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GET STUFFED
PENNY WYLDER
 CONTENTS

Copyright

The Virgin Intern

Copyright
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Epilogue

Filthy Boss
Copyright
1. Alyssa
2. Charles
3. Alyssa
4. Charles
5. Alyssa
6. Charles
 7. Alyssa
8. Charles
9. Alyssa
10. Charles
11. Alyssa
12. Charles
13. Alyssa
14. Charles
15. Alyssa
16. Charles
17. Alyssa
18. Charles
19. Alyssa
20. Alyssa
Her Dirty Professor
Copyright
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Epilogue

The Vegas Hook Up

Copyright © 2016 by Penny Wylder
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or
mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without
written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a
book review.

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THE VIRGIN INTERN
 THE VIRGIN INTERN
PENNY WYLDER

Copyright © 2016 Penny Wylder

All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no
part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form
or by any means without prior written permission of the author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either
products of the author's imagination or used fictitiously and any resemblance to
actual persons, living or dead, or businesses, organizations, or locales, is
completely coincidental.

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 1

The door to my new office hits me in the back as it closes too

quickly, and I nearly take a dive into the carpet—heels, boxes and
all. Of course, when I say ‘office’ I really mean to say ‘small, out-of-
the-way converted broom closed where it’s easy for my uncle to hide
me from his colleagues.’ I sigh, putting down the small box of
personal items I brought from home and the huge box of new work
files. It’s a year. Just a year. A year here, and I can move to a
different firm. One year and I can leave this city and get out of my
uncle’s house. He doesn’t want me there anyway. All I have to do is
survive.
A picture of my father goes on the desk, my paralegal certificate
goes on the wall. There’s a short filing cabinet in the corner—one
that I can’t imagine will hold everything I’ll need in this job—next to
the trash can. That’s about all this tiny room can fit besides a desk. I
should be grateful to have an office as a paralegal, but the more I
think about it the more I realize it’s probably because my uncle
wants me out of sight. At least there’s a window.
The door flies open, rattling on its hinges. Speak of the devil, it’s
my uncle, Roger Grayson. He’s tall with graying hair and beard, and
a glare that could finish melting the polar ice caps. That same glare
is searching around the tiny office. “Are you settled in?”
“Yes, thank you,” I say, holding back a sigh. After so many years
I should stop expecting the small courtesies and affections that the
term ‘family’ usually implies—like asking how I like the office or how
my first day has been going so far—but I can’t help wishing things
were different.
“Good. There’s a stack of files on my desk. I need copies made
for my meeting with the partners at three. Check the schedule for
who will be there and make a full set for each.”
“Okay.” I nod, and glance at the clock. It’s two o’clock now.
Should be plenty of time.
He turns and leaves without saying anything else. Before I can
stop it, a wave of anxiety crashes over me. I try to pep talk myself
out of it. You can do this. You can do this. You can do this. That’s
going to be my mantra for the rest of the day. Hell, the rest of this
year.
I check the schedule and count seven partners attending the
meeting. I step into my uncle’s office and get the files—he’s on the
phone and doesn’t even notice me—and realize that I may have
been wrong about getting this job done in an hour. The pile of paper
is huge. Looks like it might be three separate case files. And
although I know what I’m doing when it comes to paralegal work,
my copy machine game is not strong. Doesn’t matter. I have to do it.
Luckily the copy room is empty, and I can’t help noticing that it
actually looks bigger than my office. But what I also notice is that
there’s only one copier for this entire floor, and I can already imagine
the copying back-ups on days when there are urgent cases. I’m
really going to have to stay on top of things if I want to keep this
job.
I hum to myself as I get the copier up and running. It’s sweet
and soulful, something I worked on during one of my last jobs as a
songwriter. I actually sang back-up on that one too. It’s new but
reminds me of the classics. Has a Temptations vibe. I can’t wait to
buy the song when it’s finally released. Probably about as close to
hearing myself on the radio as I’ll ever get. I try to shake myself out
of any lingering wistful feelings. Clearly that ship has sailed. Time for
the big girl pants.
I’m about halfway through the stack of files when I hear a noise
that no copier should ever make. Scratch that, no machine should
ever make that sound. It’s a sickening crunch and grind followed by
the squeal of gears and the full stop of the copier.
Shit. Shit.
I check the screen and see that the power to the machine is still
on, so it’s not completely fried. Paper Jam, the little screen says. No
kidding. Must be one hell of a paper jam to make that kind of sound.
Having been through many similar technical difficulties in the past, I
confidently open the drawer of the copier and feel around in the
back, certain I can fix this before it becomes a real issue. I find
nothing. None of the usual culprits; no crumpled paper, no shreds
caught in the feeder. Nothing in the second paper drawer either.
Shit. I glance at the clock, rapidly losing my cool. I have thirty
minutes till the meeting and no time for this. I guess I don’t have a
choice. I kick my heels to the side and hike my pencil skirt further up
my legs. Wrong day to wear this skirt.
I take the paper drawers all the way out and stack them to the
side. Looking up inside the innards of the machine, I think I can just
see the bottom corner of a piece of paper in the rolling mechanism.
I open up the door to expose the rest of the machine—POOF!
Okay, apparently it’s more than just a paper jam. I blink to get
the toner out of my eyes. Of course this would happen on my first
day, on my first assignment. It’s so perfect I can’t even think of an
appropriate swear word. At least I see what the main problem is. A
bunch of papers that got stuck together have snarled in the gears,
twisting to make everything come to a full stop. Toner be damned, I
am going to get this machine working again.
The only problem is, the paper doesn’t want to move. I mean, it’s
really stuck. I keep ripping off little pieces accidentally because the
mess just doesn’t want to budge. Finally, I shove both arms into the
machine, grabbing whatever pieces of paper I can get a grip on, and
pull.
The paper releases all at once and I go sprawling backwards
onto my butt. Over the machine making chirping and clicking sounds
of resetting itself, I hear laughter. Male laughter.
Dear god, just kill me now.
 “If I had known what kind of view I’d be getting, I’d visit this
floor more often.”
I turn my head and…
Staring. You’re staring, Naomi.
But when someone looks like that it’s almost rude not to stare,
right?
Wavy brown hair, blue eyes, and cheek bones that belong in a
magazine and not in the copy room. The copy room.
Suddenly I realize what he’s seeing—why he’s smiling. I’m
barefoot, sprawled across the floor with my skirt hiked up almost to
my hips, my face and chest covered with a fine spray of toner
powder. I can feel all the blood run to my face.
Say something, you definitely say something right about now.
Nope, of course not. There’s no voice there. He still looks amused
though.
“Do you need help?” he asks, reaching out a hand.
I grab it, using his firm grip to get to my feet less than gracefully.
“Thanks,” I say, pulling my skirt down to normal.
He chuckles, “No problem. But I have to ask, was there really a
problem with the copier or were you gearing up for something more
intimate?”
“Um…no,” I say, my pulse kicking, “It was a paper jam. Really
bad one.”
“Well, if I ever get jammed up I’ll call you to help me loosen up.”
He’s still holding my hand. My fingers run along his wrist and feel
the taut, smooth muscle under his skin before I can stop myself, and
he grins. I force my voice out. “I’m not really that good with
copiers.”
“Who says I was talking about my copier getting jammed?” He
goes to the water cooler and fills one of the paper cups, and then
hands it to me along with his handkerchief. He actually carries a
handkerchief. “Here. Looks like you might need that.”
I look down. Crap. I quickly brush as much powder as I can off
my shirt, knowing that if I touch the toner with the water it will be a
complete disaster. My skin, however, is a different story. I wet his
handkerchief and quickly clean my chest and neck. Nothing says
professionalism like ink all over you.
“What’s your name?” he asks, and I glance up to find it’s his turn
to stare. At me. My entire chest now damp, my button down shirt
pulled wide open at the neck.
I step into my high heels, and try to pick up the paper trays as
smoothly as possible, though I can’t ignore that I’m giving him yet
another view of my ass. “Naomi,” I say as the machine comes back
to life again now that it has paper.
“Here, wait,” he says, and takes the handkerchief from my hand.
Then he moves into my space and when I look up into his eyes I
suddenly can’t breathe. “What are you doing?”
He smirks a little as he raises the cloth. “You’ve got some toner
on your face, and I don’t see a mirror in here.”
“Right.”
He gently wipes my face with the damp cloth, across my
cheekbones and down to my chin. He drags it across my lower lip,
and I think my heart stops. I haven’t been this close to someone in a
long time. Okay, maybe I’ve never really even been this close. I find
myself looking into those blue eyes again, and I allow myself to get
a little lost, to think that this moment means more than it actually
does.
The cloth passes over my lip again, and his gaze drops to my
mouth. My heart picks up and I think for a moment that he might
actually kiss me. That would be…
Who are we kidding here, that would be amazing.
Instead, he says, “There you go, beautiful.” He gives the wet
hanky to me.
“Thanks.” I swallow and take a step back, breaking that
connection. Wow. My flirting brain kicks on, and I smile at him. “It’s
always nice to know a man who isn’t afraid of a little cleaning.”
Really? That’s what you come up with, brain?
He laughs. “I’ve had more than one bad experience with a copier,
myself. The ones here are especially picky.”
“That’s good to know,” I say, trying to hide my real relief. “It’s my
first day, and I was about to fail my first assignment because of that
copier.”
“That explains why I’ve never seen you before.”
“Yes it does.”
“Well,” he says, “if that one ever gives you trouble again, you can
use the one on my floor. I’m downstairs on eleven.”
I look at him, and he doesn’t seem to be kidding. “Thanks, that’s
really nice of you.”
“No problem. We’ve all had first days. I could tell you some
stories that would make this one look tame.”
“Oh?” Please tell me something that makes me feel better.
He grins, “Let’s keep that for after your first day is over so we
can fully compare.”
“I’d like that,” I say. I smooth my skirt, trying not to look
awkward.
“I’ll see you around.” He nods and starts to turn away.
“Don’t you want this back?” I hold out his handkerchief.
He’s grinning again. “It’s easier for you to explain that you
borrowed it than it is for me to explain that it got wet by cleaning
your breasts.”
My mouth drops open, and my brain short circuits on the image
of him cleaning my breasts.
“I’m all out of handkerchiefs, but if you find toner anywhere
else,” his eyes roll down the length of my body, “I’m sure that I can
find something else to clean you with.”
The little smile on his face tells me he’s not talking about a towel.
My whole body heats and I feel like the room is now a sauna. I’ve
never had a man look at me like that before—like he’s ready and
willing to take me right there. I know I should probably feel
offended.
I don’t.
It feels…hot.
He’s holding my gaze, and I can’t move. It’s almost like he knows
that he’s making me squirm and he enjoys it. Of course now is the
time when my brain absolutely refuses to come up with any witty
comebacks. “I’ll keep that in mind,” I murmur.
 If lightning could strike me dead, that would be great. The most
attractive man you’ve ever seen is hitting on you, and you’ll keep it
in mind?
“Believe me, I will too.”
I think I might actually be on fire, and I start babbling to keep
my mouth from dropping to the floor and to keep from thinking
about the fact that he’ll be thinking about me. “Thank you again for
offering your copier. And thank you for touching me. I mean,
cleaning me off. No. I mean—”
Just then the door opens, and I nearly jump out of my skin. It’s
my uncle, bursting in with his usual sharpness. “There you are,” he
says to me, sounding annoyed. “I need this added to the files for the
meeting.” He hands me another stack of paper, and I manage to
hide the handkerchief in my hand. I don’t want him asking questions
about it. I catch sight of my attractive rescuer’s face, and he looks
like he’s about to burst out laughing. Probably at me. I flush red
again.
“Sure.” I turn and add the stack to the copier’s queue. I take the
opportunity to breathe, and maybe make it look like I just wasn’t
blatantly flirting with someone at the firm.
“Andrew,” my uncle says, “What are you doing in here?”
“Just visiting the water cooler,” he replies. Andrew. His name is
Andrew. Good to know, even though I now feel like an idiot for not
asking. He asked my name.
“And I see you’ve met my niece.”
I give a tight-lipped smile. Andrew also smiles. “Yes, I did. She is
lovely. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll see you in the meeting.”
Andrew gives me a final glance—that totally steals my breath
away—and leaves. I go back to my stapling, desperately hoping that
my uncle won’t see the residual embarrassment—or toner—hanging
off me.
“Naomi.”
“Yes?”
“That’s Andrew Finch.”
In my head, everything clicks. My uncle has been going on and
on about a senior partner named Finch whom he can’t stand. In
Uncle Roger’s words, the partner is an upstart who’s angling to take
over the firm and always sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong. I
always liked the sound of anyone who could ruffle my uncle’s
feathers. Now I can see it’s not just that he’s an upstart, it’s that he’s
young and handsome and already very successful at his job.
“You’re going to be seeing a lot of him,” my uncle goes on,
“because he and I are working the Sterling murder case together,
even if I don’t like it.”
I shuffle several more papers together and clear my throat. “Why
put him on the case if you dislike him so much?”
“Keep your enemies close,” he says grimly. “He’s going to try to
make a move for name partner, and maybe managing partner. I
want him close by so I can see what he’s doing before he actually
does it. And make no mistake, if he sees an opportunity to use you
against me, he’ll try. So watch yourself, for my sake and yours.”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. “Of course.”
He looks at me a moment, and I think he’s going to ask about
what just happened with Andrew before he came in. But he doesn’t.
I breathe out a sigh of relief as he turns to go.
“Bring those in as soon as they’re done,” he says.
I snap back, “I will.” Even though he’s already gone and can’t
hear my reply.
Miraculously the copier doesn’t break again. Seven ridiculously
large packets of paper coming right up.
The meeting has already started when I finish, but just barely.
For the record, I would have been perfectly on time without the
paper-jam-and-handkerchief fiasco. Thankfully no one even looks at
me when I come in. Actually, that’s not true. Andrew looks at me. He
swivels brazenly toward me with a smile that makes butterflies
magically appear in my stomach.
I place each packet in front of a partner, trying my best to be
quiet and invisible. When I finally get to Andrew, he takes his packet
directly from me and says, “Thank you, Naomi.”
My uncle stops, and looks at us, and I feel all the air get sucked
out of the room at once. “Yes,” Uncle Roger says, “Thank you,
Naomi. That will be all.”
 I drop my eyes and nod as I hand my uncle his original files and
make for the door. I look back just before I leave, and see that
Andrew is still staring at me. He winks, and all the butterflies in my
stomach drop dead as my stomach falls right down to my shoes.
I practically run back to my office, where I flop into the chair. It
feels like I’ve already been here a year, and it’s only been half a day.
‘Believe me, I will too,’ Andrew said. Which means he’s going to
think about me, or more specifically, how he’d get me clean.
Can’t really get cleaner than me, virgin that I am. Which is why it
will never happen. Men like that never want women like me—
inexperienced and shy. The minute they hear virgin they run for the
door. That’s probably best in this case. Besides, my uncle would
murder me, and it’s my first day. I’m new to the law world, but I’m
pretty sure a paralegal screwing a senior partner is something that’s
frowned on.
I’m going to think about it though. Think about him and all the
non-existent possibilities. Think about what it would be like to be
wanted by someone like that. Someone powerful and sexy and
totally unashamed. Think about him thinking about me, and what
that means.
Believe me, I will too. His words echo in my mind and far too
many fantasies spring to life in my mind. I squeeze my thighs
together under the desk and press a cool hand to my hot cheek.
Man, am I in trouble.
 2

For the third day in a row I wake up flushed. Damn dreams. Damn
Andrew.
It feels like he’s made it his mission to run into me whenever
possible at the office—and every time he does, all I do is trip over
myself. His winks and smiles and innuendos almost make me
question whether or not my uncle is right and he’s just using me.
But that moment in the copy room is still there. I can’t pretend that
wasn’t real.
I’ve kissed people before. Okay, fine, I’ve kissed one person
before. And it was nowhere near as hot as those few moments when
it felt like we connected.
Now my brain won’t leave me alone. It’s constantly finding ways
to imagine what would have happened had that moment continued,
what might have been if we hadn’t been interrupted. I imagine him
closing that gap and pressing his lips onto mine, and together we
move backward, hands tearing at each other’s clothes, until he’s
pressing me up against the wall.
My fingers find my way into my underwear as I imagine his lips
tracing down my throat. His lips are soft and his tongue is teasing
me. His hands are undoing the buttons of my shirt and he doesn’t
miss a beat moving down to my breasts, tracing my nipples through
the fabric. I imagine my fingers fisting in his hair, pressing his head
closer to me, urging him to touch more of my skin.
 My body heats up and I can feel myself getting wet under my
fingers as I let my imagination run wild. He’s kissing me again and
our bodies are pressed together, and even through our clothes it
feels so good. Then his hand is on my skin, sliding down my
stomach and under my waistband. His fingers are touching me there
and he dips inside me at the same time he plunges his tongue into
my mouth. My body arches, and I can see myself gasping, relishing
the sensation of being caught up in him.
I move my fingers faster, and I can feel myself getting closer. I
open Andrew’s shirt and envision his beautiful chest, his hard abs.
His pants are unbuckled and he lifts me off my feet, my legs
wrapping around his waist. With one strong, deep plunge, he glides
inside me and it feels amazing. I imagine what it’s like to feel that
full, to feel pleasure radiating out from every stroke. He locks eyes
with me as he thrusts into me again, and again, and I can feel that
I’m on the edge—
BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.
I roll over into my pillow and groan as my alarm clock erases
what was sure to be an amazing orgasm. Damn. Fantasy sex is all I
have and I can’t even get all the way through that. Now I’m sweaty
and horny and unsatisfied. I tap my phone to stop the screeching,
and resist the urge to throw it against the wall. Not even eight a.m.
And the day is off to a great start. At least I don’t have to go to the
office for long.
I drag myself out of bed and into the shower, mentally ticking off
the things I need to do before I leave. Today I’m moving…well,
temporarily. My uncle’s current—and biggest—case is the Sterling
murder. Timothy Sterling, a self-made software millionaire is accused
of killing his wife. She was found dead in their home. There were no
witnesses and he can’t provide a credible alibi. My uncle and the firm
are defending Mr. Sterling. He was released on bail, but given the
high profile nature of the case, the court commanded that he remain
on his estate. That makes it hard to meet with him as his estate is
two hours outside of the city.
So, as of today, my uncle is moving into Mr. Sterling’s guest
house for the duration of the defense. This is so that Uncle Roger
can have immediate access to his client, but also to make sure that
Sterling doesn’t do anything stupid. And also as of today, I’m going
there too. My uncle needs a go-between for the office and he can’t
ask his assistant to stay at the guest house. That leaves me, the
niece. Go figure. Nepotism for the win.
I need to pack my clothes and toiletries, and then go to the office
and pick up a truly impressive number of file boxes to bring with me
to the guest house.
While I’m packing my clothes I turn on the bare track of a song
I’ve been working on in my spare time. It has a pretty melody, even
though I don’t have words yet. But there’s a little counter melody in
my head, just a few chords. I grab a piece of paper and quickly write
the progression down. Actually, I have a couple of minutes and
would really like to know what that sounds like.
I sit down at my computer’s keyboard and open up my music
making software. When I input the chords, it sounds good. But not
perfect. I think I should add this here, and an E chord there. It feels
so natural to be making music that I don’t even notice the time.
When I next look at the clock an hour has passed, and I’m still not
finished packing. Shit.
It’s a good thing that I don’t have to see my uncle until tonight,
because he would kill me for being late. I throw the rest of my
clothes into my suitcase and grab my make-up and toiletries. It’s not
neat, but it will have to do. It’s a guest house, right? If I forgot
anything they should have it, and if not then I’ll be coming back to
the city soon. It’ll be fine.
It’s hot. I mean, this is Florida, so that’s not really surprising. But
I’m still used to Los Angeles weather. When you live with seventy
degrees and low humidity year round, Florida’s climate feels like
living in a sauna full time. Especially in July. Even wearing short
sleeves and a skirt it’s nearly unbearable, and by the time I reach
the office I’m once again covered in sweat and I haven’t even
started lugging the boxes yet.
There are twenty-one file boxes. Twenty-one. If my uncle weren’t
endlessly practical I’d swear he was making me haul these as some
sort of punishment or else a test of my ability to do this job. Well…I
guess it could be that last one. But it’s probably better not to dwell
on it for too long…
I get all the boxes into the car—it takes forever because they’re
bulky and heavy, and I can really only carry one at a time. A couple
of times I managed two, but I have to unload all of these, and I
need to save my hands. The only bright side is that I don’t see
Andrew. Even if it’s never going to happen, I’m glad that he doesn’t
have to see me sweaty and exhausted from the humidity and
manual labor.
The air conditioning in my car has never felt this good, and I’ve
used it a lot. I love road trips, and I drove both ways when I moved
from coast to coast, so my car has become a mini-sanctuary for me
over the years. Today is no exception. I turn on some music—not
mine this time—and enjoy the ride.
That is, until I pull up to the Sterling estate. Holy crap. I knew
this guy was loaded, but whoa. I’m greeted with tall black iron gates
and a curving driveway that leads to one of the biggest houses I’ve
ever seen. It looks like a castle, and I think there might actually be a
spire off the back, but it’s hard to tell from this angle. Who even
needs a guest house when you have something that big? Then
again, he probably likes his privacy.
The driveway curves around the main house and down past a
swimming pool that is a perfect blue, and gardens that look like
they’re a spread in Travel & Leisure. Is that a hedge maze? Seriously,
I really hope this guy is innocent, because we need to be friends. I’ll
house-sit for him any time.
I pull up to the guest house, a villa situated behind some tall
trees that keep it somewhat hidden away. It has its own garden and
small pool, and even without being attached to the mansion next
door it’s gorgeous. It’s a white creation in the Spanish style, with red
tiles on the roof and blue shutters that make it look cheery.
I take it all in with an appreciative sigh and then get out of my
car and stretch. I guess I’d better get to unloading. The faster I get
it done, the faster I can get a shower and a cold drink. I grab a box
and the keys my uncle gave me and let myself inside. It’s blessedly
cool. The first floor is breezy and open with the entryway flowing
into an open living room, small dining room, and galley kitchen.
Natural light is pouring into the space from what seems like a
hundred windows. I could learn to like it here, I think.
I put the first box on the floor in the dining room. My uncle
wants that space to be the primary office area of the house, so all
the boxes will go there for now. We agreed that we’d find a better
set-up once we were both settled into the house.
Trudging out to the car again, I decide that I’m going to try to
get the boxes into the house in as few trips as possible. Even if that
means nearly breaking my back by carrying multiple boxes. I stack
three on top of each other. It’s a stretch, but these are the lightest
ones, and no one’s here to see me if I drop them.
I have to use my butt to open the door—no hands—and I nearly
trip over the threshold. I steady myself and make a mental note to
only bring two next time. I’m halfway to the dining room when I
hear a sound, like someone else is in the house.
“Hello?” I can’t see over the boxes, but I’m almost there. But as I
turn the corner I collide with something and I hear a grunt of pain. I
stumble back, keeping my grip on the boxes even as I blurt out an
apology. “I am so sorry! I didn’t realize anyone else was here.”
The mystery person grabs the top box off my pile and suddenly
the other two boxes go crashing to the floor, because standing in
front of me is Andrew Finch. And he’s smiling.
 3

I think that my mouth is on the floor along with the boxes. “What
are you doing here?”
“The same thing that you’re doing here.” He takes the box he
rescued into the dining room and adds, “I’m living here for the next
couple of months. Roger didn’t tell you?”
“No,” I say, picking up a sheaf of papers that spilled from one of
my boxes. “My uncle forgot to mention that detail.”
“I’m not surprised.” I pile my two boxes on top of the rest. “Did
you get all these into your car by yourself?”
“Yeah.”
He scoffs, “I’m sure there are plenty of guys at the office that
could have been persuaded to help you.”
I feel myself bristle. “I’m not made of glass, it’s just boxes.”
“That’s not what I meant,” he says, mouth sliding into a smile.
“You’re perfectly capable of carrying boxes. But in case you haven’t
noticed, it’s hot as hell outside, and you didn’t need to do it all
yourself.”
“It was really fine.”
He raises an eyebrow. “I’m sure it was. Why don’t you get some
water and then grab your suitcase? I’ll take care of the rest of the
boxes.”
“Mr. Finch, you really don’t have to—”
 He cuts me off. “First, please don’t ever call me Mr. Finch. It
makes me feel like a fossil. Second, you already carried all those file
boxes once. I can take it from here.”
I open my mouth to protest, but he gives me a look and I change
my mind about finishing the thought. Instead I say, “What should I
call you, then?”
“Andrew is fine.” He takes off his suit jacket and hangs it over
one of the dining room chairs.
I wander into the kitchen and poke around in the cupboards
looking for a glass. I find one and get some ice and water, and then
I go back and get another glass for when Andrew is finished with the
unloading. It’s the least I can do.
He’s already back with another box, and I try not to stare. It’s
not like he’s naked, but that shirt fits really well and he definitely fills
it out. He doesn’t even hesitate before going out for another box,
and I follow him. I grab my stuff from the back seat of my car, and I
hear his voice behind me. “There are a few empty rooms upstairs.
You can choose whichever one you like.”
“Thanks,” I say, and I make a beeline for the stairs.
No, Naomi, you will not think about the fact that you’re alone in
this gorgeous house with your current crush. You will think about
that later. Alone. After dark. Under the covers.
I find a corner room that overlooks the garden, and immediately
know it’s the one I want. A queen size bed with crisp blue linens
dominates the room, with a desk and a reading chair tucked along
one wall and an actual armoire and vanity on the other. I drop my
suitcase by the armoire and head back downstairs.
The pile of boxes in the dining room is growing, and Andrew
walks by with another as I come down. “Are you sure that you don’t
need any help?”
“Very sure,” he says, disappearing out the door again.
I take a sip of the water. It feels weird just letting him do all the
work. I mean, he is technically my boss. But he also volunteered.
The more I watch him go in and out, the more I’m glad I’m
standing in the kitchen. Mostly because it’s cool and not at all
because Andrew is sweating through his shirt and making it easier to
see even more of him.
Finally, he comes through the door and says, “This is the last.” He
puts the box down with a sigh.
I push his glass of water across the counter toward him. “Here.”
He grins, tugging at the open collar of his button down shirt and
exposing just a flash of that smooth, perfect chest. “Thank you. Did
I mention it’s hot as hell outside?”
“Really? I hadn’t noticed,” I say, smiling into my glass.
“Definitely.” He unbuttons his shirt and takes it off before
reaching for the glass, and even though I know I shouldn’t stare at
him, I can’t look away. The v-neck T-shirt he’s still wearing is soaked
through, and I can see everything. If there were wet T-shirt contests
for men, he would win. Hands down. The man is cut like a diamond.
I can count his abs through the shirt, and my eyes drift down to
where it’s ridden up and showing skin that’s perfectly tan.
Suddenly I realize that I’m staring, and he knows it too, because
he’s staring at me. He’s not smiling anymore. Instead he looks…
curious. I feel myself blush from head to toe. Yes, I swear even my
toes are flushed at the thought of what that body could do to me.
My imaginings haven’t been doing him justice. I’ll need an upgrade.
I clear my throat and say, “I should go unpack, since we’ll be
here for awhile.”
I don’t actually run, but it feels like it. I retreat into my pretty
room, and attempt to take a breath. Cool down. I get my suitcase
open and start sorting through the mess that I made this morning
when I was late. I jump at the sound of a floorboard behind me, and
turn to see Andrew at the door. He walks over to where I am, and I
can feel his eyes on me. I try not to look, because if I look again I’ll
stare, and the staring will lead to wanting. Instead, I start to talk.
“I know, this is totally a mess. I got really distracted this morning
by this song, and then I ended up not having much time to pack.” I
yank the suitcase over to the wall next to the armoire, and Andrew
follows me. “Now I’ll have to organize everything. Re-fold, re-hang,
re-wash, whatever. I’m not usually this disorganized.” I find my bag
of toiletries in the wreckage of my suitcase and grab it. I turn to go
and put it in the bathroom, and Andrew is there. “I should put this
away,” I blurt, holding up the toiletries.
He stretches out his arms on either side of me, blocking the
doorway with his perfect body. “It’s not a crime to look, Naomi.”
My eyes snap to his, really looking at them for the first time since
we bumped into each other in the hallway. “I wasn’t.”
His mouth quirks up. “You were. I don’t mind. If I didn’t have
other things on my mind I’d let you look at me all day.”
“What other things?” My mouth has gone entirely dry, and I find
it hard to speak. He’s so close, and every nerve in my body is
begging to find out what it would be like to have him touch me.
He leans forward until our faces are almost touching. “How much
I want you. I told you in the copy room I would think about you. I
did.”
Oh god. My heart is beating so fast now, I swear I can hear it
pounding. This can’t be happening. This isn’t real. I think I make
some sort of sound though, because he smiles again. “What was
that?”
“It’s not real. Not true, I mean. You have no reason to think
about me.”
Our faces are still close, and his cheek presses against mine as
his lips brush my ear. “I promise that when I am with you I will tell
the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. And I want
you.”
His words make me shiver. He takes a step back and peels his T-
shirt over his head, tossing it aside. I let myself look at him. Like he
said, it’s not a crime. His body reminds me of a surfer’s, long and
lean with unexpected muscles and definition, all leading my eyes
down to his belt. His face is all mischief as he moves back toward
me. “Now that you’ve finally seen me without a shirt on, don’t you
want to see the rest of me?”
The familiar feeling of my blush hits, and I don’t have time to
answer because he kisses me. His lips aren’t on my mouth by next
to it, barely a press against my skin. The sensation travels across me
and leaves goosebumps in its wake.
“Naomi, tell me if you want me to stop.”
Another random document with
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them well between cloths; and make a pickle of the following
ingredients:
Six eschalots, minced
White peppercorns 2 oz.
Mace, bruised 1½ oz.
Nutmeg, sliced 1½ oz.
Common table salt 6 oz.
White-wine vinegar 5 pints
Skim this well, boiling it fifteen minutes, and, filling jars with the fruit,
pour the liquor and spices equally upon them, when about new milk
warm, and tie bladder over the jars.

beet-roots.
Pickled beet-roots which have both fine colour and flavour to
recommend them are seldom to be met with, particularly in the
provinces. If this method is tried, it will most certainly recommend
them. Take half a dozen roots of the deepest blood-red colour, put
them into a pail of cold water, and with a soft brush scour and wash
them well, and without breaking the skin in the least. Put them into a
saucepan of boiling water, and let them boil gently until tender, and
no longer, then take them up, wipe dry, and leave them until the next
day. Now peel them nicely, and cut them across in slices a quarter of
an inch thick, not using the extremities. You may cut the slices into
various ornamental and grotesque figures, and lay them in open-
mouthed jars, and make the following pickle:
Mace 1 oz.
Cloves, bruised 2 oz.
Peppercorns 2 oz.
Bay salt, pounded 4 oz.
Ginger, sliced 2 oz.
Horseradish, sliced 1 oz.
Best vinegar ½ gallon
Boil these ten or fifteen minutes, skimming well, and, when cold,
pour over the roots. Replenish the next day what pickle may have
been absorbed, and cover the jars with bladder and leather. This
pickle is ready in a month, and is very good. It makes a beautiful
garnish with fish at dinner, &c. &c.

button mushrooms, for pies and sauces.

Pick out expressly for this purpose a couple of quarts of fresh
gathered button mushrooms, cut the stalks out closely, and wipe
them singly with a piece of soft flannel dipped in moistened bay salt,
place them apart on dishes and scatter a little finely beaten salt
amongst them. Put them into a roomy saucepan along with
Mace, slightly bruised ½ oz.
White peppercorns, slightly
bruised ¾ oz.
Bay leaves, shred ½ oz.
Cloves, bruised ¼ oz.
and let them simmer gently and until all their juice is taken up. Take
the pan from the fire, and when cooled a little add to them four or five
glasses of good white wine, agitate the mushrooms in the pan,
replace it on the fire and bring it to the boil for one minute, then add
three pints of the best pale vinegar and boil for ten minutes slowly.
Now put the mushrooms into glass or stone jars that are clean and
perfectly dry, and when cold make secure with corks or bladder, and
keep them in a dry cool room. This is an estimable pickle, and will be
appreciated duly by lady-cooks, who best know its usefulness and
the various ways in which both the mushrooms and their pickle may
be made available. The wine should be good old Madeira, and the
quantity may be increased with great advantage.

green parsley.
Take fresh green curled parsley just at maturity, pick out the most
handsome sprigs and put them into salt and water strong enough to
float an egg, and let remain so for five or six days; set them to drain
on a sieve, and then immerse them in another fresh pickle of the
same strength for ten days longer, changing the brine twice. Then
drain them again, and put them into pure cold spring water for two
days, changing the water daily, and when again drained scald them
in boiling water until they are of a nice green, and dry them between
soft cloths. Make, then, the following pickle of
Mace ½ oz.
Nutmeg, sliced 1 oz.
Eschalots, minced 1 oz.
Horseradish, sliced 2 oz.
White-wine vinegar 3 pints
which must be boiled ten or twelve minutes and well skimmed. Put
the parsley branches lightly into jars and pour the pickle over,
covering well. Fill up again with pickle the next day, and cover that
again with pure olive oil to the thickness of an inch or thereabouts.
Cover close with wetted bladder, and over that, when dried, with soft
leather, and keep in a dry airy room.

walnut catsup.
When walnuts have attained maturity, and are being deprived of
the outside green shells by the fruiterers, take half a peck of these
husks, put them into a jar, and pour on them as much cold strong
pickling vinegar as will quite cover them; bung up the jar, and so let
them remain three months. Then press out the liquor upon a sieve,
and to every gallon of it take
Cloves 1 oz.
Mace ¾ oz.
Ginger 1½ oz.
Jamaica pepper 1½ oz.
Black pepper 1 oz.
Garlic 1 oz.
 Port wine lees 1½ quart
Anchovies 8 oz.
With all these boil up the liquor of the walnuts, and let them simmer
twenty minutes, skimming well the whole time, then put it aside for
two days and boil it again until reduced one-third part. When cold,
you may put it in bottles, which cork well and seal with wax. It will be
an excellent catsup, and will be greatly improved by long keeping.

mushroom catsup.
Throw large black flap mushrooms into a vessel, and crush them
with the hands well, throwing in a large handful of common salt to
each peck, and let them so lie for two days. Then put them into a
crock of earthenware, and let them be macerated in a cool baker’s
oven for six hours or so, and, when cold, press out the juice, which
boil with the following, to each gallon of the liquor:
Mace ½ oz.
Jamaica pepper 1 oz.
Black pepper 1 oz.
Cloves 1½ oz.
Ginger 1 oz.
Garlic 1 oz.
Bay salt 9 oz.
The simmering and skimming must be continued as long as any filth
rises, and let it then be put away for a day or two, and boiled up
again, being kept well up to the boiling point until reduced to half its
original quantity. When cold it may be put into bottles and firmly
corked and waxed.

tomato catsup.
When tomatoes are fully ripe take two dozen of fine, large, sound
ones, put them into jars and bake until they are tender; strain off the
water from them, and pass the pulp through a sieve, then add to
every pound of the pulp,
Eschalots, shred 1 oz.
Garlic, shred ½ oz.
Bay salt ¼ oz.
White pepper, finely
powdered ¼ oz.
Chili vinegar 1 pint
Boil them together until the whole is quite soft, and pass it again
through a sieve. Now, to every pound of the pulp add the juice of two
lemons, and one large Seville orange, boil it again until it has
attained the consistence of thick cream, and when cold bottle it; cork
and seal well.

celery, crab salad.

Open and wash thoroughly clean a fine head of celery, wipe dry,
and cut it across into a basin, add to it two ounces of some good rich
old cheese sliced thinly, a teaspoonful of mustard mixed as for the
table, a tablespoonful of best olive oil, the same quantity of vinegar,
with pepper and salt to your taste. Mix all well together.

elder-flower vinegar.
Pick out all the stalks from a peck of fresh elder flowers and put
them into a vessel with two gallons of white-wine vinegar, set them
under the influence of bright sunbeams for fourteen days and
upwards, or at a short distance from a continuous fire, and then filter
the vinegar through a new flannel bag; fill bottles, which must be well
corked and sealed.

tarragon vinegar.
Take the leaves of tarragon just before it blossoms, put a pound of
them to three quarts of the best white-wine vinegar in a stone jar,
and let them infuse sixteen days. Then drain it and strain through a
flannel bag; add for every two gallons a quarter of an ounce of
isinglass dissolved in sherry wine, and let it be agitated briskly in a
large stone bottle two days. Leave it a month to get fine, then draw it
off into clean dry glass bottles, which cork well and seal.

white-gooseberry vinegar.
Vinegars should be made at home if you wish to rely upon their
quality. This will be superior to any white-wine vinegar, “so called at
the shops,” and as such will be extremely serviceable in all large
establishments and families. Choose fruit of the lightest colour you
can get when fully ripe, mash it with a wooden mallet or potato
beetle. To every peck of the fruit put two gallons of water, stir them
well for an hour and let them ferment three weeks, repeating the
stirring daily. Then strain off the liquor and add for every gallon:
Loaf sugar 1 lb.
Yeast, thick and fresh 1 tablespoonful
Treacle 1 tablespoonful
Let it work for three or four days, then put it into a sweet barrel of
convenient size, and stop it down for twelve months.

syrup d’orgeat, a paris receipt.

This elegant syrup is thus made:
Sweet almonds 20 oz.
Bitter almonds 8 oz.
Refined sugar 9 lb.
Water 4 pints
Blanch the almonds, dry them perfectly and pound them in a mortar
with the sugar, adding gradually two thirds of the water; strain
through linen, and wash the almonds on the strainer with the
remainder of the water, and dissolve the sugar in the strained liquor
by a gentle heat. Pour the syrup into an earthenware vessel, remove
the scum, and, when nearly cold, add two ounces of orange-flower
water. Put it into clean clear glass bottles, cork well, and seal
effectually.

an excellent curry-powder.
Turmeric 2 oz.
Coriander seeds 6 oz.
Ginger ½ oz.
Cinnamon 2 drachms
Cayenne pepper 6 drachms
Black pepper ½ oz.
Mace 1 drachm
Fenugreek 1½ oz.
Pimento 2 drachms
Cloves 1 drachm
Nutmeg ½ oz.
Pound all the above separately in a mortar, mix thoroughly for twenty
minutes, then sift and again pound the returns, which, when in finest
powder, mix with bulk; put into dry bottles, cork them well and seal.
Some persons prefer more turmeric and less coriander. Others add
two ounces of the best Durham mustard (scorched). Others, half an
ounce of cardamoms or two ounces of cummin. The colour should
be light yellow—brown, not bright yellow.

notes.
It has been incontestably proved by Baron Liebig and other
Professors of Chemistry, that the albumen and gelatine constitute
the leading nutritive ingredients in the different kinds of flesh and fish
used as food; and I have arrived at the conclusion, that any mode of
curing which deprives them of these valuable properties, is opposed
to facts in science and to common-sense, and cannot therefore be
tolerated.
On the nutritive properties of animal food, Professor Brande
writes: “When the muscular parts of animals are washed repeatedly
in cold water, the fibrinous matter which remains, consists chiefly of
albumen, and is, in its chemical properties, analogous to the clot of
blood.”
In mutton, the albumen or fibrin amounts to as much as twenty-
two per cent., and of gelatine to seven per cent., giving a total of
twenty-nine per cent. of nutritive matter. In beef, the albumen is
twenty, and the gelatine six per cent., yielding a total of twenty-six
per cent. of nutritive matter.
When a piece of meat is covered with salt, or immersed in brine,
the salt penetrates the whole fibre of the flesh, and the juices
contained within are drawn out, and mix with the brine; the salts of
potass contained in it, are exchanged and superseded by those of
soda, derived from the salt with which it has been cured; now, as a
constant supply of potass is required in the system to renew the
muscular fibre, it is quite clear that the want of it must be attended
with some derangement of the health; and hence the benefit derived
from the taking of vegetables, which by supplying potass, make up
for the want of this alkali in the meat.
Albumen is coagulated by heat, and is drawn out by cold water;
this fact is referred to in Note, No. 11.

No. 1. The coating of small articles, of the better sorts, excludes

the air. It is a mixture of gelatine with treacle, applied when hot, and
which when exposed to the air becomes hardened, yet elastic as
india-rubber. See Note, No. 12.
No. 2. The smoking with different sorts of fuel exerts a
considerable influence on the flavour and preservation of the articles
so treated; for example, the mutton of the Ardennes forest, Belgium,
which owes its superiority to the juniper bushes with which it is dried
and smoked. And again, kippered salmon smoked with cedar-wood,
at the request of some of our wealthy Jew families, is excellent,
though rather expensive.
No. 3. The spicing of bacon was adopted some years since, and
chiefly in Ireland, to hide the inferior quality of the meat.
No. 4. Bay salt is far preferable to common salt for curing meats
and fish, but the expense deters many persons from using it, except
in small quantities. The rock, or mineral salt of Cheshire, is equal in
all respects to the bay salt of commerce, and I have long used it with
the greatest success. Common salt leaves a bitter smatch on all food
cured with it after being long kept. See Note, No. 12.
No. 5. There is no remedy for over-salted provisions. You may,
indeed, cut them into slices and lay them in water, but this only
affects the outsides of large pieces, as hams, &c. If I had a ham that
I suspected of being over salted, I should put it in an old bag, and
bury it in my garden for a week or more, according to size.
No. 6. Rubbing large joints of meat over with a profusion of
common salt, and letting them lie, to “draw out the blood,” as it is
termed, is contrary to all reason, for away goes the chief part of the
flavour and nutriment.
No. 7. Sprats are so different in their animal construction as to be
easily detected from genuine fish—Gorgona anchovies. The
Armenian bole, often made use of to colour the sauce, has very
properly been exposed and condemned.
No. 8. Pure olive oil will preserve meat and fish, after it has been
cured, for a long time; but oils drawn from lard and other spurious
imitations, will not fail to hasten their decay. The oil should never be
heated, when used for this purpose.
No. 9. Subjecting meats to a water-bath is not to be resorted to. I
was shown a specification previous to the taking out of a patent (in
France, by a French gentleman) to cure the more expensive sorts of
fish. The first part of the process proposed, was subjecting the fish to
a water-bath, first for three hours, and, changing the water, then to
two hours further immersion in warm water. I, of course, entered my
protest against such unreasonable treatment. I am sure I could not
conjecture what became of both flavour and nutriment after so long
immersion.
No. 10. Meats to be boiled, and particularly fish, must be put into
boiling water, and after being kept up to the boiling point fifteen
minutes or so, let them only simmer until done.
No. 11. The albumen is drawn out from both meat, fish, and
vegetables by cold water; how, then, can we reconcile ourselves with
the foolish old practice of laying the heads, for instance, and other
parts, in pails of water, and leaving them for hours in that state, to
lose all their goodness. Vegetables for pickling, too, are often treated
in this way. Lying in water cannot possibly clean anything. Wash well,
and hang up to dry, is more reasonable.
No. 12. A very effective coating for small cured articles is made
thus: To four pounds of hard, compact gelatine, add as much soft or
rain-water as will just cover it, and stir it about occasionally for six
hours. When it has stood twenty-four hours, and all the water is
absorbed, submit it to the action of heat in a water-bath, and the
gelatine will be quickly dissolved. Take it off the fire as soon as the
froth is perceived to rise, and mix with it three and a half pounds of
molasses, which has previously been made thoroughly hot. Stir the
composition well together while in the water-bath over the fire, not
suffering it to boil. After it has been thus subjected to heat for half an
hour, and well stirred all the time, it should be taken off the fire and
allowed to cool a little; it is now ready for use, and to be applied to
the article of food with a soft brush. Set it in a current of air to harden
quickly. A second paying-over with the composition may be done
with advantage sometimes. For larger articles, as hams, &c. &c., the
best transparent glue may be used instead of gelatine, adding to the
composition, when a little cooled, a few drops of essence of nutmegs
or pimento. If when cold the coating is found to be not firm enough,
the proportion of gelatine or glue must be slightly increased, and
when, on the contrary, it is too brittle, the quantity of molasses may
be increased.
No. 13. For the accommodation of parties residing at a distance,
peat or bog-earth, rock salt from the Cheshire mines, charcoal, &c.
&c., may be had, ready for immediate, use, on application to Mr.
Robinson, provision curer, Runcorn, Cheshire, and on very moderate
terms.
 INDEX.
Aberdeen red herrings, 55
Anchovies, British, 59
— Gorgona, to feed, 59
— Gorgona, smoked, 63
— essence of, 129
Apparatus for drying, smoking, &c., 1
Asparagus, pickled, 155

Bacon, choice breakfast, 7

— Leicestershire spiced, 23
Barberries pickled, 154
Bath chaps, 24
Beef as hare, potted, 120
Beef’s heart, potted, 123
Beef, hung, Shropshire sirloin, 6
— Melton hunt, 8
Beef’s heart, smoked, 10
Beef, Ulverston red flank, 11
— hams, 13
— Hambro rough, 13
— Breslau, 14
— Whitehaven corned, 15
— Dutch, 25
Beetroots, pickled, 167
Bloaters, 50
Black puddings, Jersey, 90
Birmingham and Oxford tripe, 75
Boar’s head smoked, 19
Brawn, calf’s head, 77
Bucaning meats, described, 1
Bucaned beef kidneys, 80
— udder, 81
— calf’s liver, 82
— beef skirts, 83

Cabbage, red, pickled, 145

Catsup, tomato, 130
— mushroom, 171
— walnut, 170
Cauliflowers, pickled, 146
Caveach herrings, 74
Caviare brown, 70
— white, 71
Cavis of mackerel, 72
Celery, pickled, 151
— crab salad, 173
Charcoal, preservative quality, 4
Chetna, Bengal, 131
Coating composition, to make, 180
— to apply, 180
Codlins, pickled, 154
Coated turbot fins, 60
— river eels, 62
— conger eels, 68
— young pig, 114
Collared salmon, 43
 — side of venison, 109
— young pig, 112
Crabs potted, 107
Crab salad, 173
Conger eels, 69
Currants red, pickled, 151
— preserved for tarts, 135
Curry powder, excellent, 175

Dried Mutton, as in the Ardennes, 29

— breast of mutton as venison, 33
Dried Ulverston red flank of beef, 11
— Conger eels, high flavoured, 69
Digby herrings, 55

Eels, conger, smoked, 66

— collared, 68
— dried, 69
— potted, 118
Elder-flower vinegar, 173
Essences to make, 1
Essence of lobsters, 127
— shrimps, 128
— anchovies, 129

Fish, nutriment in (Dr. Davy), 36

— sauce, excellent, 131
Foots of sugar, to be preferred, 4
Fuel for smoking and drying with, 3

Geese, smoked, 79
German saveloys, 89
Gherkins, pickled, 156
Grapes, „ 152
Goose, a perpetual (beef’s heart), 34
Green West India ginger, preserved, 134

Hambro’ Pickle, for beef and pork, 31

Hams, Westphalia, 19
— eclipsed, 20
Hare, potted, 114
Haunch of mutton as venison, 26
Herrings, marinated, 103

Italian Cincerelli, 65

Jersey Black Puddings, 90

Kippered Herrings, 52
— superior, spiced, 53
— salmon, superior, 40

Lemon mangoes, pickled, 159

Lemon pickle, 160
Lemons, preserved, 139
Lobsters, essence of, 127
— pickled, 102
— potted, 106

Mackarel Kippered, 45
— (May-fish), 46
— superior pressed, 47
Maltcooms, to keep cured goods in, 4
Mangoes, pickled, 161
Marinated herrings, 103
— eels, 99
— high flavour, 100
— salmon, 92
— sprats, 104
— shrimps, 96
— salmon roes, 127
— tench and carp, 93
— trout and grayling, 97
— veal, 125
— another method, 126
Marmalade, raspberry, 144
Moor-game, potted, 115
Morello cherries, jam of, 144
Mushroom catsup, 171
— buttons, pickled, for pies and sauces, 168
Mutton, dried as in the Ardennes, 29
— breast of, collar as venison, 33
— haunch as venison, 26
— thigh of l’Diable, 27
— Welsh hams, 28

Nasturtiums, pickled, 166

Neats’ tongues, potted, 121
— pickled, 16
— high flavoured, 17
— to pickle, 30

Oversalted Meat, to rectify, 178

Pickled Vegetables,
— asparagus, 155
— barberries, 154
— beetroots, 167
— cauliflowers, 146
 — currants, red, 151
— celery, 151
— codlins, 154
— gherkins, 156
— golden pippins, 165
— grapes, 152
— mushrooms, white, 147
— mangoes (lemon), 159
— lemon pickle, 160
— mangoes (cucumber), 161
— nasturtiums, 166
— mushroom buttons, 168
— peaches and nectarines, 165
— piccalilli, 157
— parsley (green), 169
— onions, silver, 148
— walnuts, green, 163
— „ white, 164
— samphire, 146
Pickled Meats and Fish,
— herrings, 73
— smelts, 101
— lobsters, 102
Pickle for pork, 31
— superior, 32
— a preservative (excellent), 32
— the Hambro’, for beef and pork, 31
Pig, a young one collared, 112
Polony, Russian, 87
Provocative, a, 132
Portable soup, 78
— much richer, 78
Porker’s head, smoked, 23
Preservatives, 4
Potted beef’s heart, 122
— crabs, 107
— hare, 114
— eels, 118
— lobsters, 106
— Moor game, 115
— ox cheek, 84
— neat’s tongue, 121
— beef as hare, 120
— pigeons, 86
— snipes and woodcocks, 116
— shrimps, 119
— „ l’Diable, 85
— trout, 117
— venison, 124
Preserved
— apricots, 140
— barberries, 142
— cucumbers, 137
— golden pippins, 143
— greengage plums, 138
— damsons, 140
— Hambro’ grapes, 142
— lemons, 139
— Morello cherries, 141
— peaches and nectarines, 138
— tomatoes, 136

Smoked Meats,
— beef’s heart, 10
— beef hams, 13
— „ Breslau, 14
— boar’s head, 19
— calf’s head brawn, 76
— Dutch beef, 25
— geese, smoked, 78
— goose, a perpetual, 34
 — Hambro beef, 13
— hung beef, 6
— Leicestershire spiced bacon, 23
— Melton hunt beef, 9
— mutton, as in the Ardennes, 29
— neats’ tongues, high flavour,17
— Norfolk chine, 21
— porker’s head, 23
— polony, Russian, 87
— German saveloys, 89
— venison, side of, 111
— Whitehaven corned beef, 15
— Westphalia hams, 19
— „ eclipsed,20
Smoked Fish,
— eels, river, 62
— „ conger, 66
— Gorgona anchovies, 63
— herrings, bloaters, 50
— „ kippered, 51
— Mackerel, kippered, 45
— „ May-fish, 46
— „ superior, 47
— salmon, Welsh, 37
— „ Dutch, 39
— „ superior kipper, 40
— „ American, 48
— „ collared, 43
— herrings, Digby, 55
— „ Aberdeen reds,55
— speldings, 56
— sprats, 56
Smelts, pickled, 101
— potted, 105
Snipes and woodcocks, potted, 116
Sprats, marinated, 104
Shrimps, essence of, 128
Sausage spice (French), 132
Syrup for preserving fruit, to prepare, 132
Samphire, green, pickled, 146
Silver onions, pickled, 148
Syrup d’Orgeat (French), 174

Tench and Carp, marinated, 93

Tomatoes paste, 129
— catsup, 130
— „ 172
Tripe, Birmingham and Oxford, 75
Trout and grayling, marinated, 97
— potted, 117
Turbot fins, 60

Veal Marinated, 125

— „ 126
Vinegar, elder flower, 173
— tarragon, 173
— white gooseberry, 174

Walnuts, pickled, 164

— preserved, 149
— green, pickled, 163
— catsup, 170

Yorkshire Pressed Pork, 74