The Marquess of Cake

by Heather Hiestand

  Perhaps she could busy herself with a child, if there was one. As she walked, she spun a pleasant fantasy of making a cake with her little girl, a red-haired moppet with Michael’s serious eyes, but would you be allowed to bake with a marquess’s daughter? Probably not.

  The kitchen belonged to the cook more than it did the mistress.

  By the time her parents and Matilda entered the door of Hatbrook Farm early Monday afternoon, she’d resolved to refuse Michael. She didn’t know what her next step might be, but the life she envisioned as his wife frightened her.

  Michael joined her family for tea in the shrouded morning room.

  She noticed his hands shook a bit as he passed a plate of scones, and he was again very pale, but after he ate he seemed to regain strength.

  Had he been sleeping well?

  “I understand Miss Rose Redcake cut quite a swath through the Dickondell brothers at dinner the other night,” Michael murmured in a near monotone, stirring himself when her mother asked him about local doings, once they’d exhausted the news of his brother’s death.

  “And what about Alys?” her father said.

  “I believe the brothers are more of an age with Miss Rose,”

  Michael said.

  Her mother furrowed her brow. “I had thought the eldest son was twenty-six.”

  Michael didn’t respond, other than to tighten his lips. Was her family irritating him?

  Her father sighed. “Well, Alys isn’t the pretty one either, I suppose. Perhaps we’ve expected too much of her at her age. She’s left with little more to choose from than my own widower employees.”

  Alys set down her teacup, which had rattled in its saucer nearly as much as Michael’s had when he first sat down. How could her father say such things? Her mother’s head was bent as if trying to avoid her father’s words.

  “No,” her father continued. “It’s all very well. She can care for her mother and me in our old age. Very proper to have a daughter unmarried. Why, the queen herself held back a daughter as long as she could, and them all princesses.”

  Alys glanced at Michael and found him staring quite fixedly at his plate of apple tart. Her embarrassment at this improper conversation was acute. No doubt he’d change his mind about his proposal of marriage now, when he realized what her family thought of her.

  “You know them, don’t you? All those princesses?” said her father.

  “Yes,” Michael said.

  Her father squinted as if he’d just realized how little Michael cared for the path the conversation had taken.

  “It’s so kind of you to shelter our daughters in their time of need,”

  her mother said. “I never could have expected such kindness, my lord, but I’m very grateful for it.”

  “I’m sure you were not aware of the situation at the Manor,” said Michael, his cool pitch rising above his previous monotone.

  “No, I had not realized they had only a skeleton staff,” her mother agreed. “In the last week they have found some suitable people but the kitchen is so outdated.”

  “You are lucky to have a daughter who knows so much about their design.”

  “And a husband too, my lord. No, the situation is insupportable and again, I must express my gratitude.”

  “Will you be staying at the Manor for long?” he inquired distantly, as if the subject pained him.

  “No, we merely came down to collect Rose and Alys. Matilda has engagements to attend to in London, and we can’t impose upon you any longer.”

  “But Rose’s health,” Michael said.

  “She’s better off in London than at the Manor right now,” her father interjected. “A bit of work on the kitchens, get a good cook installed. We should be back down in spring.”

  Alys felt Michael’s gaze on her. She lifted her eyes to his and offered a tiny smile, all she felt able to manage for the moment. Her breath had quickened at the mere mention of a return to London. Not long ago this had been her fondest wish, but now she didn’t know if she wanted to escape.

  “Perhaps you’d like a tour of the kitchen here?” he suggested. “I can give you the name of the architect who did some modernizing here last year.”

  “An excellent idea,” her father said.

  “Very good. I’ll ring for the housekeeper. She knows much more about the subject than I do.”

  Her mother looked a bit disappointed to be foisted off on the housekeeper. “Alys, I’m sure you’ll find the kitchens fascinating.”

  Michael cleared his throat. “If you don’t mind, I’d like a word with Miss Redcake before she joins you.”

  “I should supervise our packing?” Rose said tentatively.

  “I’ll help,” Matilda agreed, almost leaping to her feet.

  Alys could feel the jealous waves oozing off her middle sister, who hadn’t spent the week at a marquess’s home.

  Her father’s gaze narrowed, but he allowed the housekeeper to lead everyone but Alys out the door. She watched Michael shut and lock it behind them.

  “Why are you locking it?”

  “I don’t want anyone popping back in to ask a question.”

  “It’s very improper.”

  “Proper doesn’t seem to be part of the vocabulary of our relationship, Alys,” Michael said. “Though I kept a civil tongue with your family.”

  “We are not genteel,” Alys ventured. “I am sorry they are so intent on mundane items when you are mourning.”

  “That doesn’t make me want you any less,” he said roughly. “Have you an answer for me?”

  She had woken that morning with one answer, but now she saw the future her father had planned stretching out even more bleakly.

  He must be desperate to put her firmly on the shelf due to Matilda’s prospects with Theodore Bliven. If she was still considered marriageable, Matilda would have to wait for her to announce an engagement first, since she was the eldest daughter. His plan meant she’d be expected to fade into the background for the remainder of her lifetime.

  A lifetime of nights like the one at the Dickondells’.

  “Have you had any communication from Mr. Bliven?” she ventured.

  “About your sister?”

  “Yes.”

  “Not since I left town. No one will be offering me anything but condolences for a long while.”

  She circled back to the matter at hand. “Isn’t it disrespectful to your brother’s memory to marry in haste?”

  “He was practical enough to see the need for it,” Michael said.

  “Come now, you know I’m your best option. You’ll have a great deal more freedom as my wife than an unmarried Redcake daughter. And you ought to be married.”

  She swallowed hard as his meaning became clear to her. If she took another lover in the future he might not offer as generously for her as Michael had. Not that she intended to take a lover in future, but boredom and loneliness could make a woman do strange things.

  “I don’t want you to regret marrying me,” she said.

  “No one will second-guess me,” Michael said. “Men with titles have been marrying wealthy merchants’ daughters for some time now. These large homes are expensive to manage.”

  She blinked back tears at his calm assurance. At least she knew he wanted something of her, her body, not just money. “You don’t need my dowry.”

  “I would have two years ago,” he said. “A few bad harvests and I might be right back to where my father left things. Most men will think me smart to marry you.”

  “Despite my advanced age?”

  “Your father doesn’t see you like I do, Alys,” he countered.

  “Come now, you know that I find you attractive. And you are younger than me besides.”

  She swallowed hard. Her father’s plans for her were impossible. A kind of tunnel vision centered her gaze on Michael’s face. At least he offered her passion. “Then I accept your kind offer, my lord.”

  He let out a breath and rubbed his hands together. “Excellent.
Do you want an engagement ring?”

  “The wedding will be so soon. You can dispense with that sort of thing.”

  “Then you don’t mind if I take your leave and hunt down the vicar?”

  “No, of course not. I can join the kitchen tour.” Not even a kiss?

  “If you see any improvements that can be made, please let me know.” Sudden humor crinkled the corners of his eyes. “We had best serve the most famous desserts in the county with you as marchioness.”

  A feeling of hope bubbled to life. “You’ll allow me to train a pastry chef ?”

  “You may even perform that office yourself, if you like, until your attentions are taken with other duties.”

  She blushed. Oh, this would be an improvement over her father’s house. “Yes, of course. Thank you, my lord.”

  “Michael, or Hatbrook, remember?”

  “Yes, Michael.”

  He took a step toward her and tucked a finger under her chin.

  “May I have a kiss to celebrate the occasion?”

  “Of course,” she whispered. Thank heavens some romance remained to her.

  He bent his head and matched his lips to hers. His mouth, faintly gritty with crumbs, tasted delightfully of lemon and tea. But it was only a moment before he left her, lips pursed and eyes half closed.

  “I have much to do if we’re going to be married next week,” he said, not noticing.

  She touched her lips. “Should I tell my family?”

  “No, I’ll pull your father aside first, so he doesn’t think I’m being underhanded.”

  “I’m sure he’ll be delighted.” Her tone was sour.

  “Once he gets over the shock,” Michael snorted.

  Alys clasped one of her hands over the other, tightening her fingers together.

  He must have seen a change in her expression. “Don’t worry about what they think, Alys. Honestly, they’ll be happy for you. Ecstatic.”

  “I expect so.” Jealous too, but pleased by the new opportunities her alliance would bring them.

  “And perhaps we’ll have Theo as a brother soon,” he suggested.

  “That wouldn’t be bad at all.”

  She wished she liked his friend better, but it was Matilda’s opinion of Theodore Bliven that mattered. As he unlocked the door and stepped out, she sank onto a fainting couch and tried to breathe. What had she done?

  Only Sir Bartley Redcake returned to London that day. A week later on Monday morning, Alys married Michael in the breakfast parlor of the Farm, with her family, Lady Hatbrook and Beth, and Theodore Bliven in attendance. Her mother had insisted the room be decorated appropriately, despite the family’s recent loss. All black was removed from the room. Pots of ferns decorated with white bows were brought in from the conservatory since the time of year precluded flowers.

  Lady Hatbrook’s lips were thinned in disapproval during the entire ceremony, but Beth seemed transported, her face shining above her black bombazine.

  Alys wore a dress of navy silk, constructed quickly by her mothe and sisters. She had made her wedding cake herself, which, though small, had kept her occupied and away from her bemused relatives.

  After they signed the parish registry, she and Michael were seated for their wedding breakfast. Conversation was stilted among the few guests, with Lady Hatbrook speaking exclusively to the vicar. Only Beth seemed to enjoy herself, in animated conversation with the female Redcakes. Alys was pleased to see the color back in Rose’s cheeks. An additional week in the country had served her well and she hoped the family’s return to London wouldn’t cause her sister to become ill again.

  While she was speaking to Gawain about the condition of Redcake Manor, Michael approached her.

  “Are you ready to depart?”

  Alys looked up at her new husband. “Depart?”

  “We are taking a honeymoon trip.”

  “We are?” She hadn’t expected it.

  He nodded. “It will be a less oppressive atmosphere away from the Farm.”

  Alys noticed his gaze had drifted to his mother. She had hoped that lady would return posthaste to London but didn’t know exactly what her plans were. “Do I need to prepare?”

  “No, your sisters and mother have it all arranged.”

  “Very well.” Her heart fluttered at the idea of being alone with him. It had been so long. She’d been surrounded by family for the past week and, in truth, had scarcely seen Michael since he received the news about his brother.

  What kind of honeymoon trip could they have under these difficult circumstances? The only thing she knew for sure was he wanted an heir immediately.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Michael brought Alys to a small cottage near Beachy Head, on the property of an old family friend. The views were famously spectacular and he wanted his new wife to be familiar with the highlights of this part of the world.

  But here, with the only light coming from candles and firelight, the windows nearly dark with midwinter twilight, the only view concerning him was the new Marchioness of Hatbrook, holding her hands in front of the fireplace to warm them. Alys, to be precise, whose blatantly red hair caught the firelight and took on a flame of its own. Her tea-colored eyes pulled in the shards of light and seemed to burn gold, more chamomile than Assam.

  Had he really married her to get an heir as soon as possible? Yes, in his grief it seemed the wise thing to do, but looking at her now, it was hard to remember a better reason than simple animal lust. She didn’t offer the purity of skin of some untouched society miss. No, her cheeks seemed permanently reddened from years of standing in front of ovens. Her hands were covered in tiny scars and he remem-

  bered feeling calluses against his chest the night they’d been together.

  But, the beauty of her curvaceous form and the knowledge of how she’d come to have the marks of hard work on her body enticed him.

  Despite his city polish and education, the last years had turned him into a farmer, after all. He appreciated hard work.

  Alys, who had labored all last week making and decorating her own elaborate wedding cake, complete with entwined marzipan swans on top, even though her father suggested he have one brought down from Redcake’s. Most brides-to-be would have spent the week primping. Alys? She’d made pastries and other desserts too. He’d had to try a bite of the chocolate groom’s cake and was amazed by the depth of flavor.

  He cleared his throat. “Would you like some dinner? It will have to be cold tonight, but the hamper is still full. Someone from the main house will bring us meals tomorrow.”

  She stared at the fire. “No, I’m not hungry.”

  “I’m going to change out of these dusty travel clothes. Would you like to retire first?”

  When the footman let them into the cottage, he’d pointed out cans of hot water that had just been brought in and lit the fire in the parlor for them.

  Alys didn’t look up. Michael realized she was staring at the wedding ring gracing her hand.

  “I can scarcely believe we are wed either,” he said, guessing her thoughts.

  “Two weeks ago, when that night happened, I’d never have expected this to be the result,” she said in a low voice.

  “Me either. But everything has changed.”

  Alys’s mother had made sure to supply a mourning wardrobe for Alys, which she’d have to wear for the next six months in honor of Judah. Before they departed Alys had changed from her wedding gown into a black travelling outfit finished with a flowerpot hat of velvet topped with a tall crepe bow. Michael thought the hat looked spectacularly uncomfortable and was not surprised when Alys rubbed her temples now as if they ached.

  “For the past two months it has been one change after another.

  I’ve always considered myself practical and steady. I knew my place in the world.”

  His fingers itched to pull out the pins holding the silly hat to her head. “It takes time for any new bride to become accustomed to her new life.”

  “I never ex
pected to be a bride. I’d given that dream up so long ago.”

  “You’ll be fine, Alys. Come, let’s remove your outer clothing. It’s damp.”

  She ignored the suggestion. “Will I? I don’t fit into your world.

  Your mother detests me.”

  “We’ll see her as little as possible. And Beth adores you. Rose can live at the Farm. She’ll be healthier there. We’ll find her a husband locally.”

  “You are an organizer.”

  “I’ve had to be. Everything was a mess when I inherited. I know you are experiencing immense change, but after all, you’ve been at the Farm for a couple of weeks now, so at least your new home isn’t new to you.” He decided she must disrobe so the fire might have more benefit on her damp skirts, which had swept through a puddle on the way to the cottage door. Stepping close enough to smell her orange-flower-water scent, he pulled at the damp ribbon holding the front of the cloak closed. He couldn’t risk her becoming ill, not when she might be carrying his heir.

  She allowed him to take the heavy cloak from her shoulders and slid the sleeves down her arms to display the front of her slim-fitting crepe dress. His gaze was caught by her rounded breasts, lifting with each breath. A bolt of lust sizzled through his lower extremities, hardening him in an instant.

  “I wonder if Gawain will find the same financial mess to be true of our family someday. I don’t understand my father’s goals anymore.

  Why can’t he be happy with all his achievements? He wanted us to become something we weren’t.”

  He knew what she’d stopped short of saying. Alys had soared beyond her father’s wildest dreams when she’d married into the aristocracy. Although with Theo courting Matilda there might be a second title in the family someday. “He should be very proud of you now.”

  “Why? Because his daughter whored herself and by a tragic turn of events that led to an advantageous marriage?”

  He winced, not at least because he desperately wanted to repeat the act sooner rather than later. Slowly, he unbuttoned his greatcoat and hung it on a hook by the front door, then took a seat on a long settee. Since her back was turned, he was able to subtly rearrange himself before the pain became too intense. “Please don’t think of our night together like that.”