The Marquess of Cake

by Heather Hiestand

“I like to think I am the scoundrel, but I never should have let you leave.”

  “We do have a certain effect on each other.”

  “Then we are lucky to be husband and wife.”

  She smiled tentatively. He reached into her hair to toy with one of the springy curls.

  “You shall have to pay your maid well, so that she does not leave you.”

  “She has an illegitimate child,” Alys whispered. “I hope you aren’t disappointed with me for choosing her.”

  “What happened to the father of the child?”

  “He forced her,” Alys said simply.

  He felt a surge of love. “And you wanted her because she so easily could have been you?”

  Alys nodded. “And now my sister.”

  “I still think we could file for breach of promise. Matilda is connected to my family. Theo could be shamed into marrying her, or he won’t be received anywhere in England, and that is not good for his family, despite what he claims about the other woman.”

  “Maybe he truly loves her. I didn’t have the impression that he cared about Matilda.”

  “Perhaps not. Certainly he is attempting to start over far away. But India is full of younger sons, and even better, their wives. Ultimately, we can kill his prospects in India almost as easily as we could in London.”

  “Has he done this before?”

  “Perhaps you should ask Lady Lillian that. I vaguely remember some scandal at school with an innkeeper’s daughter, but we were so young then. I have never made it a practice to involve myself in the love affairs of others.”

  “I can’t imagine an innkeeper’s daughter would have thought a student at Eton would marry her.”

  “One would think not.”

  Alys sighed. “Should I begin packing, then, and move to Hatbrook House?”

  The clock on the mantel signaled the hour. He patted her hand. “I do apologize, but I am late.”

  “To go to the Crosses’?”

  “Exactly. Do your parents know what has happened to your sister?”

  “My mother does.”

  “I’ll schedule an appointment with your father then, and tell him that Matilda is welcome to go to the Farm. I can’t imagine he will disagree.”

  “Rose will not be pleased if it hurts her chances in local society.”

  “We can shut Matilda away and claim she is ill, if necessary. No one near us could be surprised, given Rose’s history.” He rose. “I am sorry to leave you, my dear. May I claim another audience tomorrow? I must persuade my mother of the surgery, which is of some urgency, according to the physician.”

  “Then I should go south with Matilda, and you will come home as soon as you can? Should I hire a nurse for your mother?”

  “We shall decide all after I meet with your father. I imagine my mother will convalesce here at the start. And I do not want you to be run ragged by her. She does not improve, I’m afraid.”

  “She is my family now too, Michael. I know my duty.”

  He caressed her curls again. “How I wish I could be your seducer, my lady.”

  She leaned her cheek into his hand. “I know.”

  “I realize we were not in accord when we saw each other last.”

  “I must learn patience,” she said.

  He appreciated the thought. “As must I. I have not been a good husband, but I will improve. I am not used to help, you see.” He caught her lips in his, letting his hands slide from her curls to her slender back to her curvaceous hips.

  “I wish we could start over,” she whispered.

  “Life insists on forward movement.” He cupped her cheek. “But if we are in charity with one another all will be well.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  “Have you nothing better to do than stare at me?” his mother asked, grimacing for a moment before she returned her gaze to the fire in her sitting room.

  Michael pulled her rose afghan over her leg, brushing it with his fingers in the process. How long had it been since he’d touched her?

  “Mother, I have a most indelicate question.”

  “Trouble in the marriage bed, Hatbrook?”

  He lifted his gaze to her face instantly. But she wasn’t sneering.

  Her tone did not contain its usual venom, not that she sounded prepared to be helpful, either.

  “As you may recall, my bride is not in residence.”

  “Where is your cake bride? Dashed if I can understand why you would marry a girl who bakes and then stop eating cake.”

  The older his mother grew, the more her speech sounded more like a young man’s than a mature lady’s. He wondered if she, like Alys, strained at the bonds of feminine behavior. He remembered now, that he had compared Alys to his mother on the day he met her.

  Strange that he’d forgotten that.

  “She is with her family. Her sister suffered a shock.”

  “How disagreeable.”

  Now his mother sounded like a petulant widow again.

  “What was this indelicate question?” she queried as she reached for a chocolate and popped it into her mouth, chewing with it slightly open.

  Michael closed his eyes. “I have a memory of you kissing another man when I was quite young. It was summer and Judah must have been a babe.”

  “Judah was not born at all,” his mother remarked, licking her fingers. “That would have been Judah’s father you saw, though I am amazed you have a memory of something that transpired when you were two.”

  Judah’s father? “What are you saying?”

  “I am saying that your father transgressed one too many times, and with a dear friend of mine, no less, and I retaliated. I did not expect this to result in a child, but thankfully the timing was such Judah might just have been his, so there was no trouble in society’s eyes.”

  Her eyes closed, and the skin around her eyes tightened as if she had momentary pain. “Though there were enough whispers that it affected our reputations. Neither of us were liked enough to overcome scandal.”

  “Mother, you need to have the surgery,” Michael said.

  She opened her eyes again. They were watery. “Is there no other way? I could stop eating chocolate.”

  “You look very, very ill. I think we must take the doctor’s advice.”

  “I do not want to die. I have enjoyed these earthly pleasures far too much.”

  He blinked rapidly, almost overset by the plaintive tone in her voice.

  “But what is left to me in my old age if I cannot have rich foods?”

  she said.

  “You are not so old. Why, your hair is not even gray.”

  “It is kind of you to say so, but I went gray half a decade ago. My maid is artful with techniques to disguise my voyage to the grave.”

  “Good God, Mother, have a heart! You will shock me into mine with all this talk.”

  “You have too much to live for. Do you know, last winter was the first time I saw you come to town and not gain a double chin? Though

  I didn’t realize it, you were fairly wasting away from love with that unsuitable girl. At least she has been bred to stand up for herself, but she desperately needs a new wardrobe.” She shuddered. “And that hair. Not to mention her appalling taste in maids.”

  That was the mother he knew so well. “Hold your insults, madam.

  My wife has had a difficult transition.”

  “It was rather sudden. I expected happy news.”

  “I am sorry we could not provide that for you.”

  She waved a yellowed hand. “She has a good build. She will give you children. I have no doubt.”

  He needed to get his wife back into his bed, first.

  “Do you know, I think I shall have the surgery,” she mused. “I would not like to die before seeing my first grandchild, knowing there most likely will be one within the year. And I do suggest you persuade her to choose her husband’s comfort over her sister’s, so this will be possible.”

  “I thought to suggest her sister retu
rn to the Farm with us.”

  “If that is what it takes. Good heavens but these Redcake chits are a needy set.”

  “At any rate, we will not leave London until you are recovered.”

  “Do not delay your happiness on my account. Now, go send word to the surgeon. I have letters to write.”

  “Very well, Mother.” He stood and kissed her on the cheek.

  She put her hand to the spot when he was done. “You haven’t kissed me since you were a boy.”

  “I do not want us to have such a difficult time anymore. I shall need your advice.”

  She let out a low chuckle. “Simply repeat nothing I have done.

  That is the best advice I can give you. I cannot take credit for anything that has gone well for you, and much that has not.”

  “I blame Father for everything, not you.”

  “I did not make his life easy, for all that he repaid me in kind. If you love that girl you married, by all means, keep loving her. Do not let the love turn sour. Ignore every fault and live in blissful ignorance that she is anything less than an angel.”

  “Thank you, Mother. I shall make the necessary arrangements.”

  “Call for my maid, will you?” She reached for her chocolate box, then left her hand hovering there.

  “I will.” God keep her safe, he prayed as he left the sitting room.

  He didn’t want this surgery any more than she did, but she looked all too close to death.

  Her maid hovered in the hall outside, so he sent her into the room before he went downstairs. His mother should not be alone.

  When Alys entered Matilda’s room, she found her flopped on her bed, looking like an abandoned puppet dressed in the latest fashion.

  She remembered all those years of sharing a room with her sisters, before they came to London. They had grown apart since, even more than she realized.

  “You are not going to feel better until you take some action,” she told Matilda. “Staying in your room, focused on your disgrace, will accomplish nothing.”

  “I thought he’d send a note,” Matilda squeaked, then burst out sobbing. “Lady Lillian has not yet responded to me either!”

  “If Mr. Bliven had planned to contact you, you would have received word at the same time Gawain and my husband did. As for Lady Lillian, the marquess said he would speak to her father about her appalling advice to you. She is no doubt in disgrace herself.”

  Matilda snapped upright as if someone had taken up her strings.

  “You told Michael? He spoke to the earl?”

  “Of course I did. If not for your situation, I’d have removed myself to Hatbrook House by now. The Shields came to town Monday night.”

  “Then everyone knows,” Matilda whispered, her tear-stained cheeks losing their flush. “Earl Gerrick is a bigger gossip than his daughter.”

  “I am sure the marquess knows that and approached him with appropriate delicacy.”

  “The Canders are frightfully intelligent as a clan,” Matilda said, sniffing. “Lady Lillian may have used me as entertaining conversation at the dinner table.”

  “I doubt that.”

  “It was a plot!” Matilda gasped. “She has always liked Rose better than me. She wanted my disgrace. Oh, Alys, I must leave!”

  “I am all for that.” Alys glanced around her, hoping Matilda would not want to bring all of her bric-a-brac with her to the Farm.

  Her room had always been spartan in comparison. She did not want to direct the packing, and hear the hysterics, when inevitably, something broke in transit. Matilda would simply give orders and not be bothered otherwise.

  Matilda wiped her eyes. “Where shall we go? India, after Mr.

  Bliven? Or Bristol, perhaps, to the scene of our spotless childhood?

  Perhaps Brighton, for the diversion. Or Italy?”

  Alys broke into the reverie, feeling quite sharp. “How long until you know if your disgrace will, er, bear fruit?”

  Matilda wiped at her eyes again and shrieked.

  Alys pressed on. “I want to be clear on the timing, Matilda. Are your courses regular?”

  Some of the color popped back into her sister’s cheeks. “A couple of weeks, I should think,” she whispered.

  “Then there is no call to plan a trip abroad, I think. You would not want to be ill on a ship.”

  “Just Bristol or Brighton then,” Matilda whispered. “Or do we know anyone in Edinburgh? The climate would suit my great sorrow.”

  Alys wasn’t sure if her sister was hoping they had acquaintances in Scotland, or not. Had she been such a ninny after she and Michael had joined for the first time? In her head, perhaps, but certainly not out loud. She still wasn’t sure how Rose had known what transpired.

  Or why Rose had revealed her secret.

  “My place is with my husband,” Alys said.

  “Don’t be silly, Alys. He doesn’t need you now that his brother has been found alive. And you don’t love him. Come away with me. I hardly ever see you, since you were always busy working, and I can’t possibly travel alone. Mother won’t leave Father again, since he’s been ill.”

  “As pleased as I am by your sisterly desire to spend time with me, I cannot appreciate your consideration of my marriage.”

  “He married you because you pleased him in a marital way,”

  Matilda said defiantly. “And you married him to escape from under Father’s thumb. So why not go with me now?”

  “Because I do love him,” Alys snapped.

  They stared at each other. Matilda, because of the vehemence behind Alys’s words, and Alys, because she had never realized her feelings until now.

  “You do?”

  She felt lighter, as if she’d swallowed a cloud of meringue. “Yes.

  Ever since he came to that dreadful, falling-down house Father bought, and rescued Rose and me. I’d never have been so foolish as to become his mistress otherwise.”

  “You’ve lost your head,” Matilda observed. “I always thought you such an odd, cold thing.”

  “I never had the time to sit around reading romantic novels.”

  “No, you were too busy disgracing the family with your employment,” Matilda sneered.

  Would Matilda never stop insulting her? “At least I was happy with myself.”

  “I am quite pleased with my life, thank you very much.”

  “Really?”

  Matilda shrank back a little. “Until I miscalculated.”

  “I think you should stop reading novels and find some suitable friends.”

  Matilda slid off the bed and came around to Alys. She clutched at her older sister’s hand. “What if I bear a child? Could you pass it off as yours? If we go away it would be so easy.”

  “I am not passing off a Bliven as a Shield,” Alys said, pulling away. “I would never do that to Michael. If you have consequences, you shall have to live with the result.”

  “Are you sure you wouldn’t go away? We have plenty of money.

  We could live in luxury.”

  Alys shook her head. “You do not understand me at all, and clearly you are too upset to think of anyone but yourself. I shall leave you to reflect, for a time.” She straightened her sleeve, in disarray from where Matilda had grabbed her, and made for the door. Her steps were punctuated by Matilda’s reoccurring sobs.

  Alys put her hands to her temples, realizing as she walked down the hall that her interview had given her a terrible headache. She decided to go to the salon and look at some of her mother’s magazines.

  Really, she simply wanted to stare into the fire and think about Michael. About the first time they’d kissed, when she’d noticed the tiny mole on his cheek for the first time, because she’d finally been so close to him. So close that she’d smelled the gingerbread on his breath.

  And now, she could call him her own, though she had yet to really claim him. With all of the sorrow and madness surrounding his brother’s supposed death, they had never found the time for the simple pleas
ures of marriage.

  Perhaps those moments she’d witnessed her parents sharing didn’t happen in an aristocratic marriage. Did you not sit close in a parlor, reading and sharing bits of news? Maybe you didn’t cover your husband’s sore hands with unguent, to soothe the burns from a day’s baking, or massage your wife’s shoulders, because they were sore from a day spent bending over the bed of a sick child. Or play cards with relatives, but still find the opportunity to touch.

  Was an aristocratic marriage all cold formality, dancing once or twice at a ball, sitting at opposite ends of an enormous dining table with disapproving relatives making rude remarks? And your husband always at his club?

  No, she didn’t want her marriage to become that. She had all the time in the world to spend with him. He was terribly busy, of course.

  She simply needed to make herself more interesting than his business concerns, or his clubs, or his friends.

  An easy companion, that was what she wanted to be. Now that she was married, and to a man she loved.

  How could she never have realized it before? Perhaps she had never let herself. She had been frightened, had been hurting, and had not wanted to make it worse with any declaration of her own.

  Even now, with his mother so ill, she could hardly have expectations. But if he would let her come home to him, she could be there in the background, ready to start anew when there was time.

  She stood and paced in front of the fire. Had she not already proven her worth? She should learn more about what ailed him, so she could refine the household menus further, to give him stamina for his work. For his nights, she mused, remembering how unexpected the pleasure she’d found with him was.

  And she wanted it again. A warm rush softened her entire body as she remembered.

  A knock came at the door. It opened before she could speak. And there was Michael, as if she conjured him, dressed in a jaunty houndstooth check suit that was definitely not mourning appropriate.

  She lifted her skirts and ran toward him, unable to keep the smile from her face. His quizzical expression softened into a smile as she took his hands and squeezed.

  “What news?” she asked, feeling small and feminine since he had to bend down to kiss her.

  “I have spoken to your father. I did not reveal the totality of your sister’s disgrace, in the hopes that it would not bear fruit, but I have suggested she take charge of Rose for now and he agreed.”