The Marquess of Cake

by Heather Hiestand

  “No pink, Matilda,” their mother said. “It clashes with your hair.”

  “But I love pink,” Matilda cried.

  “No man will find you attractive in pink. You’re twenty-one now, dear, it’s time to be careful.” She raised a hand. “Alys, twenty-six isn’t too old to wed.”

  “I don’t want a husband,” Alys muttered. Her mother could even dangle that handsome marquess from Redcake’s in front of her and she’d still say no.

  “All women want husbands. You simply require a very special man.” She tilted her head into a dreamy pose.

  Alys focused on the dressmaker, hoping she could be measured first. She had a new idea for a wedding cake decoration she was dying to experiment with before a wedding consultation the next day.

  Unfortunately, the dress discussion went on for hours, as Matilda wanted romance, Rose wanted something fit for a duke’s daughter, and Alys wanted something severely tailored.

  With their mother’s assistance, they settled on kilted skirts of silk, with velvet bodices and tunics due to the time of year. Matilda found a forest-green silk in the dressmaker’s samples and matched it to a velvet decorated with yellow flowers. Rose, who could wear pink, chose a pink silk skirt and cream velvet. Alys insisted on a delicate gray for both of her fabrics. They also argued over the size of the bustle but their mother agreed with Alys and kept it relatively small.

  “You will all be a credit to your father, girls,” their mother said approvingly.

  “Perhaps we might order another few dresses?” Rose asked. “I have nothing to wear on calls to new friends, and what if we receive party invitations, Mother?”

  “I have work to do,” Alys muttered, and left the room as quickly as she could, impeded by the tightly laced corset her mother had forced her to wear.

  Three weeks later, Alys smoothed her dove-gray gown over her hips as she listened to Rose and Matilda argue next to the fire.

  Her twin brother, Gawain, recently of Her Majesty’s army, and her inventor cousin, Lewis Noble, paced the drawing room, looking very handsome in their morning coats. Her brother’s limp made a thump, slide, thump noise against the parquet as he stomped around the edge of the rug. They stopped in front of a family portrait painted by their mother. The watercolor depicted smiles all around, quite a contrast to today’s mood.

  “Look, Gawain,” Lewis said, pointing to the brass parrot on his shoulder. Dear Lewis, always trying to cheer people. He might never be precisely fashionable, since he cared little for his appearance, but he never had an unkind word to say to anyone. “She talks. Pretty, isn’t she, Alys?”

  “Cracker,” said the parrot’s deep, ghostly voice. Its metal wings fluttered, sounding like the tinkling of tiny bells.

  Rose laughed, then coughed. The pestilential London fog bothered her lungs fiercely at this time of year, and Alys suspected the greenery decorating the room did her no good either. Their mother had ordered Rose to keep her corset loosened at all times, but Alys knew her sister insisted their maid tighten it whenever she left the house.

  “How did you make that silly thing speak?” Matilda asked, drowning out Alys’s, “Very pretty.”

  Lewis grinned at her, his teeth shining through his slightly inadequate blond beard. “It’s a secret.”

  Ellen Redcake glided into the room in a long, purple-and-green flowing gown more suited to the medieval age than the modern era.

  Mrs. Nettleship, her mother’s dressmaker, often designed for the theater and it showed.

  “The carriage is waiting, ma’am,” Pounds, the butler, said, entering the room.

  “Where is Father?” Alys asked.

  “We’ll pick him up at Redcake’s. The weather is simply dreadful.”

  Her mother’s hands fluttered. “Why did the queen have to schedule this investiture today?”

  “She can’t predict the weather, Mother,” said Gawain.

  “You poor dear,” Mother said, rubbing her hand along Gawain’s sleeve. “You must find this so very trying, after India’s warmth.”

  “I’m happy to be home.” Gawain glowered at her, despite his words.

  A trio of housemaids entered with outer garments for everyone.

  An extra carriage had been hired for the occasion and it was agreed Alys and her brother would go to Redcake’s while the others went on ahead.

  Would anyone at Redcake’s recognize her in these clothes? She looked like a lady. Would his lordship, the Marquess of Hatbrook, think she was his social equal in clothing like this? She’d found it hard to forget him these past weeks. Had the sensation of his hard chest and strong thighs flush against her body made such a lasting impression? It seemed so. That saucy friend of his no doubt was a gentleman as well, but as lively and naughty as he’d been, she preferred the more austere character and looks of the marquess. Though admittedly, he’d had the hungriest eyes she’d ever seen. She shivered at the thought.

  How exciting that such people came to the tea shop now. To think it had started as so small an operation that she’d been the one to suggest many of the menu offerings, including the Scotch trifle her father’s mother used to serve at Christmastime. What happy memories those had been, when their older brother, Arthur, was still alive and learning the mill business, before Gawain had gone into the army, before she’d learned not everyone was kind.

  Now Arthur was dead of some horrible wasting disease that had claimed him at twenty years of age, and Gawain had a patch over his ruined eye and a permanent limp. His career had been ended by the injuries, though Father hadn’t been sorry to see his only living son safely back at home again and ready to work at Redcake’s.

  She pressed her lips together and tried to return to happier thoughts.

  How could she not admire the marquess, with his wavy, brown hair just touched with a hint of the sun, despite the time of year? She thought his eyes must have been a stormy sea blue, though of course it was awfully hard to say since she had tried not to stare.

  The carriage entered the alleyway behind Redcake’s, where their

  father waited on the loading dock. He worked entirely too hard, but she understood why. She loved Redcake’s as much as he did. The tea shop and emporium part at least. She wasn’t so fond of the factories.

  Bartley Redcake nodded to his son and kissed his daughter’s cheek as he entered the carriage, bringing the scent of flour and vanilla with a backdrop of tobacco. He was a hands-on manager still and she didn’t doubt he’d checked a measurement and stirred a pot or two today.

  “Are you nervous, Father?” she asked.

  “Oh, the queen isn’t so different from you or me,” he said heartily, adjusting his topcoat over his substantial stomach.

  The buttons strained and Alys made a mental note to tell her mother so she could alter the garment.

  “Still, it’s something, isn’t it? Really something.”

  “We’re all so proud of you,” Alys assured him.

  Gawain said nothing, just took out a cigar and began the ritual of preparing it.

  “I’ll take one of those, son.”

  Without a word, Gawain passed him his cigar case.

  An hour later, she held hands with Matilda and Rose as they craned their necks for a view of the spectacle. Queen Victoria entered the richly decorated, polychrome ballroom in Buckingham Palace, attended by two Gurkha orderly officers and various support staff.

  The queen, a short, elderly woman dressed in black with touches of lace, wore a style of gown in fashion when Alys was a baby. She wore a lace veil to indicate her widowed status and her thick fingers were covered in rings. In one bow to contemporary fashion she wore a velvet band around her neck, black of course, from which dangled a diamond pendant that caught the light.

  The dais held five members of the Yeomen of the Guard, dressed in their Tudor finery of red and gold. The room was enormous and Alys could well believe it the largest room in London.

  “I like their hats,” Rose giggled, poking at the feathers
in her hair.

  “Too bad the Yeomen are all such old men.”

  “Isn’t that usher adorable?” Matilda said from the other side, lifting her chin toward a young man dressed in black, his curly, blond hair surrounding a face still encased in more baby fat than Alys could find attractive.

  “I think that’s the Earl of Lathom with the queen, he is Lord Chamberlain presently,” Mrs. Redcake said, turning from her position just in front of them. “What is he thinking with that beard? So unattractive.”

  She stopped speaking when “God Save the Queen” began to play.

  Afterward, the earl announced the first recipient and his achievements. Another man bent to whisper in the queen’s ear as an elderly man doddered forward. The queen took a sword from a servant. Alys felt it an incongruous sight to see a large sword in the hand of such a grandmotherly figure.

  She watched as an usher helped the man kneel on the investiture stool and receive his accolade from Queen Victoria’s sword.

  The elderly man stood as the queen stepped back, seeming taller than before. Alys could have sworn he held his shoulders straighter, and he certainly walked better. As an usher announced his name the elderly man smiled, appearing almost handsome.

  “How different the knighting has made him seem,” Matilda whispered in her ear, echoing Alys’s thoughts.

  Then, their father’s name was called. Alys scarcely breathed as her father strutted toward the stage. Her mother clasped her hands to her throat as Bartley Redcake knelt and became Sir Bartley Redcake.

  “Lady Redcake,” she heard her mother whisper under her breath.

  Yes, this altered her mother’s status greatly. What would happen to the rest of the family? Alys liked things as they were. Comforts, yes, and useful work too. But this knighthood changed everything.

  Whether she wanted it or not, her family’s new status would redraw her entire life.

  Chapter Two

  Michael watched from one side of the ballroom as his man of business’s name was called. John Smythe received an actual smile from the reserved queen, who knew one of those closest to the throne would now be buried in a chapel in Scotland if not for his quick actions a few months previous.

  He hoped the knighthood wouldn’t change Smythe too much. The man was reliable, dependable, quicksilver smart. He’d been well trained for five years by the now-deceased solicitor who had handled the Hatbrook business affairs previously. But he knew he’d soon lose the man to a duke, or even to the royal family. Or to government. That wouldn’t surprise him at all. Sir John might be a member of parliament in a few years.

  Michael would have to find a new man of business and quickly, before his affairs again sank into disarray. Why hadn’t he encouraged Smythe to take on an apprentice?

  His hand trembled and, suddenly starving and nauseous, he wished refreshments were being served. But he’d looked, and no sign of the Scotch trifle or any other treat was to be found. Nor were any of the younger set of royals at the investiture, someone he might have leaned on for afternoon tea.

  When the ceremony was over, the group of honorees was ushered into the Inner Quadrangle and reunited with their guests.

  “Congratulations,” Michael said heartily, as Sir John joined him with a broad smile. He would kill for a scone right now.

  Sir John rubbed his hands together. “What an auspicious occasion, your lordship.”

  “Indeed,” Michael said, his vision seeming to narrow as his hunger increased. “I must take my leave now, but all congratulations due, my good man.”

  Sir John’s gaze shifted to a point beyond Michael’s shoulder. “Oh, but first, your lordship, if I might beg your indulgence. May I introduce you to my fiancée’s father, Mr. Thomas Cooper?”

  A heavyset man with long, graying mustaches lumbered toward them, followed by a lady of equal girth and a pale slip of a girl dressed in a white gown with a disturbing number of flounces. She had a fox’s shrewd eyes however, belying her silly clothing and demure appearance. Some men might think this girl pliant, but Michael could see she’d be in command of her home.

  “Of course,” Michael said, tightening his hands to fists to control the slight shaking.

  After introductions Sir John said, “The Marquess came specifically to support me, sir. I am overjoyed to have such a friend in him.”

  Michael had only come because he knew to decline would have cost him an excellent man of business almost instantaneously. Sir John, to be sure, had a hint of the toady about him, which would make him even more desirable to a royal.

  Cooper bowed. “Very pleased to make your acquaintance, your lordship. I’m in the cotton textile trade, you know.”

  Michael nodded. “I’ve never ventured into the cotton side of things. I do have cattle and sheep, of course, in Sussex.” Recent purchases, that had yet to make profit.

  “Excellent, your lordship. I believe I’ve drunk Hatbrook wine?”

  “Yes, I have a winery too. And Sir John helps me manage a tileworks, my fishing boats, and an inn or two in Eastbourne.” Even a pot of stew at his Seaport Inn sounded scrumptious at the moment.

  Mrs. Cooper clasped her hands together and sighed with ecstasy.

  “You must regard him highly,” Cooper remarked.

  “Indeed. You are lucky to have him joining your family,” Michael said honestly.

  Sir John grinned at Miss Cooper. The smile took years off his face. Her expression remained serene. The lady already knew she’d chosen well.

  “Smart as a whip,” Cooper said. “And not least because he offered for my daughter as soon as word of his investiture was made known.

  He’ll run my business one day, since I have no sons, you know.”

  As Cooper was not young and quite corpulent, Michael feared that day would come soon. “I’m sure he will do your legacy proud.”

  “Indeed, sir, indeed.”

  “Well, my man, you are certainly coming up in the world, taking a wife and all that. You’ll need to gather in a good apprentice too, the sooner the better, I’d say.”

  Sir John coughed.

  “My wife has a few cousins in London. Meant to look them up, you know. Maybe one of them will do,” Cooper said.

  “Yes, sir,” Sir John said.

  “On that note,” Michael said, “I shall take my leave. Please interview these young cousins as soon as is prudent, Sir John. A pleasure to meet you all.” Before anyone could speak again, he strode toward the doors. A footman stopped him to hand him a note. The queen probably wanted a word.

  Matilda’s squeal broke Alys’s reverie. She’d been watching men shake hands with her father, all the titans of industry and politics who’d been knighted or received other awards alongside him.

  Rose squealed too and Alys turned to both of them. “Whatever is going on?”

  “Do you think now that Father is a knight we might be courted by someone like that?”

  Thankfully, neither Matilda nor Rose pointed their fingers, but Matilda lifted her chin toward a tall, austere gentleman in a perfectly tailored black frock coat, moving toward the doors and a waiting usher who held out a note.

  As he walked, an elderly lady with tall plumes in her hair jostled him. When he turned to steady her, his beaver top hat slid off his head and hit the floor.

  Alys caught a glint of sun-streaked hair, an off-kilter lift of the upper lip, the broad half circle of manly chin. Hatbrook! Her heart skipped a beat.

  His handsome head turned and his glance seemed to catch hers.

  Did he recognize her from the tea shop, despite her finery? Had she said his name aloud?

  “That’s a marquess,” she hissed at her sisters without looking away. “You two must be mad.”

  “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen a marquess before,” Rose breathed.

  “How handsome he is.”

  His gaze moved on. He said something to the elderly lady and she grinned at him like a schoolgirl. Had she looked at him like that at Redcake’s, with thos
e same mooncalf eyes?

  “How do you know? Have you met him?” Matilda demanded.

  Hatbrook looked their way again, raising an eyebrow. Alys turned away this time, blushing furiously because he’d caught her staring.

  She put her hands to her cheeks. “I served him at Redcake’s last month. Another customer knocked me over but he caught me before I could fall.”

  “It’s a pity he met you under such lowering circumstances, Alys.

  There’s no hope of greeting him as an equal now, even if you have been introduced.”

  “Really,” Alys muttered, taking a quick peek in his direction again. “How would someone like me have ever even met a marquess unless I was serving him?”

  Hatbrook bowed to the lady as two middle-aged women came to rescue her, then picked up his hat. After he spoke to one of the women, a footman handed him the note that had fallen to the floor and opened a door. Hatbrook glanced in Alys’s direction again briefly, narrowing his eyes as if trying to recall her name, then opened the note. When he had perused the contents, he left without another glance at anyone.

  “We’re terribly rich now,” Rose said. “Any number of titled gentlemen might find us appealing. We’re pretty and wealthy.”

  “Gentlemen with empty pockets are not appealing,” Alys said. Although she could see how someone as handsome as Hatbrook would entice even if his fortune were squandered. He was quite the most attractive man she’d ever laid eyes on. “They are likely to love money more than you. How would you ever know their true motivation? Besides, you haven’t any money of your own. It’s all Father’s.”

  “I’ll know when someone loves me, and I’m not going to be a cakie for pocket money,” Rose said. “I’d ruin my hands and probably my complexion too. Father gives me all the money I need.”

  Alys smiled. “I make a real salary and I could rent a little cottage and hire one of you to be my companion if I wanted. I mostly supervise our wedding cakes and do the decorating. I haven’t been a fulltime cakie in over a year.”

  “It must be shocking to find yourself twenty-six. You had so many years without prospects that you are quite spinsterish, and I understand why you must work,” Matilda said. “But since Father’s fortunes have improved so nicely, we have opportunities you did not.”