The Wedding Cake (The Wedding Series)

by Dorsey, Christine

  “Welcome, my boy. Glad you could come. We are all assembled as my good wife would say. You must meet the family.”

  Her father’s outburst hid Cinnamon’s gasp of surprise.

  She watched, stunned, while her father presented her mother, sisters, and Count Lorenzo. Though their guest appeared slightly nervous, he was nonetheless gracious, making the appropriate comments—until his eyes met hers. Then his mouth dropped open, but no words emerged.

  Two

  “Cinnamon, my dear, let me present Captain Ian McGregger. Captain McGregger, my daughter, Miss Murphy.”

  Cinnamon could almost hear the captain’s thoughts exploding inside his head. The cook! No, not the cook! The daughter.

  Captain McGregger muttered something she didn’t quite catch. Then his gaze caught hers, and she had difficulty looking at him. She should have told him who she was before he had made those comments about her parents, before he had kissed her. Unable to stop herself, she glanced at his mouth, and heat crept up her neck.

  He must have also felt embarrassed, for she noticed he tugged on his starched collar before he straightened his shoulders. It almost appeared as if he’d like to turn and walk out the door. But instead he offered his arm to her mother, who seemed hesitant to take it, and escorted her to the dining room.

  The butler seated Captain McGregger between her sisters, Cornelia and Lucretia. They were pretty and young and pleasant company, so Cinnamon was surprised when the captain’s gaze kept straying to her, sitting directly across the lace-covered table from him.

  “Have you been to Italy, Captain McGregger?”

  He glanced up from his perusal of the array of silverware bracketing his bowl of chilled soup to answer her brother-in-law. “No, sir, I have not.”

  “Pity. It’s a lovely country. My family is from there, you know. Near Florence.”

  “Really.” His Scottish-accented voice was laced with polite curiosity.

  “Yes, they own an estate,” Cinnamon added. “A villa that looks down over a lovely valley.” She smiled at the captain around an elaborate silver epergne laden with fruit, while lifting the round, bowled soup spoon slowly to her lips.

  “I see.” The captain’s sun-tanned face pinkened, but he picked up the correct spoon nonetheless.

  “Captain McGregger is one of the finest sea captains in my employ.” Her father set down his wineglass.

  “Thank you, sir, but I’m sure I don’t deserve—”

  “Why not? You are the best.”

  “That’s very kind of you, sir, but—”

  “Mr. Murphy, you’ve spilled wine on the tablecloth. How many times must I ask you to be more careful?” Her mother said, interrupting the captain. She then turned to Count Lorenzo. “I do apologize, dear Count. We don’t usually speak of business at dinner.”

  “I’m certain Father was simply telling us a bit about our guest,” Cinnamon said in defense of her father, who simply shrugged.

  The conversation then moved to other topics, mostly emanating from her sisters and centering around the count. Since her family had been in his company only briefly for Eugenia’s wedding last year, her sisters were full of questions, wanting to know every detail of the count and Eugenia’s recent arrival in Boston and of the round of parties and dinners planned for them during their visit.

  “How long will you be in Boston, Captain McGregger?” This question came from Lucretia, who Cinnamon noticed was doing her best to flirt with the handsome Scotsman.

  “I’m not certain.” Cinnamon saw him glance at her father, who was busy eating his lobster and didn’t meet his eye. “Until today my answer would have been simple. No more than a fortnight. Long enough to unload the shipment of spices, jute, linseed, and saltpeter, then fill the hull with manufactured goods.”

  “And then you’d sail to...” Lucretia smiled at him as she raised her glass.

  “India. As I’ve been doing for nearly fifteen years.”

  What had happened today to change his plans? Cinnamon wondered. But before she could ask, Lucretia was inviting the captain to attend the ball being given in honor of Cinnamon’s betrothed.

  “You must come, isn’t that so, Mama?”

  “Of course, Lucretia. Captain, I shall see that you receive an invitation,” her mother answered, though the tightlipped expression on her fleshy face indicated that she hadn’t liked saying it.

  “Thank you, ma’am. But I may be in the middle of the Atlantic by then.”

  “Nonsense, my boy—Of course you’ll come,” her father said, obviously oblivious to Mama’s soured expression.

  The table was cleared again, and Lucretia clapped her hands. “Shall we see it now, Cinnamon? I’ve been so excited all day.”

  She turned to Captain McGregger before Cinnamon had a chance to answer. Leaning toward him, Lucretia whispered conspiratorially, “Dear Cinnamon baked a cake, if you can believe it. She tasted it the day she met her fiancé, Lord Westfield. It was at the queen’s daughter Princess Beatrice’s wedding. Cinnamon asked Queen Victoria’s own chef for the recipe. Now she’s determined to have it at her own nuptials. Isn’t that right, Cinnamon?” Lucretia leaned farther toward the captain as she eyed Cinnamon.

  “I didn’t bake the cake today,” Cinnamon said, shooting a look at Captain McGregger, daring him to contradict her. “I was too busy.” Not a complete lie. She had been busy working on her father’s business accounts, which was the reason she had forgotten about the cake and had left it in the oven till it caught fire.

  “Oh...” Lucretia pouted. “I was so looking forward to tasting it. You made it sound just so...” She glanced at the captain through her lashes. “... Tantalizing. But then I thought it was perfectly absurd for you to make the cake yourself. Didn’t you, Mama?”

  “I didn’t think she could manage it,” Eugenia piped in. “And why should she even try? We do have staff for that sort of thing.”

  “Yes, I agree,” Philomela added, nodding her head till her golden curls shook. “It really wasn’t a good idea. I don’t care how much you wish to impress Lord Westfield.”

  “I’m certainly not doing it because of that,” Cinnamon blurted.

  “That’s excellent, because I doubt His Grace would care for his future bride slaving away in the kitchen like a common servant. Don’t you agree, Count?” her mother asked.

  Cinnamon didn’t wait for her brother-in-law’s response. “I’m baking the cake because I wish to.” Her gaze met the captain’s. “I can do it. I don’t care what anyone says to the contrary.”

  “Now, now, Cinnamon, dear,” her father said, his voice soothing. “Of course you can. We all know that you can do anything you set your mind to. No one doubts that and certainly not Captain McGregger. Right, my boy?”

  “Nay. I’ve a feeling she can bake a cake if she so chooses.”

  “Well, I do—choose to, that is.”

  “Then I wish ye luck.”

  “Thank you!” Cinnamon realized her voice had risen considerably and her lips clamped shut. She glanced around the table. To a person, her family stared at her. She settled back in her chair, aware that she had been leaning forward, toward the captain. Why had her father dragged him into the discussion? She certainly didn’t have to convince him of anything. Except that he knew the truth about her first attempt to bake the cake.

  Hoping for a calm, dignified tone, she said, “I apologize for not having the cake ready tonight. Perhaps tomorrow.”

  “But, Cinnamon, you promised to go with me on the morrow when I visit Elizabeth Shelby. You know what a bore she is and you’re the only one who can make me laugh when I’m in her company.”

  “Cornelia!” Her mother took in a deep breath. “We do not speak of our friends like that.”

  “I’ll accompany you, Nellie.”

  “Cinnamon, her name is Cornelia, and I wish you and your father would remember that.”

  “Yes, Mama.”

  She decided it best not to argue the point. She could see
the telltale signs of her mother’s displeasure—her narrowed eyes, pursed lips, heaving robust bosom. She breathed a sigh of relief when the dessert of sponge cake and fruit was served, followed by a frozen sorbet.

  With every bite, she swore to herself that she’d bake that cake. How could she not? Her father was right. If there was one thing everyone said about her it was that she always accomplished what she set out to do.

  Her mother had sent her to Europe to win herself a nobleman. Perhaps Mama hadn’t said it in so many words, but Cinnamon had known what was expected of her. So she’d found Lord Alfred Westfield, and she’d serve that wonderfully delicious cake at their wedding. That would make everything perfect, wouldn’t it?

  She raised her eyes and caught Captain McGregger’s gaze. It was difficult to read his expression, but she couldn’t forget that he knew of her failure. Well, she’d make that cake and sit and watch Ian McGregger eat it. Knowing it was ridiculous even to care if he tasted the result of her labors didn’t seem to make her any less determined that he would.

  With dessert finished, her mother rose, and Cinnamon and her sisters joined her, leaving the gentlemen to their cigars and brandy.

  But only a short time later the men entered the drawing room and Cinnamon knew it was because her father could barely tolerate her brother-in-law, whom he referred to as “that Italian potentate.”

  Cinnamon saw Lucretia gently pat the cushion beside her as she smiled at the captain. He dutifully accepted her invitation, and Cinnamon could barely keep from rolling her eyes. She made room for her father to sit beside her on the settee and waited for the inevitable. It took her mother no time at all.

  “Philomela, dear, please play...”

  Her sister was already in motion toward the piano before her mother could finish her sentence.

  “She sings like a nightingale,” Mama said to Count Lorenzo. “As a matter of fact, her name means lover of song. How Mr. Murphy and I knew what a sweet voice she would have someday is just a miracle.”

  Philomela managed to finish the aria and began the encore Mama requested without losing the tune. That was the best Cinnamon could say for her sister’s talent. She glanced at Captain McGregger when Philomela came dangerously close to missing a note, but he seemed not to notice. Lucretia was whispering something to him behind her fan, and he nodded, his grin revealing his distracting dimples.

  Cinnamon looked away, disgusted with herself. Why should she care if he was taken with Lucretia? After all, her sister was beautiful with her dark hair and wide blue eyes. Besides, most men preferred women who didn’t crowd their heads with knowledge and business affairs. But that wasn’t fair to Lucretia at all, Cinnamon admitted. It wasn’t her fault she found the captain handsome. And Lucretia certainly didn’t know, nor would she ever find out, that this same man had kissed Cinnamon that very morning. Gracious, she’d thought of that kiss again, after promising herself she wouldn’t.

  Not long after the music stopped, the captain said his farewells, bowing over each lady’s hand in turn. When he reached Cinnamon, he managed to turn her fingers so he could see her palm. His eyes lifted to hers, and his thumb gently touched the red welt. She couldn’t tell whether he meant to remind her of her baking fiasco or to sympathize with her pain.

  The gesture was over in an instant, and he’d moved on to bid good-bye to the count. Lucretia called out a reminder that he was to come to their ball, and their father asked him to return for another meeting tomorrow. Then he was gone.

  The door had no sooner clicked shut when her mother caught Patrick’s eye. “I can’t believe you invited that man to dinner.”

  “And why shouldn’t I?”

  “Why shouldn’t you?” Cinnamon’s mother huffed as she sat down. “He’s obviously nothing but a lowly sea captain to whom you shouldn’t be exposing your daughters.”

  “I thought he was very nice.”

  “You would, Lucretia. I couldn’t believe your fawning over that man.” Eugenia sniffed delicately.

  “Just because I prefer handsome men—”

  “Lucretia, that will be enough. Do you see what you’ve done, Mr. Murphy, inviting that man here?” Her mother’s stare snagged on Cinnamon. “And I have no idea what you were up to with him.”

  Cinnamon was ready to protest, though she had some inkling as to what her mother meant. But her father’s words put a stop to anything she might have said.

  “Well, we all better get used to Captain McGregger’s being around. I have decided that he will run Murphy Import and Export.”

  Three

  “Are you angry with me, Cinnamon?”

  “Angry?” She rose from her chair to wander about her father’s library. This had always been her favorite room in their Beacon Hill home. The long arm of her mother’s garish decorating hadn’t extended this far. It was Papa’s last bastion of authority other than his import business. At least she had thought so until last night. He’d shocked her as well as the rest of the family with his announcement.

  She looked at him now, his brow creased with concern, and swept toward him. Kissing the top of his balding head, she said, “Of course I’m not angry. But I was, still am, surprised.” She settled into a leather chair. “Who is this Captain McGregger anyway?”

  “I can understand that this might have come as a surprise. But circumstances being as they are—”

  “What circumstances?” She was out of her seat again. “Papa, are you all right? Do you feel ill?” Her palm rested on his ruddy cheek.

  “Now, now, don’t fuss over me,” he said, shushing her away with his hands. “I’m perfectly fine. But, that doesn’t mean I can’t use some assistance. The business has grown more than I ever imagined it would.”

  That was true. Her father had started with only one schooner, which he had captained, and now he owned and leased nearly twenty-five vessels. He’d made his family wealthy... very wealthy, and it was a lot of work for one man to oversee such a large shipping empire.

  “I’ve always done what I could to help you.” Though Murphy Import and Export had bookkeepers, Cinnamon reviewed the ledgers. Her father relied on her abilities—at least she’d thought so until last night.

  “You’ve been a godsend,” her father said, and Cinnamon couldn’t help smiling. “But I realize now I’ve asked too much of you.”

  “But you haven’t.” She knelt by his chair. “I’ve loved going to the wharf and inspecting the goods, smelling the spices—even imagining myself captaining one of your vessels to the Orient.” She laughed. “You know I can’t stand doing nothing all day but sitting around eating crumpets.”

  “Yes, I know. And that’s why I’d always thought that someday... No, never mind,” he said, shaking his head. “You were quite right to accept Lord Westfield’s proposal.”

  “Lord Westfield? What does he have to do with this? And what had you always thought? Papa, you aren’t making sense.”

  “It’s nothing. Oh, all right. I’d thought to give you Murphy Import and Export one day. None of your sisters would know the first thing about running it. And Lord knows your mother...” Apparently her father decided that thought was better left unfinished. “But you, Cinnamon. You are clever enough. It was your idea to expand beyond spices. You’ve helped make the business what it is today.”

  She didn’t know what to say. She’d never contemplated running the business by herself, yet she hadn’t considered not being around to help her father, either. Of course, Lord Westfield would wish to live at his family seat in Devonshire. They would visit Boston, surely. Her mother would see to that. How else could she show him off? But the days of sitting with her father going over bills of lading and studying the market would soon be over.

  “You still didn’t answer my question about Captain McGregger? When did he come to you with this plan?”

  “Ian? Come to me? No, no, you have it wrong there.”

  “Do I?” Her eyebrow lifted. Her father was an astute businessman but he sometimes failed to
understand that some people were duplicitous.

  “Aye. The boy was as surprised as you were yourself when I suggested he might help me run the company, then someday take it over. He hasn’t even given me an answer yet.”

  That sounded all well and good, but she wasn’t so certain she believed Captain McGregger was as guileless as her father apparently did. But she had no time to question him further, for there was a knock at the door, followed by an announcement that the very man they discussed had arrived.

  “Ah, show him back, James. Cinnamon, don’t leave. This is a perfect opportunity for you to become better acquainted with Captain McGregger.”

  “That sounds perfectly delightful,” she said as she reached for the doorknob. “However, I did promise Cornelia I’d go visiting with her.”

  Her father nodded. A bit sadly, she thought as she left the room.

  ~ ~ ~

  His tall, broad-shouldered frame couldn’t be mistaken even in the dimly lit hall. Cinnamon almost turned, deciding the servants’ stairs a perfect way to avoid him. Then she suddenly decided against it. She had done nothing wrong. Well, perhaps she shouldn’t have allowed the incident in the kitchen to happen, but, still, that was minor compared to him taking her place at Murphy Import and Export.

  Standing her ground, or at least her spot on the dark maroon runner, she waited until Captain McGregger and James reached her.

  “Miss Murphy,” he said, bowing, with only enough sarcasm tainting his deep voice for her to notice.

  “Captain McGregger, might I have a word with you?” She dismissed James with a wave of her hand.

  His eyes darted toward the closed door leading to the library. “Yer father is expecting me, I believe.”

  “This will only take a moment.”

  “I’m at yer disposal, Miss Murphy,” he said, bending again at the waist.

  Her lips thinned. Thoroughly tired of his bowing and scraping, she crossed her arms. Her foot was tapping when he lifted his head, when their eyes met. She looked away, but she could feel his eyes on her. “Captain McGregger, I owe you an apology.”