A moment of quiet settled over the room, punctuated by Lady Hatbrook’s plummy tones. “The nerve of that girl, travelling with a man. She is no better than she should be.”
Mrs. Redcake appeared at Alys’s elbow. Alys felt her face flush red. Her mother must have been trying to warn her that the nasty woman was saying things about Matilda. Now the entire room had heard her poison.
Matilda’s face had gone as red as Alys’s, the freckles on her nose showing through her powder as her nostrils pinched.
Michael strode quickly toward his mother, seating himself next to her and bending to her ear. She, innocent as a lamb, looked around as if she couldn’t understand why anyone would be staring at her in mute shock.
Alys forced herself to glide toward the bell pull, rather than to run. A footman appeared at the door and she hissed at him to have them called for dinner. Then, she went toward her sister.
“Lucy came with us,” Matilda said fretfully. “She was in the thirdclass car, of course, but we were never alone, I promise you. There was an entire family in the car with us, the Carneys, I believe. Do you know them?”
She directed this remark to Alys.
“No, but if they are a Polegate family I’m sure I will become aware of them eventually.” Alys searched for Mr. Bliven, but he was engaged in a boisterous discussion with Clement Dickondell, the oldest son, who was laughing as Mr. Bliven waved his hands.
Men, she thought disgustedly. Did nothing improper touch them?
Then she remembered Mr. Cross, falling under Lord Mews’s fist, and shuddered. She wondered who would play white knight to Matilda.
Her father? Gawain? They both seemed far too fond of Theodore Bliven.
“Will there be a happy announcement soon?” she inquired to her sister.
Matilda’s only response was a closed-lip, secretive smile, but their mother put a hand to her breast and sighed happily. Alys narrowed her eyes and stared at Mr. Bliven again. He was Michael’s friend, and she knew too well what he was capable of in the department of impropriety. She could only hope Matilda was far more sensible than she had been.
The butler appeared in the doorway and announced dinner. Alys wasn’t sure what the correct order was, but Michael and Mrs. Dickondell had everyone arranged in moments and they went into the formal dining room.
Conversation was subdued at first but free-flowing wine and Mr.
Bliven’s jokes loosened the crowd a bit. Michael, not surprisingly, was lost in thought most of the time, eating sparingly and not touching sweets at all, not even a course of lemon sorbet.
Alys saw Lady Hatbrook staring at Michael often and wondered what he had said to her to prevent further outbursts. She didn’t speak, but ate rather heavily, even taking Michael’s cake for her own.
Rose was the belle of the dinner, and Alys had ensured the floral centerpiece had been replaced by a topiary of studded oranges from the greenhouse, so she had no breathing difficulty. Ernest Dickondell, the middle brother, spent far more time speaking to her than to Aunt Dickondell on his other side.
“Another romance on our hands?” her mother whispered to her when they had moved to the music room, after the men had their coffee and cigars. Rose had agreed to play the piano, with young Ernest turning pages.
“I don’t know if Rose would be pleased with a second son,” Alys had to admit. “At least not at eighteen.”
“I suppose you are right,” her mother said. “Do you suppose Mr.
Clement Dickondell is courting his cousin?”
“Maud Wilson is just seventeen and seems younger than her age.
I wouldn’t think it likely, not now at least.”
Her mother waited until Rose had completed her sonata before speaking again. “And then there is Lady Elizabeth, but she is looking for a husband in London.”
“I believe so, but that is not to say this is the one family with sons in the area, simply the only family who I’ve met in the short time I’ve been here.”
“They are very pleasant,” her mother said.
“Yes, I like them even better upon this second meeting. I was quite distracted by Rose’s health the first time.” She heard a snore behind her.
“She does look well. I am so pleased you can give her a home for now. Staying here in Sussex may be the perfect solution for her.”
Alys glanced back discreetly and saw Michael’s mother had fallen asleep during a Mozart piece. “What will you do with yourself, once we are all married off?”
“There is still Gawain, and Lewis, poor man. And I’ll be able to throw myself into the dress reform cause. I’m very passionate about that.”
“Understandably,” Alys said, then applauded as Rose finished her last piece. Lady Hatbrook woke up with a loud snort. Maud agreed to sing next, then Adela and Samuel Dickondell, the youngest of the family, did a duet on flute and violin.
“What a talented musical family,” her mother said to Mrs.
Dickondell, who flushed with pleasure.
“We are much in each other’s society,” the lady said. “I’m so pleased your daughters are here at the Farm now. We had no idea a romance was brewing.”
Or that the new Lady Hatbrook had not been on the shelf, when they had treated her so. But despite her pique at that first night’s treatment, she enjoyed the family. “I hope we shall have many such evenings,” Alys said.
“I agree. It is such a comfort to have family visit during times of grief, even if one cannot formally entertain or be entertained. But I must say, there are such rumors of telegrams flying in and out of the Farm today.”
“My husband is hoping for better news than he has hitherto received,” Alys said.
“I am glad,” she said, clasping her hands to her heart. “Such a comfort for his mother, of course.”
“We hope to know more soon.”
“Yes, yes. We will not breathe a word, but will pray for the best.”
The Dickondells soon called for their carriage, pleading country hours. Lady Hatbrook had already retired, muttering about the lack of sweets.
Alys found her way into Michael’s arms in the wee hours, flush with the success of her first dinner. Perhaps she wouldn’t be such a bad hostess after all. They made love until gray light seeped around the windows. Then he muttered something about a horse and left her to sleep.
Hortense had the curtains drawn the next morning by the time Alys pried open her eyes. “Good morning, my lady. The kitchen is buzzing with news of the party last night.”
She yawned, covering her mouth with her hand. “A good buzz?”
“Yes, ma’am. Everyone wonders if your sisters will have happy news soon.”
“I have no idea,” Alys admitted, reaching for her dressing gown, which Michael had draped over the bed when he left.
“And then there is much to question about Captain Shield.”
“I would dearly love to know the truth there,” Alys said, feeling as if she’d bit into a lemon. Her entire new life was built on a sad fiction if he was alive.
“A telegram boy came this morning,” Hortense said, pouring a cup of tea and adding cream and sugar.
Her heartbeat pounded audibly in her chest. “Did the marquess give any clue as to the contents?”
Hortense shrugged. “He isn’t here. I believe the telegram is waiting for him in his study.”
Alys ignored her tea. “Help me dress at once, please.” How she wished she could put on one of her simple gowns.
A half hour later, she slipped into Michael’s study, tiptoeing gingerly to the window because it was too dark to see.
“Ow!” She barked her shin on the edge of the desk, despite her layers of skirts.
Finally, she found the edge of a navy velvet curtain and pulled it aside until sunlight streamed in. She’d slept until midmorning, an unheard of state of affairs only a few months ago. The aristocrat and the working girl did not keep the same hours.
The telegram was on a silver tray, centered on Michael’s d
esk. She wished she could see the contents, but it was still folded shut.
Collapsing into his desk chair as the adrenaline-fueled curiosity diminished, she glanced at the rest of his desk, and ran her fingers along the ancient wood.
The top page of a stack of papers caught her attention, as she recognized her father’s handwriting. Apparently Michael’s secretary had yet to file away her dowry settlement. She stood, and leaned over the paper. At first, she couldn’t believe what she was reading. This wasn’t about her at all, but about Redcake’s.
Her father had sold the tea shop and emporium to Michael? His London flagship? How could he have done this and not told her?
How could Michael have purchased it and not told her?
She snatched up the sheath of papers and read rapidly until a cough at the doorway distracted her.
“What are you doing?” Michael asked, stepping into the room, still in muddy riding clothes.
“I was told a telegram had come for you from London, so I came in to see it, and found this.” She waved the papers at him. “My father sold Redcake’s to you and you didn’t inform me?”
“You have no place in my business life, Alys. I’ve made that clear to you already.”
She slammed the papers to the desk. “But Redcake’s is my business too. My toil, my ideas.”
His expression remained patient, remote. “Once again, my dear, your father has disputed that point of view.”
“Even when a woman is providing value he can’t see it,” she spat.
“I might have hoped you would be more enlightened, but you are all the same, brothers under the skin.”
He took a step forward. “Didn’t you enjoy your party last night?
Despite your lack of experience you did a wonderful job.”
“Thanks to outsmarting your mother at her game,” Alys said.
“She changed my arrangements without consulting me, and if I hadn’t discovered this Rose would have been too ill to stay.”
He frowned. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“This is my sphere,” Alys hissed. “Daily battle with your mother for supremacy? Taking my mother’s role with her daughter? Meanwhile doing nothing that I want because my husband’s health prevents me from even using the skills I’ve spent years honing.”
His gaze sharpened. “I’m happy to have your desserts on my table.”
“I’m not happy to make you sick, Michael. I am impressed by your self-control, but I see no purpose in testing that control continuously. Nor do I think it is in your mother’s best interests to have pastry ever-present, given that she looks to be at death’s door herself.”
Michael’s mouth closed into a thin line. “If you think that, then why deny her pleasures?”
She leaned forward, glad they had the desk between them. “That’s tantamount to giving me permission to kill her.”
“You are not a doctor. Your theory about sugar is merely that.”
“And you deny the truth?”
He hesitated. “Not for myself. If I didn’t feel better I wouldn’t play along. With all of the present difficulties it has been a great boon to have a clear head and steady hands. I am grateful to you.”
He stepped closer to the desk. Alys wrapped her arms around herself as much as her tight bodice would allow.
“Managing me is a large task of its own, wouldn’t you say, wife?
Cannot your success with me satisfy you?”
“My heart has not yet sacrificed Redcake’s.” She turned away, blinking back tears. How had business become so emotion-filled?
“To think you kept this a secret.”
“No secret, simply none of your business.”
“I cannot believe that,” she said. “When you know what it meant to me. You are most unfeeling.”
He tilted his head. “As are you, for taxing me with this when I have my brother’s very life to concern myself with.”
She gripped the edge of the desk. “I will leave you to your concerns then, husband. I believe I shall take the train to London with my mother and Matilda since you are so busy. I need to order dresses again and I would prefer to choose the fabrics myself.”
“Whatever you wish.” His cold gaze swept hers for a moment, then fixed on the telegram on his desk.
Would he open it in front of her? She wished to know if Judah had sent mail to the London address, too. But Michael didn’t move toward the telegram. Very well. He had resolved to shut her out. She lifted her chin and swept out from behind the desk, making sure not to touch him with any part of her mourning skirts.
*
*
*
Alys ignored her mother when she asked if Alys would be staying at Hatbrook House, and no further comment was made as she followed her mother up the steps to her family’s St. James’s Square mansion two days later, Matilda giggling behind her as she clutched Mr.
Bliven’s arm.
She thought his behavior was too joking, and Matilda’s far too sensual, but who was she to judge? She had little experience with men, and none of it successful.
Ten minutes later she was back in her old room. Lewis’s mechanical bird still perched next to her bed, its plumage dampened by dust.
“They must have shut up the room,” Hortense said, looking around.
“It appears so,” Alys agreed. “I share a dressing room with my sisters, just down the hall. I suppose you should hang my clothes there.
I’ll have to keep wearing the crepe until we’re certain Judah is alive.”
Hortense opened the door as a sharp rap came from the other side.
Alys recognized the knock instantly.
“Hello, Father.” Alys didn’t bother to keep the cool tone from her voice. Affection still bloomed instantaneously from her heart at the sight of his bushy, fading red hair, but anger filled her mind.
Hortense lowered her head. “I’ll be down the hall then, sorting out the luggage, my lady.” She scurried out and shut the door behind her.
“My lady,” her father said, leaning against the door with his arms crossed over his chest. “I never thought to hear one of my daughters called a lady.”
Alys mimicked his pose. “I imagine you thought exactly that, when you gave your two youngest daughters a lady’s education.”
He sighed. “Not this again, Alys. You’d never have wanted lessons in elocution or deportment, much less painting or the piano. You wanted to be in the kitchen.”
“And yet you forced me out.”
“To find your proper place in the world.”
“What would that be, stuck as I was between the kitchen and the boudoir? Do you have any idea how narrowly I escaped ruin?”
“Why do you think I let you stay in the kitchen as long as I did?”
She stared at him, noting he’d lost weight in the month since her wedding. How serious had his illness been?
“It seemed overnight you went from a bubbly girl as interested in young fellows as the next lass, to a frozen, cake-obsessed mite. At
first I thought you were simply following your old father, but something was missing behind your eyes.”
She scowled. “Do you want to discuss what happened?”
“No, daughter. I want to tell you that I saw you come back to life last fall. A sparkle had returned to your eyes that I hadn’t seen in a decade. I didn’t know why, but I noticed that men at Redcake’s began to show an interest in you that had never been apparent. I thought it was time for you to find a husband.”
“You didn’t think that spark was there for one man?”
He scratched his head. “You would have told me.”
“I did not,” she pointed out.
“I didn’t know a marquess was involved.”
She rubbed her eyes, still gritty from the train, then went to look in a drawer for a handkerchief. “Why did you sell him Redcake’s, Father? I cannot understand that impulse. I had no hopes of marrying Hatbrook. I wanted to stay where I was.”
&nbs
p; “I did it for Rose, primarily, and Matilda too, though her situation appears to be resolving differently than I’d planned.”
“You did?”
“Yes. Rose doesn’t belong in London. And a girl needs her mother.
Your mother will not leave me, so we all need to move.” He scratched his head again. “I set out to conquer London and did exactly that.
Now I can move on, for my family’s sake.”
She wiped her eyes. “What do I do? I’m not prepared for the life of a marchioness. I’m prepared to be a baker.”
“I would have married you to Ralph Popham or Ewan Hales,” he said. “You made your choice.”
“Then why did you bring Theodore Bliven to dinner?”
“His father suggested he was in need of an occupation and I thought I might hire him as a manager for Redcake’s and keep ownership. But he is too light-minded to manage it. Your marquess has the sense needed, but of course he will have to hire someone. I have faith he’ll find the right person, however.”
“So you thought I might marry Mr. Bliven and he would run Redcake’s,” she said flatly. “Why not Lewis?”
Her father wrinkled his nose. “Lewis is good with machines, not people. He wouldn’t give any daughter of mine the attention she deserved.”
She laughed sourly, glancing at the bird and thinking of all the hours Lewis must have lavished onto his love token. “And Hatbrook will?”
“You chose him. Clearly this business with his brother has blackened his outlook for now, but the situation will eventually resolve.”
“If Captain Shield hadn’t been declared dead, Hatbrook never would have married me.” She wiped her eyes again.
“No one is to blame for that, unless you want to call out the army,”
her father said. “You and Hatbrook are bound together now and you’ll have to make the best of it. I’m just glad you’ll be living near Redcake Manor.”
“Which is uninhabitable.”
“An unforgivable oversight on my part,” her father admitted.
Alys knew that was an apology. “At least Rose didn’t suffer for it, thanks to Hatbrook.”
The Marquess of Cake Page 23