The Marquess of Cake

by Heather Hiestand

  She’d see them only from afar, while he’d be at all the best events.

  “I expect there will be a lot of parties and things, even in Sussex?”

  “I expect so.”

  The differences between them made her change the subject.

  “What kind of hobbies do you take up in the country, sir, other than boxing with stable hands?”

  “I make wine.” He took her arm as they crossed a busy street.

  “Would you like some roasted chestnuts?”

  “Certainly.” They’d feel lovely in her hands, almost as lovely as the feel of his hand on her mantle.

  He made a purchase from a street vendor and gave her the paper cone.

  “Thank you. Do you think I could make wine?” She offered him a chestnut but he waved it away.

  “It takes a vineyard. Did your father buy land?”

  “Lots of it, I believe, but I think there are tenant farms.”

  “You might pursue charity. These farm families often have so many children. I can’t imagine how the women manage.”

  “Yes, I expect I’ll do that.” She remembered poverty, though nothing like farm poverty.

  “Do you like children?”

  What an odd question from a man. “I suppose I don’t spend much time with them. I do not have any nieces or nephews as of yet.”

  “Nor I.”

  “Theodore Bliven is calling on my sister this afternoon.” She peeled the shell off a warm chestnut, then removed the papery skin.

  “He said he was having dinner with your family last night.” His statement sounded like a question.

  She sighed. “We mixed as well as oil and water, just like the day we met at Redcake’s. He’s not serious enough for me.”

  “I am sorry. He does like his fun. We see each other quite a bit in town. But he has never been to Sussex.”

  “I’m not sorry. Maybe he and Matilda will suit. She seemed amenable.”

  “He does have prospects. And your other sister, does she have suitors?”

  “Not as of yet. She’s just a year older than Lady Elizabeth.”

  “We’ll have to ensure their acquaintance.”

  He really did seem to accept her family. Were they to be part of his set now? Her heart fluttered. Could she stand to be close to him?

  “Indeed. Rose will be in raptures over your sister’s Paris wardrobe.

  Oh, I need to return Lady Elizabeth’s gloves. I’m having them washed today.”

  “I’m sure she wouldn’t mind if you kept them, or even gave them to Miss Rose Redcake if they don’t suit you.”

  “They might fit her better,” Alys agreed.

  “And you, Miss Redcake? Do you have suitors?”

  Chapter Ten

  Suitors? Did she have suitors? Was Hatbrook a suitor? “I didn’t look to marry,” Alys said.

  He smiled. “That doesn’t mean you have no suitors. Though I suppose it may mean you have none who interest you.”

  She remembered his kiss. That moment had suited her very well.

  She couldn’t imagine such a kiss from Lewis, or Ralph Popham, or even handsome Theodore Bliven. But if Hatbrook was her suitor, she could imagine being swept up in a courtship. “That may be the case.”

  “I expect your father will find another. Theo said he seemed quite determined.”

  The chestnuts no longer looked appealing. “How humiliating.”

  “Not at all. No one who met you would think for a moment they needed to be forced to offer you their regard. You are a most attractive girl, Miss Redcake.”

  “I’m twenty-six, definitely a spinster.”

  “A lot of people have delayed marriage in these difficult financial times. Men need to build their fortunes. It takes time.”

  “Is that why you have not married?”

  “I would have needed a delay two years ago when my father died, if I’d had a prospective bride at the time. But I’ve been in no hurry, since I have a suitable heir.”

  “No pressure from your mother?”

  “I doubt she is in any rush to move into the Dower Cottage.”

  “Especially with your sister to bring out.”

  “Quite. Who could blame her? I do expect she’d clash with a saint, so I need to choose my bride most carefully.”

  It would be the height of ill manners to agree with him regarding his mother, so Alys kept her mouth closed. She’d rather return to the part of the conversation about her attractiveness. Flattery had never interested her until it came from those lips.

  “Would you like to come back to the house to see Mr. Bliven?”

  Alys asked.

  “I’d rather stay out here. Come.” He took her arm and drew her up the steps of a shuttered storefront. The sign in the window said the owner was visiting family and would return Tuesday.

  A little alcove to the left held just enough space for them both, partially protected from the world of the street.

  “This is very nice, don’t you think?” he asked.

  Alys felt very warm, despite the chill air. She tucked the rest of her chestnuts into her muff, withholding one. After peeling it, she lifted it to his mouth. “Chestnut?”

  He parted his lips. She could smell the Drambuie on his breath as she fed it to him.

  “Better for you than pastry, I expect, sir. I understand some eat chestnuts instead of potatoes.”

  His lips closed around the nut and he chewed it slowly. “Delicious. You do enjoy feeding people.”

  The color had come back to his cheeks, the high color of winter cold and his nose had reddened a bit, but she could see his eyes clearly for the first time. A true sea blue with a dark ring around the edge of the iris, just a hint of gray in the color.

  “You have handsome eyes,” she said without thinking.

  He swallowed hard, spluttered a bit. “I think I’m the one to say that.”

  She laughed, and to cover her nerves peeled another chestnut and fed it to him, then prepared one for herself. In companionable fashion they finished the cone.

  “You seemed to eat them with as much enthusiasm as you do pastry.”

  “Being fed by hand does add a certain spice that makes up for the lack of butter and cream,” he said, twinkling. “Alys, what is it that we are doing here?”

  She hesitated for a moment. What could she say? He felt like a friend, though she had little experience with friendship. She found him very attractive. Perhaps this was the kind of relationship that led to one’s becoming a mistress, but she had no experience with such things, nor understanding of men of his rank. Or did her father’s money command a different approach from him? “I—I’m not sure, my lord. Have we been terribly improper?”

  “What do you think?”

  “We’ve been alone together, but not behind closed doors. We’ve walked together but not touching as would be inappropriate.”

  “Yes?”

  She touched her lips. “You kissed me.”

  “What did you think about that?”

  His sea gaze seemed to swallow her up. “It was lovely. Quite the loveliest thing I could imagine.”

  “Alys,” he said, his voice gone hoarse. “I had not expected you.”

  He reached for her and she found her hands pressed against his coat. Her muff hit the pavement. When his lips came down to meet hers, she touched him with a gasp of surprise and a melting feeling of submission. If this was how one became a mistress, then she was doomed to fall. How could she resist him?

  His lips were cold but inside he emanated a warm, spicy heat. She flung her arms around his neck and pressed herself closer, drowning in his masculine warmth. Oh, but she could feel so little with all this winter fabric between them! He turned her so she rested against the wall, let his lips slip to her cheek, then to her neck. Her muffler loosened as his warmed lips danced there. She felt his tongue slide along the underside of her jaw.

  “Hatbrook,” she whispered.

  “Call me Michael.” He found her lips ag
ain, dipped in, plundered.

  Pounding feet rang on the street outside the doorstep. A policeman’s whistle sounded and a woman screamed. Alys heard all this distantly, but then Michael lifted his lips from her mouth. She made a sound of protest but he stepped back.

  “I believe we’ve lost our privacy.” He snuggled her muffler against her neck. “I’m afraid I do have somewhere to be soon besides.”

  Alys glanced at the sky through the doorway and saw dark approaching. “I need to get home too.”

  “May I call on you tomorrow?”

  Alys’s stomach, and heart too, took wing. He wanted to call on her? That indicated a respectable interest, not a tawdry one. Or so she thought. She’d missed the kind of education young ladies had in finishing school. The gossip she’d heard in the workplace was an earthier brew. She hoped she didn’t make any egregious misstep.

  What if he proposed? Her parents could find no fault in her, or her sisters. She would have months of peace.

  “We will be at home at the usual hour,” she said primly, touching her hat.

  “You look fine, Miss Redcake. Quite a picture.”

  “Thank you, my lord.” She grinned at him.

  “Let me escort you to the square.”

  She rewrapped her muff. “If it is not out of your way.”

  “It is not.”

  He offered her his arm as she stepped into the damp street, then she let go as propriety demanded. Ironic, since her lips, her neck, her very skin still tingled from his touch. She’d never felt so warm, so liquid, so alive. The sensation made her giddy, made her want to skip like a child.

  A marquess wanted to call on her, she, Alys Redcake. Far more importantly, Michael did. Her father would not plan more uncomfortable dinners for her if a marquess called.

  “Starting to rain,” Michael said, looking up.

  “I suppose we should walk faster,” Alys said, wishing she could take tiny, slow steps to prolong the excursion. But, she soon thought differently as the rain turned to hail.

  They ran down the slippery pavement, Michael’s hand at her elbow.

  “Maybe we should stop until it passes.”

  “You’ll be late,” she gasped. “It’s not much farther.” She did not want to irritate him.

  They ran again, the hail turned to snow, then rain again, all in the space of fifteen minutes. Soon, they were at the edge of the square.

  “I feel quite exercised,” Michael said, reminding Alys that she thought he’d gained weight.

  “I am glad we both have good lungs,” Alys huffed. “Thank you.”

  Michael bowed his head slightly to her, then crossed the street.

  She stood despite the weather, watching his top hat until she couldn’t tell the difference between him and half a dozen more male passersby, warmed by his kiss and his promise. Then, she pushed dripping wet hair out of her eyes and went to her front door.

  “Miss!” Pounds said, alarm in his voice when he regarded her.

  “You’ll catch your death.”

  “On the contrary, I’ve never felt more alive,” she said, still a bit out of breath. “But I must get out of these wet things.”

  “Your father has come home and needs to see you in the study.”

  “Oh, miss!” Lucy said, walking across the hall. “I’ll have a bath sent for immediately.”

  Lucy helped her off with her outer layer, then Alys tucked her hair behind her ears and squelched to her father’s study. He could find no fault with her now. She had a marquess to call on her.

  Feeling lighter than air, she drifted into a chair in front of his desk. “You wanted me, Father?”

  She glanced at what he was studying and noted it was a railway timetable. “Do you have to visit the mills?”

  “Not just now. Alys, have you any thoughts about your sister’s condition?”

  “About Rose?”

  “Yes.” He set down his magnifying glass. He refused to wear pince-nez, though he needed them.

  Alys considered. “She’s worse in the winter.”

  “Do you think she’s been more ill since we came to London?”

  “I believe so, though I cannot say why. There might be any number of factors.”

  “You would agree though, that it would be best for her to visit some other clime to ascertain if it would help.”

  “If a doctor gave that opinion.”

  “Rose suffered an acute attack while chaperoning Matilda and Mr. Bliven this afternoon.”

  “Oh dear. Has the doctor been sent for? Has she recovered?”

  “Your mother feels her remedies have been more successful than those of any doctor we have tried, and she is feeling better, but I wish for her to go to the new house tomorrow. Even as we speak, your maid is packing.”

  “I see.” All of Alys’s lightness left her and she felt anchored to the chair by her wet skirts.

  “Matilda cannot leave, with Mr. Bliven on the leash.”

  She wondered if she should tell her father about Hatbrook, but Rose needed a sensible travelling companion. For once though, she wished she could be selfish. She wanted another kiss. “Is Mother going to Sussex?”

  “No, she’ll be needed to chaperone. If Rose continues to be ill, we’ll have to have Grandmother Noble stay here and send your mother south, but I’d rather not go to that extreme.”

  Of course not. Her father did not get along with her.

  “Your mother has stated that you are competent to give Rose her remedies. Lucy knows what to do and your mother will speak to both of you this evening. Gawain will take the three of you to Victoria Station tomorrow morning.”

  She bowed her head. She’d leave a note for Hatbrook with Pounds. He would understand. After all, she didn’t plan to marry him or anyone else, she merely wanted the status his visit might bring.

  She ignored the tight sensation in her chest. That was not a reason to discomfort an ill sister. “Very well, I shall be prepared.”

  He nodded. “You are a good sister. I’m sure she will be better with a little sun and country air.”

  “Yes, Father.”

  “You’ll have her in tiptop shape by April and can both come back for the Season.”

  Was he trying to comfort her? What interest had she in the Season? Although, she had to admit to having a good time at Hatbrook’s ball. Maybe there was something to parties after all.

  “Does it seem that Mr. Bliven will propose?”

  “I know he is looking for a girl with money,” he said bluntly. “His father told me as much. And while of good family, he may never see a title. His cousin has just become engaged despite being over fortyfive and if he has an heir, well, Mr. Bliven’s prospects are dashed.”

  “I see.” So the Redcake girls were not suited to men likely to receive titles, much less those who held them.

  Her father rubbed his chin. “He wasn’t very nice to you. Do you object to him?”

  “He may object to me,” she said. “But I think he meant to be droll.”

  “Better to have you out of the house at any rate,” her father said.

  “Matilda will shine best on her own, without your tongue to amuse or Rose’s beauty to distract. We shall resolve the situation. You may go.”

  Alys pushed herself out of the chair, leaving a dark line of wet on the rug as she left the study. Her father treated Mr. Bliven like any other business problem. An interesting approach to matrimony. She was very glad to see the tin tub being filled when she entered her dressing room.

  Her privacy was protected by a screen as she warmed herself in front of the fire but she could hear Lucy rushing around behind it, and even Edith once or twice. She fell into a daze in the tub, reliving both kisses with Michael over and over again. If there had been more privacy, she’d have touched her lips like he had, her neck, but when she heard her mother, she knew she needed to rouse herself.

  She found a towel, then her wrapper, and sat next to the fire to unpin her hair. The train ride would make her so
filthy there wasn’t any point to washing it now.

  “Warmer now?” her mother asked, peering around the screen.

  “This room is freezing.”

  “Sorry, we can move the screen. How is Rose?”

  “She is sleeping, but I’m afraid her attack upset Mr. Bliven. Poor Matilda was torn between caring for her sister and making it clear she doesn’t share the affliction.”

  “I’m sorry I wasn’t here.” She helped her mother fold the screen and drag it to the corner.

  Lucy had dresses spread across the chaise longue and stared at them with her hands akimbo, clucking her tongue.

  “No darling, you weren’t asked to be. I know it’s a blow that he called for Matilda and not you.”

  Alys picked up her brush, wondering what had given her mother that idea. “Not at all. He makes me uncomfortable.”

  “Too uncomfortable to become your brother someday?”

  “No, that sort of teasing relationship seems perfect in a brother.”

  “You must miss that camaraderie with Gawain.”

  “And with Lewis.”

  “Things have changed a great deal recently, have they not?”

  Lucy brought Alys her corset and petticoats. “I think they have been changing for more than a year and it was only now that I’ve noticed. Gawain came home, Father bought Redcake Manor and started making decisions he didn’t announce for a time. Rose turned eighteen in the late summer.”

  “That is true. I have no more in the schoolroom.”

  She wrapped her arms around her mother. “Has it been hard for you?”

  “All change is hard, but these are mostly good changes. I wish Gawain hadn’t been hurt, but at least he’s home with us.”

  “I have your dinner dress, miss,” Lucy said.

  “I’ll have a tray up here instead,” Alys told her. “So I can help you and keep an eye on Rose. Mother, you go down.”

  Her mother hesitated.

  “A number of small repairs need to be made to the gowns,” Lucy said. “More than I can do myself.”

  “Alys doesn’t like to sew.”

  “I need the practice, Mother,” Alys said. “After all, you aren’t coming with us to Sussex.”