“I’m sorry, Lewis, but as well as you know me, there are pieces you are missing. I’m neither willing nor fit to be a wife.” At that moment, the increasing pressure of his hands was too much, too demanding. She felt nothing for him beyond sisterly friendship and his grasp reminded her of darker times.
“I find that hard to believe, if the right man came along.”
She pulled her hand gently from his grasp. “I’m not fit,” she said.
“You are far more feminine than you think,” he argued. “You can find contentment in the running of a house, I know it.”
“You are missing pieces of me,” she repeated. “It isn’t possible, and even more importantly, I don’t want to marry you, Lewis. You are like a brother to me. I’m sorry. Perhaps my sisters do not see you that way, but I do.”
“Your sisters won’t be marrying the likes of Popham or me,”
Lewis said.
“Probably not,” she agreed. “I can only hope they find men as worthy as you, dear cousin.”
His mouth twisted as she named him thus. “So that is all?”
She nodded. “I’m sorry.”
“Very well. You know how to find me.”
“Of course. And in a week or two, you should come to dinner. I’m sure Mother will talk Father out of his temper.”
“You’ll be in the country by then, I think.”
Alys pressed her rapidly chilling lips together. “Yes, of course, I had forgotten.”
“I think you have blocked all the unpleasantness from your mind.
But I see you hate the thought of leaving London less than you hate the idea of marrying me, or Popham.”
“Rose will need someone sensible about her,” Alys ventured.
“Even so. You’d best get your work done before your father realizes you’ve been in the bakery,” Lewis said.
“Thank you. The ride here was exhilarating,” Alys said.
“I’ll send you a note when I’ve upgraded to carriage number four.”
“Good luck with the American. And the bird automaton commission.”
“Thank you.”
She smiled, a bit painfully, then he opened the door and fixed the step into place for her so she could step down.
A few hours later in her decorating room, the Fancy, in the basement bakery, Simon Hellman loaded the Hatbrook cake onto a cart for delivery later. Betsy had a list of pastries required and was checking them off in the bakery, since Alys didn’t want Ralph Popham to see her and report back to her father.
She supposed she should be irritated that she hadn’t received a day’s wages for a great deal of work, but she was happy to be done with it. Her father would likely recognize the cake as her style at the ball tonight, but wouldn’t be able to react in public and would have calmed down by the next morning. What was the worst he could do?
Exile her to the country? He was already going to do that as soon as the weather improved.
“Is that the cake?” The Marquess of Hatbrook strode in, dressed in a handsome suit with a waistcoat of red-striped silk.
The sight of him in the Fancy was so incongruous that Alys had to blink a few times. She tried to brush flour off the cakie uniform she’d worn to blend in, but realized the white mess was buttercream when she smeared it into the fabric.
“Your lordship?” Her heart beat out of rhythm.
“Yes.” Hatbrook drew out the word in a most superior fashion.
“Alys, I checked off every pastry as it was packed.” Betsy trotted into the room, waving a sheet of paper. “It’s all done!”
Hatbrook turned. The girl blushed nearly purple and dropped the packing list.
Alys snatched it from the floor. “Thank you ever so much, Betsy.
Please remember, I was never here.”
“Of course.” Betsy’s eyes were wide. “I—I—”
Alys made a shooing motion. The girl dropped a grateful curtsy and ran.
“Friend of yours?” Hatbrook inquired.
“Yes, actually. Though I don’t think I’ll be able to continue the friendship.” Alys stared at the list, but it might as well have been gibberish for all the sense she made of it.
“That my list?” Hellman asked, reentering.
“Yes. Betsy says it is all there.”
“Excellent,” Hellman said, taking it. “We’ll get it all there in perfect condition. I have no fear on that account, your lordship. We take pride in our work.”
Hatbrook nodded. Alys glanced between the two, wondering why Hellman would recognize the marquess since he never entered the tea shop. What was the marquess doing in the back rooms?
“Are you on a tour, your lordship?” she asked. “Did you lose your guide?”
Hellman coughed and exited the room, walking backward as if Hatbrook were an Oriental potentate.
“I did receive a tour, yes, thank you, but I was allowed to explore on my own after.”
“At ten in the morning?”
“It is nearer twelve, Miss Redcake.”
“Oh, dear. I hadn’t realized.” Alys untied her apron and tossed it into a bin. “I had better leave before I’m noticed.”
“You are quite noticeable to me.”
“I mean by Upstairs.” Heavens, but she was tired. And nervous.
He quirked a brow.
“Management.” No response. She tried again. “My father?”
“Ah. Defying his orders by being here?”
She tapped her foot. “I promised your mother the job would be done right.”
He smiled, causing his cheekbones to pop in a most sensual manner. “Is my mother a higher power than your father?”
“I believe my father would see it so, were I not involved. The customer comes first.”
“A noble sentiment.”
“You wouldn’t make the decision I did to get the job done?”
He considered. “You might have sent a note to other workers here.”
“I’m the only one who decorates the fancy cakes,” Alys said. “I was training Betsy, but she’s not ready yet.”
“You’re saying your departure leaves a hole in the smooth running of this bakery?”
“I believe so. I can’t say what other arrangements my father might have made.” She knew he had done nothing, but didn’t want to admit it.
A discreet cough came from just inside the door. Alys thought the man looked vaguely familiar, but certainly she couldn’t place him as a person who belonged in the bakery.
“Do you feel this changes anything?” said the man.
Hatbrook shook his head. “No, I was aware.”
Alys noticed he had gone a little pale.
The other man nodded. “Shall I wait for you?”
“No, Sir John. You can walk back to your office. I’ll be taking the carriage back to Hatbrook House.”
The other man nodded and left.
Alys didn’t understand, but whatever was going on, it seemed to involve her. “Your lordship?”
“You should speak to your father.”
“I’m sorry you are a witness to my most undaughterly conduct, sir, but I have explained to you the reason for my actions. I apologize if I have given you cause for concern for your mother’s party.” She felt sick that he might not take her at her word that all would be well.
He grasped a counter with his hand. “You wouldn’t happen to have a spare slice of cake around here, would you? I haven’t eaten in hours.”
“Of course.” She kept a small assortment of tasting cakes for undecided customers and brought him a slice of the best available.
Hatbrook ignored the fork she offered and stuffed a large piece into his mouth. She hoped he wouldn’t choke himself and risked leaving the room to find him a cup and water.
When she returned, she found the slice of cake had vanished, and Hatbrook had seated himself upon the stool she used when doing fine work.
“Here.” She thrust the mug of water into his hand.
His fingers tremble
d as he took it. “Thank you, Miss Redcake.”
He drained the glass.
“It’s very hot down here,” she ventured. “The men tend to work in shirtsleeves.”
He smiled wanly. “I can see why. How can you stand to wear black?”
“This dress is far less confining than what I wear at home.” She blushed at the intimate subject matter. “I do forget everything but my work because I love it so.”
“I am most impressed by your dedication.”
She sighed. “I wish my father had been.”
“If someone had the power to return you to your position, would you do so?”
“That would all depend on the cost.” She wondered if Popham would have let her work if she married him.
“I see from your expression that you have an unacceptable cost in mind.”
“My father brought Mr. Popham home for dinner last night. He’s the bakery manager and Betsy’s father. I love Betsy, but I don’t want to be courted by someone so much older than me.” She put her fingers to her lips. Why was she telling him this?
“Had he come courting?”
She nodded, not daring to speak.
“Why would your father bring him when you are out in society now? Surely he can find you a higher class of husband than one of his own employees.”
“Mr. Popham is a very nice man,” she said quickly. “He was very kind to his wife when she was ill. He has been in Father’s employ for fifteen years or more.”
“So your father thinks you need a husband who would be kind?”
The corner of Hatbrook’s mouth lifted in what might have been a sneer in a less aristocratic face.
“I believe he simply wants me to have a home of my own before it is too late. I am twenty-six. Popham is reliable.”
“I am twenty-eight and do not feel close to death yet,” he deadpanned.
“I am happy to hear it, sir. I find myself somewhat concerned by you.”
“May I confide in you?”
“Of course, sir.” She stepped closer to the table, thrilled that he wanted her confidence. This close, she could smell the scent of lime soap from his skin and fruitcake from his lips. She remembered her fantasies of kissing those sensual lips.
“I become rather ill when I haven’t eaten in a few hours. It is quite temporary. I eat, then the feeling goes away after a while. Something about being in the city makes the sensation worse.”
She was absurdly pleased by his confidence. “Has it always been like this?”
“Yes, I believe so. It is easy enough to hide simply by eating regularly, but I was busy with meetings this morning and didn’t take care of the matter.”
“Your color is better now. Is this condition common in your family?”
“I suspect my mother has a similar problem. Her temper flares before meals quite often.” He smiled wryly. “It may be that her temper flares are normal, however.”
“She is a spirited lady,” Alys ventured.
“I’d have put an adjective before the word ‘spirited,’ but I am ever a dutiful son.”
Alys bit back her smile. “I don’t think I have ever had a conversation quite like this one, my lord, outside my family.”
“It is nice, isn’t it?”
They smiled at each other. After a moment, Hatbrook placed his boots firmly on the ground and stood.
“Thank you for accepting my confidence, Miss Redcake.”
“It was my pleasure.”
He was still so close. Her gaze fixated on his plump lower lip, where a crumb clung. She lifted her hand— He licked away the crumb. “I will see you at the ball this evening?”
“Of course. My family would not miss it.” Instinctively, she licked her lips too, and tasted buttercream. She remembered the mess on her apron.
“Then I look forward to a waltz with you?”
She smiled at the incongruous nature of his request. “By all means. I promise to avoid your toes.”
He inclined his head. “What are you going to do about Popham?”
“As little as possible, my lord.”
He nodded and went to the door. She handed him another piece of cake she’d wrapped. He accepted it with a smile and took his leave.
It wasn’t until he left that she realized he’d never quite disclosed why he had been in the back part of Redcake’s.
Simon Hellman popped his head in. “Your father wants to see you, Alys.”
She gulped. Who had told him she was here? Oh, she should have left sooner!
Michael felt his brain clearing as the fruitcake and water had its effect on his body. He blamed the fogginess of his thoughts for his bizarre questioning of Alys Redcake. Who was he to give a tradesman’s daughter courting advice?
He stood in a dank corridor lined by racks. Gaslight flickered every few feet along the walls. So far his tour had shown Redcake’s to be fresh and modern. Employees were active and full of purpose, and he already knew the clientele was enthusiastic. He’d seen no reason to turn him from his purchase, nor had Sir John or Mumford in their research. At least no reason other than the more time he spent here, the more the luscious baking smells would drive him to eat sweets. A continued relationship with Redcake’s factories would supply product, both raw and finished, though he’d have his staff keep an eye on rival companies to keep the prices reasonable.
A pity Alys Redcake wasn’t a man. Dedication to one’s position was laudable and he knew she had excellent bakery skills, though perhaps she wasn’t the best cakie. Still, he had to accept any Redcake family member would have gone to the concerns that stayed in their father’s empire. She wouldn’t have been in his employ for long regardless of her sex.
Perhaps the fact that she’d come so close to being employed by him was why he was so concerned for her well-being. Yes, that was it, not her lithe form or puffy, kissable lips. And even though he liked her, she had far too much personality for a wife, possibly too much even for a mistress. She’d be one to complain if she were unhappy.
No patient forbearance there, and he knew any wife of his would have to deal with his mother, which could not be easy. Admittedly he would not be the easiest husband either, with his strange brain fog and devotion to physical labor in Sussex. He’d never even last a season in London. She’d have to pack and move regularly to stay at his side.
He reached the door that led to the stairwell to the sales floor. A squeak sounded behind him and he saw two stout men pushing a wheeled rack loaded with the distinctive Redcake’s boxes. They nodded at him, then turned to the right to take the rack onto the freight elevator, which was the latest hydraulic model.
Any man would be pleased to own a profitable business like this.
He could count himself lucky that the Redcake family wanted to rusticate.
Alys found her coat, hat, and gloves and brought them with her upstairs, knowing her father would be sending her right out the door.
Betsy would have to tidy the decorating room.
Ewan Hales appeared to be holding back a smirk as he ushered her into her father’s presence and took her things before shutting the door behind him. Her father examined papers on his desk with a magnifying glass as she seated herself. After a pregnant pause, he set down the glass and looked at her.
Instinctively, Alys wanted to shrink back in her chair, but she stayed straight.
“I thought I made it clear you were no longer welcome here.”
“I could not ignore the Marchioness of Hatbrook’s order, sir,” she said. “No one can do the work I can, and as she’s seen my cakes, she’d have known if someone else decorated it. Also, I was unsure the order would be handled at all if I wasn’t present. I left Redcake’s so precipitously that I was unable to give instructions.”
“You could have spoken to Ralph Popham last night.”
“Work at the dinner table? You’ve expressly forbidden that for years.”
“You cannot choose which of my rules to obey and which to not, Alys. I am your fathe
r. I will be obeyed.”
She tried again. “I did not want to embarrass the family. We are attending the Hatbrook ball tonight. How could we hold our heads high if the firm did not supply the goods?”
“That would not be your decision to make. It would be mine.” Her father’s eyes narrowed. “You should have told me.”
“I was angry.”
Their stares locked for a moment, then, surprisingly, her father smiled. “It would have been better if you were a man, Alys, but you are not, and you must learn your place in this world. I will not have you damaging your sisters’ chances.”
Apparently, her father had not been warned that associating with Lady Lillian would damage them with no help from her. “I want them to be happy.”
“Your behavior was appalling last night.”
“Marrying me to your bakery manager would not endear my sisters on the marriage market.”
“Ah, but he won’t be my bakery manager then. I thought you were set on London? Your sisters will be in Sussex.”
“You plan on separating me from them?” This was the last thing she had expected.
“No, I merely mean to place you with a husband.”
“I’m not going to marry someone of such an advanced age. Why, he has a daughter old enough to work here.”
“I thought Betsy was your friend.”
“Friend, yes, but not daughter.”
“Had you thought to marry better?”
His question struck her in a secret, prideful place. Her shoulders stiffened. “I had no thought to marry at all. I like having employment.”
Her father picked up a fountain pen, then dropped it on the table.
“You need to resign yourself to the elevation in your status.”
“You still work. Gawain works. Seven days a week you come here.”
“Not anymore, Alys. I’ve sold it, at least I think I have.”
“What?”
“We’re leaving, all of us. No more London. I hate it, Rose is ill.”
“Mother likes it here. She loves the theater and other entertainments.”
“She will be happy wherever I choose to be.”
“And Matilda? Gawain? Lewis?”
“Matilda can find love in the country. Gawain will be miserable everywhere. Lewis stays here. I cannot believe neither of you informed me of his proposal.”
The Marquess of Cake Page 10