ll walk to the hills and gather flowers for dye. We can make our gowns in the prettiest shade we can find.”

Jane’s joy bubbled over. She darted forward to hug Elara, only for Elara to gently push her back, laughing. “Careful, dear Jane—mind the embers. And your wet hands have dampened my shoulder!”

They shared a giggle, then fell back to work. Jane finished peeling and slicing the potatoes, and Elara’s sauce thickened to a rich, fragrant red. She heated palm oil—the cheapest oil for frying, the only kind readily available—and fried the potato slices until they were golden and crisp.

Next, she boiled the potato chunks for mash. Steaming would have made a fluffier mash, Elara thought, but she made do with what she had. When the potatoes were tender, she drained them and mashed them hot with butter, a pinch of nutmeg, salt, chopped parsley, and a sprinkle of her secret seasoning—dried seaweed and shrimp, ground fine to add a subtle umami kick, a trick from her past life.

She marinated Miss Temple’s beef and pan-fried it with spices, then whipped up a simple tomato and egg stir-fry. By the time she finished, the small kitchen was filled with the warm, savory smell of food—a far cry from Lowood’s usual bland fare.

Miss Temple set a small table in her sitting room, and the three of them sat together to eat. When Miss Temple took a bite of the potato mash, her eyes widened in delight. “Dear Elara, your grandmother must have been a remarkable cook. Your skill is extraordinary—hers must have been unparalleled.”

It was the story Elara had crafted: that her cooking and needlework skills came from her late grandmother, who’d left her a rare cookbook from the East. A harmless lie, really—the “cookbook” was a tattered copy of Shan Hai Jing, a Chinese classic of myths and geography. But Elara reasoned it was a kind of recipe book, in its own way. She was not lying, not truly.

Good food lightened every heart. Miss Temple, who usually held herself with rigid poise, relaxed back into her chair, her shoulders soft, savoring the full, warm feeling in her stomach. Even the teachers at Lowood did not eat their fill—they were fed enough to survive, nothing more.

Seizing the moment, Elara spoke up, her tone polite but earnest. “Dear Miss Temple, I have a favor to ask. I ordered some supplies in the town, and they will be ready for collection this weekend. But the school requires an elder to chaperone students to town. Would you be so kind as to take me?”

Miss Temple nodded at once. “Of course. I need to collect letters from the post office anyway.” She turned to Jane, smiling. “Would you like to come with us, dear?”

Jane thought for a moment, then nodded. “I need to buy some wax sticks for my drawing.”

A plan was made—three of them, off to the town on the weekend.

Lowood’s rules for students were strict: no one was allowed into town unchaperoned, only with a trusted teacher or gentleman to stand as surety. It was a safeguard, meant to protect the young, innocent girls from unsavory characters and temptation.

Elara would not have ventured into town for trivial reasons. The streets were not safe, and lone young women were easy targets for thieves and rogues. But she needed her lace-making supplies—bobbins, pins, parchment—and for that, the trip was worth the risk.