She smiled and patted his hand again.
He took a deep breath. “Really, I should not have gone traipsing through the halls with the common employees, given my position, but I am the youngest of the senior staff and therefore do not have much opportunity to fit in anywhere here.”
“I understand completely. We have that in common, not fitting in.” She lifted her chin, obviously considering. “I expect you are well educated.”
“Not exactly. I went to boarding school but didn’t have the opportunity for further education.”
She released his hand and sat back. “You mixed with a different class of boys there, and that changed you. It matched who you really were, rather than who you were given to believe you were. It must have been confusing.”
“We both were educated above what we thought our positions to be at the time. We expected one thing and received another.”
She nodded, staring directly into his eyes. He liked her directness, but her clear chestnut-brown gaze had begun to stir a different interest in his lower parts. Perhaps his troubles interfered with his work, but he found his thoughts drifting away from Redcake’s and cake flour.
“You say you have only ever attracted one suitor?” he ventured.
She nodded.
“Given the situation, it is not such a surprise,” he said.
She flinched.
“I am sorry, Miss Redcake, but you have to be realistic. It is not that you are unattractive.” Certainly not, given his reaction.
Her frown deepened.
“Quite the opposite,” he assured her. “But you fit in as little as me. If you had the family background most of the cakies do, an illegitimate child would be no great thing.”
She looked nauseated for a moment, then straightened her shoulders. No sheen of tears was present in her eyes. She had backbone, and he liked her all the more for it. He could see her at the helm of an army with that fierce expression: Boudicca leading a battle charge.
“We tried so hard to leave our background behind,” she said. “My father wanted to be a country gentleman. He raised Rose and me to be ladies. But I was so naïve. I made mistakes, and even though the gentleman did eventually wish to marry me, I couldn’t bring myself to do it.”
“No?” He had never heard this part of the story. He set his things down and leaned forward.
“He’d proven himself to be a cad. Also, he was ill, and by then I had Jacob, my son, and the business to learn. I didn’t want to nurse a man who’d treated me so poorly. I was also afraid he’d make me live in India with him.” She shuddered.
“Very trying.” Hampshire or Lancashire. At least his options were better than India. He appreciated her strength. Most women would have married the man regardless. Most families would have forced her to do so. Sir Bartley could have deleted the scandal from his family history but put his daughter and business first.
“Yes. So, I am a disgrace, a scandal, but an old one. Jacob is two and a half now. The last three years have gone by so quickly.” She smiled suddenly. He saw dimples in her cheek for the first time. How had he missed those?
“Then you have little time for regrets.”
Her cheeks twitched with an almost-smile. “It is good the time passes fast when one is an old maid.”
His cock didn’t see her as an old maid. “Twenty-four isn’t old.”
“Not to someone who is older,” she teased.
He looked her over again. For the first time, he felt a friendship was brewing with a member of the Redcake family. He didn’t really have friends. It had seemed like he did at school, but when he left, his circle moved on to university while he went to work. His friends rarely responded to his letters. He gave up on those chums who had been so important in boyhood and settled in here at Redcake’s, where he was treated well but didn’t fit in. Now, he’d have a few years isolated on a farm with no social equals, and then, all of a sudden, he’d be meant to take up the reins of an earldom, live in London, and fill his nursery with the children of some aristocratic bride. Someone who would look down on him, probably, for his lack of polish. Then he’d have to enter politics, manage everything. And he’d thought becoming manager of a tea shop was an impressive undertaking.
“Mr. Hales, you are clutching at your tie as if you’re being strangled. Are you well?”
He blinked, releasing his hand from his throat. “I think I may have panicked.”
“Why?” She tilted her head to one side.
“So much change.” He tried to find some understanding in her gaze. “I am not prepared.”
She took his hand again. Matilda Redcake was a toucher. “I’m sure you will be fine in time. The earl will guide you, as my father has guided me.”
“He feels like an adversary.”
She squeezed his fingers. “My father does to me as well at times, but I learn. It gets better. You are intelligent, Mr. Hales, and you look the part.”
“I do?”
She considered him. “Yes. You have that tall, tailored, competent look about you, and a very charming smile. With the right clothes, you will make the debutantes swoon.”
“I am going into exile to manage a family estate. Not wife hunting.”
“Oh, you should wife hunt,” she assured him. “Better to secure the family now.”
“You think so?”
She blushed. “What else will you have to do with your time on a family estate except start a family?”
Her earthiness reminded him of Betsy, but she had a charm entirely her own. “That is what you recommend?” He took command of her hand, stroking her fingers. His senses were on full alert.
“I–I didn’t mean—” she stammered. She sat back, but he didn’t release her hand.
“You didn’t mean to flirt with me?” He’d only just started to remember how.
“I don’t know. I mean, I’m not moving to some rural estate to birth future earls. Even if I wanted to, I’m not a candidate for you. I’m tainted.”
“At least you are honest. I like honest women. I don’t meet enough of them. What is your agenda?”
She attempted to pull her hand away gently, but he held firm. “I just want to fix the flour. We need to go to Douglas Flour and talk to them.”
He tugged at her hand. Her lips parted as she was forced to pull away or stand and move toward him. She chose to stand, to come closer. He pulled her down, feeling her breath on his hair as she tumbled into his lap. This woman didn’t smell like a bakery but like industry. He smelled coal dust in her hair, ink on her fingers, paste and something like carrots on her coat.
Her scent comprised factories and trains and motherhood. But he smelled her, too, an earthy, passionate note underneath. She couldn’t be a wife—at least not his wife—but he wanted her, and it had been so long since he’d wasted time wanting any woman when he couldn’t afford a wife.
She smiled quickly, exposing those dimples again, then stilled. “Really, Mr. Hales.” She leaned forward, biting her plump bottom lip.
“Really, Miss Redcake. Really, you are absolutely stunning.” He traced one of her dimples with his finger, then angled his mouth toward hers.
She inhaled, met him lip to lip. Her warm breath hit him first, tea and frosting and spice. Softness pressed against him, sweet womanly lips. She didn’t seem to know how to kiss, and he hardly remembered how, but it didn’t seem to matter. She moaned softly and tucked her hands between them, pressing against his coat. Her mouth firmed against his and he licked her bottom lip, sucked it between his teeth, then released it so he could swirl his tongue into her mouth. She met him timidly, sweetly, gasping when he pulled back to take a quick breath before securing her cheeks with his fingers, ready to angle his mouth against hers again.
“Oh, no.” She slipped away and pressed a trembling hand to her mouth. “This shouldn’t have happened. I need to see to the flour.”
“What? Why not?” His intellect had deserted him.
“I can’t trust you. You’re a
rake.” She stood in the small space between the chairs, her skirt askew.
“I’m not. I’ve just explained myself.”
She was breathing hard, her color high. “You’re a future earl. We can’t do this. We need to go to the factory. We need to do our work.”
“Your work,” he said, feeling stupid and cranky. “My work is to run this tea shop, the bakery. You’re my vendor.”
She put her hands on her hips. Her hair had loosened from its tight hold. Feathery tendrils laced her temples and forehead. “I thought we were in this together.”
A knock came on the door. Ewan stood as the door opened and pulled his coat down. Ralph Popham, the bakery manager, stood at the door.
“The telephone rang downstairs, Mr. Hales. You must not have heard the instrument up here. Gave me a turn. That apparatus never rings.”
“What is it?”
“Message for Miss Redcake. She’s to call her secretary at once. Something important, but he wouldn’t tell me what.” His large eyes stared unblinkingly at Matilda.
She blushed and pushed back the hair on her forehead. When Ewan took a close look at her, he decided she appeared softer, more the young woman she was rather than the ageless businesswoman.
“Thank you, Mr. Popham. We will ring him directly.”
He nodded and went out.
“I apologize. He should not have entered without knocking.”
“It wasn’t locked,” she said in a tart tone. “Is there a mirror anywhere?”
“Not up here, no.”
She sighed. “I had better call Greggory, then.”
He directed her to the wall by his desk, where the telephone hung just within reach of his chair. She stood, her back turned, as she spoke to the operator. He sat in his chair, wishing he could pull her into his lap for a cuddle. A silly notion, but now that he’d had her on his knee, he knew she was slight yet rounded in all the right places. If his body were opened, he expected steam would rise from his veins.
He listened, watching a line of concern appear between her brows, when she was connected to Bristol.
“How long ago did they leave?” she asked. “It was such a lovely morning. I agree that three hours seems a very long time to be away. Has anyone gone to look for them?”
She listened some more. “They weren’t at the park?”
He heard a catch in her voice as she asked who had combed the area. Soon, she wiped her eye, as if a tear had formed there, though he couldn’t see for certain.
“I’ll come right home,” she said. “Surely there is some misunderstanding and he’ll be found before I reach my house.” She hung up and put her back to the wall, facing Ewan.
“Who is missing?”
“My son and his nanny. My housekeeper expected them back when it began to rain an hour ago, but no one can find them.”
“Maybe they are having buns in a shop somewhere?”
She clasped her hands together. “She doesn’t have any pocket money for him. He’s too young. Besides, I don’t like him to eat food from shops. Of all people, I know what terrible things can be found in shop food.”
“Yes, I suppose you would.”
Her hand shook when she lifted it to her hair.
“You look fine,” he assured her.
“I feel terrible.”
“You are a mother worrying about your child. I expect your nanny stopped to visit a friend or something. You may need to sack her, but I’m sure your son is fine. Jacob, right?”
“Yes. Jacob Michael Bliven.”
“Is he as beautiful as his mother?” He’d spoken without thinking, but his words made her smile.
“He has dark hair like his father’s, but a face very like my father’s. I’m not sure what he will look like when he is older. My mother told me my father was a very handsome youth.”
“You take after him. The hair, I mean.”
“There are two distinct Redcake looks. The Redcake red hair, like Alys and me, and the cool blond Noble look from my mother. I’d have preferred the Noble looks.”
“I don’t prefer it,” he said. “Blondes wash out. Your face has character.”
She sighed. “I have an anxiety-ridden character, Mr. Hales. I am afraid I am going to have to abandon my responsibilities to the flour today. I will answer to my father for the increased expense of using Bristol Flour for now.”
“He won’t blame you. Jacob is his grandson.”
She stepped away from the wall, stumbling on the rug. He stood up swiftly and caught her, not having realized the wall had been holding her up. She felt fragile in his arms, like the vitality had leeched out of her with the disturbing news.
“I’m going to see you home,” he said.
“You can’t possibly.”
“Yes, I can. I’m in charge for now. Let me.” He pushed her gently into the chair while he sent a messenger boy downstairs.
Popham returned, flustered.
“I apologize, Mr. Popham, but I’m going to go up to Bristol with Miss Redcake. I will return tonight, but you are in charge of the operation for the rest of the day.”
“Yes, Mr. Hales. We’ll do our best.”
Ewan closed his eyes and recalled all the important details he could, relaying them to the senior manager, then found his coat and Matilda’s.
Sooner than he had imagined, they were at Paddington station, ready to leave for Bristol. It would be a few hours before they reached Matilda’s home. Surely the child would long since be home, had his tea, and been tucked into his nursery for the evening.
He attempted to distract Matilda during their long, rattling train ride. Wind and rain lashed their carriage, causing them to bump shoulders frequently. Ewan walked Matilda through the genealogy of his recovered family, told her about Norwich, shared highlights of his life so far. Throughout, she spoke little, her mouth pinched and tense. Innate politeness kept her responding to him, though, and he hoped he had entertained her as much as possible.
Good news was not forthcoming when they arrived. Their hansom cab pulled up in front of Matilda’s palatial home, which was lit so brightly that it shone through the rain. The door was opened by a pale, drawn, and shaking housekeeper. A maid hovered in the hall, wringing her hands. Black-haired Greggory waited in the receiving room, along with a young male servant.
“Cook has hot broth ready, and rolls, Miss Redcake,” the housekeeper said. “Will you eat?”
“I want my son,” Matilda said very coldly. Her tone reminded him of the imperious one she’d used a few years ago, fresh from finishing school. But this time, Ewan knew her tone came from holding on to a ragged edge of control, rather than a sense of noblesse oblige.
“We all do, the poor blessed child. Where that Izabela could have got to I cannot imagine.” The housekeeper rocked from side to side.
“That’s wot comes of ’iring bloody foreigners,” a maid muttered.
“Hush, Daisy,” the housekeeper snapped. “Izabela may be a Pole, but her mother is a good woman.”
“And her father was a thieving Gipsy,” the maid muttered.
From the murderous look in Matilda’s eye, one he remembered from working with Sir Bartley, Ewan was afraid the girl was about to be sacked. This was the wrong time for it. If Jacob was really gone, they needed people for the search. And they needed people to stay close, in case they somehow had something to do with the baby being missing.
He put his hand on her arm, hoping to calm her. “Can you send the maid to check Jacob’s room, and Izabela’s? Make sure nothing is missing?”
Matilda took a deep, shaky breath. “Excellent notion.” She lifted her chin and gave the order. The girl picked up her skirts and ran down the hall toward the rear servant’s stairs.
The housekeeper wrung her hands. “We’ve looked everywhere.”
Greggory nodded. “I can start pulling men from the factories to search.”
“We can’t do that. We have to get the good cake order out.” She sniffed. “I have to think
like a woman of business, even when all I want to do is think like a mother.”
“It might not help very much,” Ewan said. “They don’t know the child.”
“Izabela is a most striking girl, too pretty to be a servant, really,” the housekeeper said. “She won’t hide easily.”
Ewan winced as he realized the woman’s thoughts had already gone to mischief. “Any followers?”
The housekeeper nodded. “A butcher. A rag merchant, but she wouldn’t give him the time of day. One of her father’s people, a horse dealer.”
“Is she really half Gipsy?” Matilda asked.
The housekeeper nodded. “But the man died when she was about seven. Swept her poor mother off her feet, then was a terrible husband. A blessing he died.”
“Do the Gipsies have anything to do with his family?” Ewan asked.
“I never saw them around the church, or on the little street of cottages where we lived when my husband was alive, God rest his soul.”
“You were neighbors,” Matilda recalled.
The housekeeper nodded. “Tera and her family lived next door to us.”
“Would Izabela have taken Jacob there for some reason?” Ewan asked.
The housekeeper rubbed her eye. “They have been gone for six hours or more. How can there be any reason? It will be dark soon.”
“If her mother took ill,” Matilda suggested. “Send Dash with a note to Izabela’s mother.”
The housekeeper nodded. “Yes, Miss Redcake.”
“We also need to check with the butcher, the rag merchant, and the horse dealer,” Ewan said. “Can you give me their addresses, Mrs. . . . ?”
The housekeeper said, “Miller. Mrs. Miller. I know how to find the butcher and merchant, but you’ll have to go fast before they close up shop. The horse dealer will be harder to find.”
“Tell me what you know about them.”
“The butcher is on Castle Street. The rag merchant is near the fish market. You’ll have to ask Tera about the horse dealer.”
“What should I do?” Matilda asked.
Wedding Matilda (Redcakes Book 6) Page 6