Three weeks later, on a beautiful, flower-scented day in May, Queen Victoria made one of her rare trips to Buckingham Palace. A dais had been raised in the famous ballroom, known as the largest room in London. The elderly Queen, looking not quite as stern as usual, stood there with her equally age-challenged Yeomen of the Guard. Other staff and Gurkha officers also filled the room, along with the families of those being invested.
Gawain noted that the gathering was smaller than when his father had received his knighthood in 1886, a more select group. Along with Alys’s family, Lord Judah and his wife, his sister Rose, cousin Lewis, Ann, Fern, and even Harry, who had come in from Leeds for the occasion, his father beamed and puffed out his chest. As soon as the inn was sold, Harry would be moving to London to work for Gawain while he looked into the hotel trade locally. Ann decided it was better to let the place where Wells and Jeremy had died go out of the family. Harry liked the idea of a new challenge.
A number of old men in old-fashioned suits glowered around the edges of the room.
“The Queen’s physicians,” Ann whispered.
His wife, dressed resplendently in half-mourning, a white and black striped silk gown, had drawn the attention of every man in the room. Her looks might be exotic, but she carried herself like an Englishwoman, the equal of anyone in the world. She put her hand on his arm, and when he looked down, he saw with surprise that she wore her mother’s sapphire ring with the new setting. He hadn’t noticed it missing from the safe in their bedroom.
Seeing his surprise, her sensually full lips parted into a smile. “We might not be here but for the late Maharani of Caliata, correct?”
“Correct,” he agreed. “I am happy to see the ring being given a better association than it held previously.”
“As am I.” She squeezed his arm. “Don’t Harry and Fern look fine together?”
Harry had a new morning suit, and Fern wore a dress made from the same fabric as Ann’s, cut to her diminutive size. With her hair pulled into a loose bun, black curls waving around her face, Gawain realized with foreboding that within three years or so, Fern would blossom into a beauty. And he would be responsible for her. Perhaps Harry should move to Battersea after all, to share the burden.
A small orchestra sounded the opening notes of “God Save the Queen.” When the anthem was finished, the Lord Chamberlain mounted the dais and announced the first recipient of a knighthood or honor. The fifth and last to be called, Gawain felt a moment of lightheadedness and his hip wanted to buckle as he stepped forward in his stiff, new clothes.
He glanced around, and saw the rapturous gaze of his mother, the toothy grin of his father, the stern approval in Hatbrook’s eyes, and the glee in Lewis’s gaze. Most of all, he saw the love in his wife’s face. He blew her a kiss then mounted the steps to the dais.
His hip supported him as he knelt on the investiture stool. His ears buzzed too much to quite hear what the Lord Chamberlain said about him, but then the diminutive Queen stood before him, holding an enormous sword. At least she looked nothing like the Pathan mountain warrior who had sliced him open, though she had a similar look of concentration as she lowered the sword to his shoulder.
It was done. The ceremony ended and the families shuffled out of the ballroom and into the Inner Quadrangle to socialize. Gawain was clapped on the back and shook hands with everyone in the room. Ann received her very first hugs from his mother and sisters. They knew she was responsible and the close-knit family would henceforth claim her as their own. Only Matilda had stayed away, busy in Bristol, for once, with factory business, thanks to striking workers.
But he never would have known Sir Bartley had any concern about his businesses, from the way he worked the room. Gawain tilted an ear in his father’s direction, wondering what the man was selling. What he heard was rapturous praise of Redcake tea and herbs, not praise of Redcake bakeries. His father was promoting his son’s businesses instead of his own. Would wonders never cease?
Ann came to him and wrapped her slim fingers around his forearm.
“It is undeniable that I finally have my father’s blessing,” he said, watching his father laugh and shake the hand of a middle-aged manufacturer with a luxuriant handlebar moustache.
“You’ve worked hard for it,” she said. “But steered your own course. In the end, any father has to respect that.”
“How about you, Lady Redcake? Resolved to steer your own course?”
She nodded. “I never would have thought to live the life I have now, but I feel my parents would be proud of me, both for embracing this English life and keeping my mother’s teaching alive. I wish she could have met Noel.”
He nodded and would have responded, but a footman approached him with a note. When he opened it, he found an invitation to a more exclusive gathering in a sitting room upstairs. He looked up and saw Hatbrook, that intimate of the royal family, had received a note as well. A footman hovered at the marquess’s elbow and when he turned his head, he discovered the footman who delivered the note still standing next to him.
“Would you and Lady Redcake follow me, if you please?”
Gawain lifted his chin to his father, who nodded, then he and Ann left the room, with Hatbrook and Alys close behind them, led by their own footman.
A few minutes later, double doors were opened along a long, painting-filled corridor, and they were ushered into a somewhat dusty room that looked to have been decorated mid-century, with red velvet drapes and furnishings, and a tartan rug. Scottish landscapes hung from floor to ceiling, giving a windswept, craggy feel to the drafty space.
Queen Victoria presided over the gathering in a tartan armchair, her feet propped on a footstool. Her thick fingers, covered in rings, petted a small dog in her lap.
One of her royal grandchildren, a prince whose name Gawain didn’t remember, stepped forward with a wide grin when he saw Hatbrook. “Sensed the Scotch trifle all the way from the ballroom, did you, Hatbrook?”
His brother-in-law stepped forward to shake hands with the prince. Gawain didn’t hear what they said, too confused by the mention of Scotch trifle in May.
Alys tilted her titian head and spoke into his ear. “The palace begged us to make an exception, and since this was your investiture, I relented.”
“Now I understand.”
She squeezed his arm. “So proud of you, twin.”
“And I’m proud of you, too. The tea shop and emporium are thriving.”
“More thanks to Lord Judah than me,” she said ruefully. “But the Fancy, where the wedding cakes are made, is finally staffed properly. I brought some girls in from Bristol. I think they’ll be so grateful to escape the factories that they’ll stay for a while.”
He nodded, and unspoken agreement flashed between them. He, Sir Gawain, and she, Lady Hatbrook, had come a long way from their grimy beginnings on the factory line. “I wonder what Arthur would have thought of this.”
“He had the best smile of any of us,” Alys reminisced. “His cheeks puffed out to twice their size, and his eyes crinkled.”
“But you could only see about four of his teeth.” Gawain chuckled. “Yes, I remember his smile, and he’s grinning down at us. I can see it now.”
Together, they looked up, and saw a frieze of chubby cherubs staring down at them from the ceiling, arrows nocked in tiny, gold bows. Gawain couldn’t hold back a louder guffaw and even Alys, more reserved as was her husband, had to squeeze her eyes shut in merriment.
“Would Lady Redcake approach?” asked a functionary, dressed like a crow all in black, who appeared from some corner.
Ann caught Gawain’s gaze and he nodded, separating from his sister to get as close to his wife as possible. She walked to the Queen and curtseyed, as graceful as a Native dancer.
“Sit down,” the Queen said. “We do not wish to crane our neck.”
A footman brought a low chair and Ann sat, smoothing her silk skirts around her. The Queen and the maharajah’s granddaughter bent their heads to e
ach other. After a couple of minutes, Ann looked up and finding Gawain’s gaze on her, gestured him over.
He bowed to the Queen.
“Pleased with your new title, Sir Gawain?”
“Yes, your majesty. I never expected such an honor.”
“You are an ambitious young devil. We can see it in your eyes. A royal warrant should please you, eh?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Gawain nearly stuttered in his excitement, but attempted to match his wife’s serenity.
“You will not object to your wife being posted to our medical staff?” The Queen scratched behind the ears of her lapdog, a fluffy, tan Pomeranian.
“Ma’am?” He glanced at Ann, but her expression remained calm.
“She will not have to live with us, just be available for consultation if our headaches come back, or if we have any other issues within our family.”
He wished he and Ann could communicate silently and decided to try. Kneeling down, he took her hand and squeezed it. She squeezed back and smiled at him fondly. He took that to mean she wasn’t unwilling to do what the Queen desired. “I would be honored for my wife to have the post, and she is eminently qualified for it,” Gawain said.
The Queen glanced at their clasped hands with a fond smile. “Very good. Have someone bring us a piece of the Scotch trifle, would you be so kind?”
With that, he was dismissed. Gawain let go of his wife’s hand and stood. He turned away, bemused, as the Queen actually patted Ann’s arm.
Hatbrook’s pupils seemed to dilate as bowls of fragrant Scotch trifle were brought into the room on silver trays. His wife accepted cups of tea for them both, eschewing the trifle, though the rest of the family partook, even Lord Judah, whose position as manager of Redcake’s must have had him heartily sick of the concoction by then.
After Ann left the Queen’s side, Lady Judah approached her and they bent their heads together, blond hair against black. The lady seemed to be softening toward his wife. Her initial reception had been cold, but pregnancies had a way of softening women. Women other than Ann, of course. He wondered how long it would be before his bad dreams stopped, of her facing her first husband’s killer in that storage room? The angelic light that had haloed her, the knife that had flashed. His desperate run to protect her as he pulled the gun from his pocket.
Seeing her laugh and touch Lady Judah’s arm made him realize that all was right in the world. All the danger was gone. All rewards were theirs. Now they could enjoy life and each other.
A week later, Lewis delivered the Redcake family’s first gas-powered conveyance.
“You’ll need a chauffeur,” Lewis said. “Because, although you can steer just fine, you have no patience for the fine, mechanical details.”
“I’ll hire someone. Don’t suppose your apprentice Eddy wants to change fields.”
Lewis made a face. “And give him the opportunity to stop trying to blow me up? I don’t think so.” He began to go over the details of the car.
An hour later, Gawain said, “You’re certainly the next member of the family to be knighted. One of these days you’re going to come up with a contraption that will come to the Queen’s attention. I still think you could win her over with one of those birds you refuse to make anymore, but a superlative version of this horseless carriage might do it too.”
“I covet much of what you have, but I’d be happy to have the successful business, the house, and the wife.”
“Not the child?”
“I already have an apprentice wreaking havoc in my life.” Lewis made a face.
“I think your priorities are out of order.”
“Really?”
“You have to put the woman as the top priority. It’s hard to be happy without a woman and it’s impossible to be happy if she isn’t happy.”
Lewis looked thoughtful. “Can I afford a wife?”
Gawain shrugged. “There are all kinds of women. Choose wisely and it won’t be a problem.”
“I’d say you chose wisely.”
Gawain glanced up from the carriage’s engine to see his wife gliding across the yard to the carriage house. He smiled. “Beautiful, isn’t she?”
“I thought so the first time I saw her, in Leeds. She’s definitely for you, cousin.”
“I quite agree.”
Ann reached them, pushing black curls out of her eyes and laughing as the warm spring wind tossed her hair. Gawain wrapped his arm around her and kissed the top of her head.
“So, wife. Ready to go on a new adventure?”
“As long as you are by my side, always.” She squeezed his shoulder and kissed his cheek. “What do you have for us, Lewis?”
Lewis smiled, but the expression didn’t quite reach his eyes. Gawain didn’t notice, because his gaze rested solely on his wife.
Keep reading for a special preview of Lady Elizabeth Shield’s story in His Kidnapped Bride, a Redcakes novella, coming in September!
And don’t miss The Marquess of Cake and One Taste of Scandal, available now wherever eBooks are sold . . .
Chapter One
April 5, 1889
“I’ll take you to Lord Judah’s office right away, Mr. . . .” The young man who had escorted him into the back passages of Redcake’s Tea Shop and Emporium paused and frowned at the telegram he held.
“Alexander. Dougal Alexander.” Dougal put his hand out for the telegram he’d received, requesting him to travel from Edinburgh to London today and meet with Lord Judah Shield, his employer for the Cross case. As he needed to come to London for the case regardless, he had no problem agreeing to the journey.
“Quite a shocker that Manfred Cross has finally been found. Lady Judah must be so happy to know her brother’s whereabouts.”
“I doubt it,” Dougal said, following the man up a steep flight of steps. “Given his circumstances.”
The man turned back, startled, his hair gleaming in the light of an electrified sconce. “Oh, dear. I didn’t realize there was trouble.”
Dougal said nothing. As a private inquiry agent, he found it best to let others do most of the talking.
“Lady Judah is employed here too, you know, though we haven’t seen much of her of late. Unusual women in the Shield family. The marchioness owns this establishment. Then there’s Lady Elizabeth, who disappeared almost a year ago and has never been heard from again.”
“Quite.”
“Have you found her?” the man asked. “We’d all assumed she was with Mr. Cross.”
“Are you a member of the family?” Dougal asked coldly.
“No, of course not. I’m Ewan Hales, Lord Judah’s secretary.”
“Then I will leave that discussion to the family,” Dougal said, as they crossed the landing and went up another flight of steps. In truth, he had not found Lady Elizabeth, though locating a vanished lady of nearly twenty years, the Marquess of Hatbrook’s sister, was a higher priority than recovering a jewel thief. But a police case and this private case had collided. The lady, after all, had run off with or run after Manfred Cross. Accounts varied.
When they reached the third floor, Hales opened the door and led him down a passage, then went through another door into a spacious anteroom. Steam curled from an iron teapot hung on a hook inside the fireplace. The warm, almost humid room offered a pleasant contrast to the rainy spring morning outside.
Hales opened another door, this one leading to the inner sanctum of the manager’s office. Two men were seated in armchairs to the left, on either side of a small fireplace. Between them rested a tray with a teapot, cups, and soup bowls recently emptied. Crumbs decorated a plate in the center.
Dougal’s stomach growled. He had not yet eaten that day, since he’d managed to empty his hamper on the train the previous day. But that did not trouble him. No, the faces of the two men in front of him, clearly brothers, was the issue. While the men had different hair and eye coloring, as well as slightly different physical forms, their facial features, noses, cheekbones, and eye shape were identi
cal. He had seen those characteristics before, and recently. Where?
Both men stood.
“Hello, Alexander,” said the taller of the men.
Dougal had met him before. Lord Judah Shield, brother of Lady Elizabeth. The man had hired him in person in Edinburgh the previous year, after weeks of fruitless searching on his own. He shook hands with his employer.
“This is my brother, Michael Shield, Marquess of Hatbrook,” Lord Judah told him.
Dougal shifted his gaze and shook hands with the other man. While Lord Judah had been a soldier, evident in his penetrating gaze and fast reflexes, Hatbrook surprised him. No pampered aristocrat, he had the callused hands of a laborer and his clothes molded to a powerful, muscular form. These Shield men were unusual specimens for the aristocracy.
Lord Judah’s striated amber and brown eyes were unforgettable, but he knew he’d seen Hatbrook’s sea-blue eyes somewhere recently.
As he shook hands with Hatbrook, the marquess commented, “I’m not used to being stared at so frankly.”
“I apologize. I’m cataloguing you,” Dougal admitted.
“As if I’m a collection of parts?” The marquess quirked a brow.
“It’s not that. You look very familiar.”
“I’ve never met you.”
Dougal crossed his arms over his chest. “I know that. You aren’t the person I’m thinking of.”
His Wicked Smile Page 28