One Taste of Scandal (12 page)

Ewan Hales wiped his hand down his pomaded hair when she entered, then stood. “I am sorry for your loss, Miss Cross.”

“I—I didn’t know you knew who I was,” she stammered, somehow thinking she’d have only seen Captain Shield in here.

“I know all the employees,” he said with a proprietary air.

“That’s very, er, thorough of you.” After a pause, she asked, “Is the captain in?”

His gaze took in her dripping skirts. She checked to make sure the dye wasn’t coming off and staining the floor. It wasn’t.

“I will see,” he said, bustling off importantly in trousers that were just a bit too tight.

He had nice legs, she decided, but the obsequiousness was a bit much.

Mr. Hales appeared at the captain’s door and held it open for her. “He is in.”

She nodded her thanks as she ventured into the inner sanctum.

“You can close the door, Hales,” the captain said, standing up from his desk.

She saw a sheath of papers, a faded rose ribbon discarded to one side, on his desk. It looked like correspondence, not Redcake’s business.

“Rose was your mother’s signature color, was it not?” she asked.

“Indeed.” He came forward. “Hales should have taken your cloak and hat.”

“Oh.” She fumbled with the ribbon of her hat and undid the clasp of her cloak.

His fingers brushed her shoulders as he helped her remove the threadbare wool. Her shoulders tingled, or perhaps she was merely shivering from the damp.

“This little stove is very warming,” he said, inviting her to a corner of the room behind the desk. He put his hands forward, demonstrating. “Though I like the fireplace too.”

“So this is what makes it so cozy up here,” she said, coming to stand next to him.

“That and the kitchens, I expect. How could any part of a bakery really be cold, unless it’s specifically an ice room?”

“Yes, I expect the oven in the Fancy keeps it toasty in there, but that might not be the best thing for delicate frosting work.”

“Alys told me that, as in all things, there must be a happy medium in the temperature.”

“Of course. Did Mr. Lewis Noble design this stove? It seems so clean.”

The captain nodded. “I think he made some slight alterations. One finds he used Redcake’s as something of an inventor’s playground.”

“It’s very nice. I wish I had one for my bedchamber at home.” She blushed, realizing what she had said. Maybe her attraction for him was in their way, not his attraction to her.

“If you can, change your sleeping arrangements to a room over the kitchen. I find that is the best approach.”

She touched her hair, found the back of her neck damp from ringlets that had caught the fog if not the rain. “Captain, you shouldn’t speak to me of sleeping arrangements.”

“You mentioned your bed first.”

She felt herself pulled into that tiger gaze of his, until it seemed there was nothing in the room but him. They must have both lifted their hands at the same time for, when she looked down, she realized they were touching.

She jerked back, wild for something else to discuss, something that would allow her to ignore the trembles in her knees and the dampness that had traitorously seeped between her legs yet again.

“That is your mother’s signature, is it not?” she asked, peering at the letters on the desk.

“I suppose, now that you know my shameful secret, you might as well see what I am doing,” he muttered.

“You are hardly the only son of the ton who does not really belong to his family,” Magdalene said. “Why, sometimes, it even happens on purpose, when a man cannot father a child.”

“That was hardly the case here. Of my siblings, I am the only one in question.”

“Marriages go through many stages,” she said. “Your parents must have grown apart, then reconciled.”

“Or my mother was merely unlucky,” he countered.

“Does she reveal anything in her correspondence?” Her fingers itched to take it up herself, even though she knew she couldn’t share the gossip uncovered.

“I thought it revealed an indiscretion with the prince, but I must be wrong.”

“You might be correct next time, if you are quite certain your mother strayed.”

“Told me so herself.”

His glance caught hers again, sending her off balance. She clutched the edge of the desk. “I just came to say hello before I picked up some small treats for the children.”

“You do not want to look at the letters?” he asked.

“Do you want me to?” She wasn’t sure if she could remain close to him without something happening, but if nothing else, he was her friend and she wanted to support him.

“I do. But I need to meet with Melville downstairs in a minute. If you like, I could have tea sent up and you could read through them.”

“For a little while,” she said, not sure if she was happy or irritated that he didn’t mean for this to be a shared activity.

“Excellent. I shall call on you tonight to see if you have discovered any avenues for me to pursue.”

She nodded. “George will be happy to see you. He becomes very morose outside of company. For now, it is a good thing he is teaching the boys.”

“Do you think we should find a position here for him?” the captain asked.

She was startled by the idea. “I do not know. What would he do here?”

“It is a question for another occasion,” he said.

“Yes, of course.” Her fingers stroked the old ribbon.

He nodded to her. “I must go.”

She watched him leave, fighting the urge to call him back and tell him he must stop kissing her, but they had managed a private conversation without it happening again. He had proven he didn’t find her completely irresistible.

The thought was not as comforting as she might have hoped.

 

Judah could have nodded off in the comfortable chair in the Cross’s parlor that evening, as George had little to say. He was in his cups and hiccupped when he spoke more than a few words. Miss Cross stared daggers at George, clearly wanting a private word with Judah, but until the housemaid called for her brother, due to some detail regarding the boys’ room, she had kept her conversation to polite inanities.

“The boys return home tomorrow,” Miss Cross said, as her brother stood. “They have broken enough of the earl’s vases as to be unwelcome for the rest of the year.”

“Not even for Christmas?” Judah asked.

“Perhaps for Christmas,” George allowed. “I will return in a moment.”

As soon as uneven footsteps were heard on the stairs, Miss Cross jumped up and sat on the frayed ottoman by Judah’s feet. “I read over the letters.”

“Did you come up with any theories?” He liked this image of a neat woman sitting at his feet by the fire. It implied a cozy domesticity.

“I wish I could say I had, Captain, but it seems your search is at an end if this is all you have to go on. Your mother traveled frequently, so her acquaintance was large. What did her final letter to you say exactly?”

“That I was not the marquess’s son, and she was sorry for her lack of propriety in her youth. She wished she had been a better mother and asked my forgiveness.”

“Did you offer it to her?”

“To her memory, you mean? By the time the letter came she was already gone, though I did not know it for months.”

“Yes.” She leaned in.

He bent his head toward her, smelling violets and mothballs. Her mourning gown must have been tucked away from some previous loss. “You’ll have to detach the white collar and cuffs from your cakie uniform, I suppose,” he said. “I shall see if we have any in black for you to wear.”

“Focus, Captain.”

He sighed. “I was very angry with her. I do not know where I fit in anymore. I cannot really go out in Society. I am a fraud. I could be a stable boy’s son for all I know.”

“It doesn’t seem likely. I imagine you are the son of some other member of your mother’s close circle. An earl, at least.” She toyed with the fringe on the ottoman to keep herself from touching him.

“Have you ever met anyone I especially look like? You are far more familiar with the families than I am.”

“I’ve never seen anyone with your eyes,” she said. “But family characteristics often skip a generation. It is only when you look at portraits that you see a resemblance.”

“I looked at a photograph of the Prince of Wales,” Judah admitted. “But I expect Lady March would know the truth. I have given up on that idea.”

“Your father does not have to have been a prince, but he is assuredly distinguished. I do not think you should trouble yourself. You are a fine gentleman. I have enjoyed our conversations greatly these past months. You are sensible and competent, more than one can say about many elevated personages.”

Her praise warmed him far more than the insufficient fire. “Thank you for the compliments.”

“You are very welcome.” She sighed. “I look forward to talking about more than housecleaning, when I return next week. Even Betsy’s gossip about the amours of the bakers seems fascinating to me now.”

“I cannot imagine not working, myself. The idle life of house parties, one after another, does not appeal. My brother and I have that much in common. Though I would like to hunt. I miss that. Excellent hunting in India.”

She folded her hands into her lap. “Do you have tiger heads on the walls in your home?”

“No. I shot to get rid of them, not to decorate with them. Tigers are killers, both of men and cattle, so they need to be contained.”

“Elephants?”

“No. I hunted for a reason, for food or to contain pests. But sometimes we hunted from elephants.”

She tilted her head up to his. “How exotic it sounds.”

“Yes. We shot all the big cats, like panthers, that could wreak havoc on villages. There was some talk of containing them with poison, but I prefer a solitary battle of man over beast.” His fingers itched to take her hands in his, but they were not courting.

“Would you like to grouse shoot? I know game birds are not the same as tigers, but I am certain my aunt would invite you to her estate in Derbyshire. The shooting goes until December, I believe.”

“Not this year, too much to do, but maybe next.” They were interrupted by the reappearance of George, who seemed not to notice where Miss Cross was seated. Judah smelled liquor as George tossed himself into a chair.

“Early day tomorrow,” Judah said, rising. “I had best take my leave.”

“I do not know how you do it,” George said, rubbing the heel of his shoe on the carpet. “I find far too much to do in life than to lower myself to working. I am planning to start a beetle collection with the boys.”

“Fascinating,” Judah murmured. “Thank you for a pleasant evening.” He would not be offering George Cross a position, that was certain.

T
he next day, Judah was called downstairs by Lewis Noble, who had arrived as contracted to do routine maintenance. But instead of a consultation on some broken piece of machinery, he found the men circled around one of the long tables, Noble at the head. He presided over a hand crank, which turned a frosting knife against a cake on an attached turntable.

“No gas or coal needed for this model, Captain Shield,” Noble said, catching sight of him. “But it should save time.”

“I thought frosting cakes was an art.”

“Most art can be brought to heel by science,” Noble said, lifting a lever that placed the frosting knife at an angle that allowed it to smooth out the edge of the cake where the side frosting met the top.

One of the men clapped. Another of the bakers elbowed him.

“ ’ands don’t ’ave to be steady no more,” the clapper said. “The job will be done right regardless.”

“Doesn’t mean you can come to work drunk,” said Alfred Melville, sharply.

“What do you think, Melville? Is the contraption a time saver?” Judah asked.

Melville shrugged. “It might work for the factories, but I don’t think we need it here. The shilling cakes come from Bristol, you know.”

Judah clapped his hands. “The demonstration is over. Return to your work.”

Melville nodded at him approvingly. Judah walked over to the machine and scratched his chin as he looked it over.

“I thought it might help in the Fancy, so your ladies can focus on the detail work,” Noble said.

“Has Betsy seen it?”

He detached the frosting knife and tossed it into a sink, then fit his machine into a box. “Yes. She was out here for a minute before she had to return to work. Run ragged, she is.”

“Her assistant had a death in the family.”

“It sounds like she’s been gone a long time.”

“She’ll be back Monday. Now, what is your price? I’ll see if her ladyship is interested in the expenditure.” Had everyone seen Miss Cross’s leave as excessive? That was the problem with trying to treat her as a lady instead of as an employee. He didn’t want to damage his credibility or hers, but it was too late to consult one of the managers now.

Noble named a figure that seemed quite reasonable. “Just three lever changes and the cranking, and the cake is done. I estimate it cuts frosting time by two-thirds.”

“Impressive. I will let you know.” He went back upstairs and found his brother waiting for him next to the fireplace in his office.

Hatbrook lifted a teacup in his direction.

“I must have been in the basement for longer than I thought, if you had time to arrive and cadge a cup of tea.”

“Hales is most efficient.” His brother yawned and set down the cup.

Judah seated himself and poured fresh tea for them both. “I’ve noticed. What brings you by?”

“Town bores me,” Hatbrook admitted. “But I promised to stay with Beth until her court presentation in a couple of weeks.”

“Shouldn’t you be closeted with your man of business?”

“Not every second of every day. I thought I could persuade you to come to Brooks’s tonight for dinner.”

Judah felt an instinctive recoil. “I’ve heard their dinner is nothing to thrill the palate.”

“The conversation is far more elevated than that silly club of Gawain’s. Are you so desperate for companions that you joined a tradesman’s club?” Hatbrook’s tone was snappish.

“There are many members of great wealth and erudition, including Courtnay, whose daughter you find appropriate to be my wife,” Judah said, stung. “What do you have against Gawain Redcake?”

Hatbrook tapped his foot. “He has ideas above himself.”

Judah stirred sugar into his tea. “You mean Beth. I agree she is too young and sheltered for someone who has lived Gawain’s life, but after all, you did marry the man’s twin.”

Hatbrook’s chin rose. “My wife may not have been raised to be a lady, exactly, but she didn’t spend years in the army either.”

“Well, I did, and I like him,” Judah said, then felt the need to add, “For myself, not for Beth. Besides, my new club took me now, and Brooks’s would probably not have an opening for a mere brother of a marquess for years.”

His brother’s tone softened. “You can come as my guest.”

“You are rarely in London, Hatbrook. I live here now, and I want to make my own way, as much as is practical. You must allow me my own society.”

He rolled his eyes. “Like the Crosses? You seem very cozy with them.”

“Not to spite you, brother. I have had no dealings with Lady Bricker, only the others.”

“You hardly seem of the temperament to run with Mother’s crowd.”

“To meet them is to gain access to their children, who are my age,” Judah said. “Are the Honorable Geoffrey Cander and the like not appropriate as companions?”

Hatbrook drank off his tea and slammed down his teacup. “Not for the manager of Redcake’s. You don’t have time for the gambling and other activities they indulge in.”

“I just had an invitation this morning for grouse shooting,” Judah said, changing the subject. “I do not know if it was solicited or not.”

“Where?”

“Lady March’s estate in Derbyshire.”

“She likes young men,” Hatbrook said. “Beware.”

A chuckle escaped Judah before he could contain it. “She seemed rather maternal to me.”

“That’s how she hooks the motherless young men,” Hatbrook said darkly. “You should have seen her a decade ago, before she became maternal. Then it was all gypsylike allure and whispers of sexual misdoings.”

“Nothing wrong with the occasional misdoings among friends,” Judah said. “But I assure you my desires do not lean toward Lady March.”

“Keep in mind that your brother associates with the royal family and others of that ilk.” The chin went up again.

The marchioness’s pregnancy seemed to be turning Hatbrook into a holier-than-thou, head of the family sort. “I will do my best not to disgrace you, Hatbrook.” His brother’s marriage had not set the bar as high as he seemed to think.

“I should think you will not have the time, if you continue to work.”

“I’m sure working men can be disgraceful, even in their limited free time. But speaking of time, Lewis Noble is here with his new frosting machine. He seems to think the Fancy is just the place for his tool. Would you ask your wife if she wants me to indulge in the expenditure?”

“You cannot take the decision upon yourself?”

He named the sum. “It is beyond what she set for me to spend.”

Hatbrook stared absently at the teapot. “Yes, that does seem high. But I understand the Fancy needs all the help it can get during the Season.”

“I know. Shall I write Alys a note?”

“No, I shall ask myself when we return. Beth had all her fittings so we can return to Heathfield for a few days. I do not like being away from Alys for so long.”

“Will she come to London at all?”

“For the court presentation.”

“I look forward to seeing her again.” He glanced at his desk to see how high his box of papers was.

Hatbrook leaned forward. “I realize we have become near strangers, Judah. But I would like us to be easy with each other.”

They were not off to a good start. “Not only are we near strangers, we are not equals, either.”

“I don’t accept that. You have no idea how different I am than the usual marquess.”

Judah had no heart to rebuff his brother. “I have some idea, given your choice of wife. But a man who is proud of his royal associations is as different from me as milk to cake.” Only a fool would not wince at that statement, given he’d been hopeful of a blood connection to the royalties so very recently, but he’d said it, and had to watch as his brother stiffened.

“I will not lose you,” Hatbrook said.

“I think you would lose me in a heartbeat, if I associated with Lady Bricker.”

“Do not assume even that. I am sheltering one of Alys’s sisters at times, and she did us a grave disservice early this year. Her behavior appalls me, yet I did not dismiss her from my household.”

“You are most tolerant.” But even if Hatbrook wasn’t, who would criticize him?

“I will be, for the sake of family.”

“For your sake then, and not just Beth’s, I will try to fit in as best I can. But I must make my own way. The very name ‘Shield’ gives me a sense of disquiet and you must allow for that.”

“I understand Mother set you adrift. But you are not so very unusual.” Hatbrook smiled wryly. “Do you know there are even rumors about the Queen’s parentage?”

Judah chuckled. “Not very loud ones, I assume.”

“Of course not, but be heartened by that.”

“I doubt it gives Her Majesty any pleasure, any more than it gives me. I cannot explain the sensation of uncertain parentage to one who has no doubts. Yet, I assure you it is not a constant burden upon my shoulders.”

“No, you are too active.” Hatbrook clapped his thighs. “And I should leave you to it and get to my own vast collection of papers. Do you know, we are thinking of putting in more fruit and starting a line of Hatbrook Farm jams?”

“I’m sure your wife will direct me to stock them if they come up to snuff.”

“Yes. She still has Redcake’s as her end game at all times. Not surprisingly, since this establishment is hers.”

“Do you think she would ever sell it to me? When I have the funds?”

“No,” Hatbrook said. “I don’t think she would.”

“I can’t blame her, of course.”

“Perhaps you can set up a jewelry emporium or some such. You must have quite a fortune in that ship.”

“Some things that are very popular here sell for almost nothing in India. At any rate, I am well settled for now. I shan’t think about leaving until I am bored.”

“Fair enough. Will you come for dinner before we depart?”

Judah nodded and they took their leave. He was sorry to lose the notion of buying Redcake’s for himself. He’d grown very fond of the place.

 

“ ’appy to see you, miss,” Eddy Jackson said, handing Captain Shield his paper. “I ’ear yer sister died. So sorry.”

“Thank you,” Magdalene said, smoothing her tight new collar with her glove. Had the captain been chatting about her?

He tossed Eddy a penny and gave the lad a wink, then tucked her under his umbrella without ever touching her. Her arm and waist tingled where he might have rested a hand if he’d wanted to.

“I hope you don’t mind my saying it is pleasant to walk to Redcake’s with you again, Miss Cross.”

Magdalene smiled, pleased Captain Shield had missed her. “I am glad to be returning, and thank you for sending over the black collars and cuffs.”

“I assumed you would not want to don white again until nearly spring.”

“Exactly, Captain. You are very thoughtful.”

“My pleasure. Everything is much the same in the bakery, though increasingly busy. I have made one change to your department.”

“Oh? The additional staff, you mean?”

“No. With the marchioness’s approval, I have purchased a new contraption from Mr. Noble. A froster that is meant to save precious minutes.”

She had spent so much effort perfecting her frosting skills, and now there would be a machine to do it? For a moment, she felt kinship to the Luddites of long ago. Was she to be put out of work as quickly as she returned to it?

“I think it will help the operation. You will have more time to focus on the intricate work. Betsy assures me there is a great deal of it.”

But not so much when fashionable Society was not in Town. Still, they were in the busy time now and she couldn’t borrow trouble. Enough was present at home, with the boys not at all themselves, and George drinking himself into a stupor each night after they’d gone to bed. Of course, he insisted on imbibing expensive claret, which they could not afford in the quantities he drank. The household was becoming one she could hardly tolerate. If George continued in this vein, the boys would need to be sent away to school.

“I’m sure,” she said, when Judah looked at her, “that it is an excellent contraption.”

“The demonstration made it look easy enough. He should have it for us in a week or two.”

“Is it very large? We’ll have to find a place for it.”

“I’ve arranged all that with Betsy. You don’t need to worry your artist’s soul with any of that.” He angled his umbrella to better protect them from the rain.

“I see myself as rather practical,” she ventured. If only he knew the concerns that filled her thoughts.

When she saw his quizzical glance, she flushed. How could he not see her as practical, a Society woman with employment? Most women would focus on their embroidery or causes and not worry about money, but she did, very much.

“Can you not be practical and artistic?”

“Oh yes, I suppose so, but it is a difficult combination.”

The corner of his mouth tilted. “Ah, so you declare yourself to be a difficult woman?”

She wished for a fan to tap him with, but she didn’t even have a newspaper. “Is my society so painful? You have just said it is a pleasure.”

“I am not in your company all day. Perhaps you are impossible at noon, for instance, or appalling at six. Or unmentionable in the wee hours.”

She sniffed. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

When she saw his secret smile, she realized she had all but propositioned him, and from someone in her family, a man might take the proposition seriously. Why did she have to be so different from the lot of them?

“A few days away from you and I’ve become a hoyden,” she said. “Please forgive me.”

“I like you in all your moods, Miss Cross,” he said gallantly. “And here is the loading dock.”

He held open the door for her, then folded his umbrella and placed it in the stand just inside the door. They tried hard to keep the floors dry since falls could mean the destruction of expensive goods. Then he followed her downstairs.