Excerpt from My Fine Fellow by Jennieke Cohen, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

"Oh, very well." She held out her hand for the unbitten pasty, and Penelope obliged. Helena chomped into it with little delicacy, chewed a few times, and tilted her head to the side. "Ah, this one's different from the one I ate earlier." She nodded at Penelope and then at the boy. "You see, lad, she does know better."

The young man frowned. "So you agree it's Salvadoran now?"

Helena nodded and swallowed another bite. "Undoubtedly." She weaved her arm through Penelope's. "My friend, you know, is working toward becoming an expert on the cuisine of the Americas. Come, Penelope! The rain has practically stopped and there's a delightful little Hungarian stand across the way that I've been longing for you to try." She pulled Penelope off the curb and into the street.

The boy followed. "Hey! Just because you're almost a Culinarian, that don't make you the Queen of Sheba. You may have a right to take down notes on me food, but you got no right to insult me. People coming from all around tell me my pasties are the best in London. Faraway Pasties, they call 'em."

"That may be," Helena said, pulling Penelope to the left to skirt a pile of muddy refuse, "but you sell them for two pence apiece."

"So what if I do? It's an honest living."

Helena spoke over her shoulder. "Honest it may be, but not very profitable." They ducked between two columns and into the shelter of the market building.

"I can't sell them for no more—I'll get priced out."

"Helena, do leave the lad alone," Penelope interjected, starting to feel uncomfortable about how the young man had interpreted the conversation.

"Penelope, I have no intention of doing anything else," Helena said with big, innocent eyes. "I only mean that if he had the training, he could easily open his own shop, be the Faraway Pasty Man, if he so desired, and end up pulling in hundreds of pounds a year."

"Here, what's that ya say?" the young man asked.

"But instead he's forced to walk the streets with his wares, making barely enough to live on. If we could but educate these poor souls to a higher degree, just think how society would flourish."

Penelope brushed droplets of rain from her shoulders. "But surely not everyone could make a success even if they had the education."

"No, but they'd have a better chance." Helena walked farther into the market. "Just take this bedraggled young man, Pen." She cast a glance over her shoulder. "If I had a mind to, in six months I could turn him or anyone else into a first-rate gentleman culinary artist. One even our classmates would find impressive."

"Hey! You saying I isn't impressive?"

Both girls stopped and looked at him then. His eyebrows knit together as he glared back.

"Your flavors are excellent," Penelope said.

"But nothing out of the common way," Helena qualified. "At any rate, they're not impressive enough for you to own your own shop or even a stall of your own—of course, you are still quite young, I suppose." She eyed him up and down. "How old are you?"

He frowned. "Why would I tell you that?"

Helena cocked her head to the side. "Ten and seven?"

"Thereabouts," he grumbled.

She turned to Penelope. "There, you see, he is your age, Pen, and just look at the unfortunate fellow."

"He's your age, too, Helena," Penelope stated, tilting her chin down.

"Have you forgotten that I shall be eighteen in nary a month? Dear me, what a little education might do for this creature. I've a good mind to write a book on the subject. One day. I mean, if you think about it, had King George not given his assent to Lady Bramley's Freedom of Female Education Bill, we might not be able to become the preeminent Culinarians we are destined to be. Truly it boggles the mind, Penelope."

King George IV, though universally disliked by his subjects, did manage to do one good thing of note before his death, which was to grant royal assent—in person, no less—to the aforementioned bill when Parliament passed it in 1820. The fact that he only did so at the urging of his daughter, Princess Charlotte, surprised nobody.

Excerpted from My Fine Fellow by Jennieke Cohen. Copyright © 2022 by Jennieke Cohen. Excerpted by permission of HarperTeen. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.