The Marquess of Cake (13 page)

She was absurdly pleased by his confidence. “Has it always been like this?”

“Yes, I believe so. It is easy enough to hide simply by eating regularly, but I was busy with meetings this morning and didn’t take care of the matter.”

“Your color is better now. Is this condition common in your family?”

“I suspect my mother has a similar problem. Her temper flares before meals quite often.” He smiled wryly. “It may be that her temper flares are normal, however.”

“She is a spirited lady,” Alys ventured.

“I’d have put an adjective before the word ‘spirited,’ but I am ever a dutiful son.”

Alys bit back her smile. “I don’t think I have ever had a conversation quite like this one, my lord, outside my family.”

“It is nice, isn’t it?”

They smiled at each other. After a moment, Hatbrook placed his boots firmly on the ground and stood.

“Thank you for accepting my confidence, Miss Redcake.”

“It was my pleasure.”

He was still so close. Her gaze fixated on his plump lower lip, where a crumb clung. She lifted her hand— He licked away the crumb. “I will see you at the ball this evening?”

“Of course. My family would not miss it.” Instinctively, she licked her lips too, and tasted buttercream. She remembered the mess on her apron.

“Then I look forward to a waltz with you?”

She smiled at the incongruous nature of his request. “By all means. I promise to avoid your toes.”

He inclined his head. “What are you going to do about Popham?”

“As little as possible, my lord.”

He nodded and went to the door. She handed him another piece of cake she’d wrapped. He accepted it with a smile and took his leave.

It wasn’t until he left that she realized he’d never quite disclosed why he had been in the back part of Redcake’s.

Simon Hellman popped his head in. “Your father wants to see you, Alys.”

She gulped. Who had told him she was here? Oh, she should have left sooner!

Michael felt his brain clearing as the fruitcake and water had its effect on his body. He blamed the fogginess of his thoughts for his bizarre questioning of Alys Redcake. Who was he to give a tradesman’s daughter courting advice?

He stood in a dank corridor lined by racks. Gaslight flickered every few feet along the walls. So far his tour had shown Redcake’s to be fresh and modern. Employees were active and full of purpose, and he already knew the clientele was enthusiastic. He’d seen no reason to turn him from his purchase, nor had Sir John or Mumford in their research. At least no reason other than the more time he spent here, the more the luscious baking smells would drive him to eat sweets. A continued relationship with Redcake’s factories would supply product, both raw and finished, though he’d have his staff keep an eye on rival companies to keep the prices reasonable.

A pity Alys Redcake wasn’t a man. Dedication to one’s position was laudable and he knew she had excellent bakery skills, though perhaps she wasn’t the best cakie. Still, he had to accept any Redcake family member would have gone to the concerns that stayed in their father’s empire. She wouldn’t have been in his employ for long regardless of her sex.

Perhaps the fact that she’d come so close to being employed by him was why he was so concerned for her well-being. Yes, that was it, not her lithe form or puffy, kissable lips. And even though he liked her, she had far too much personality for a wife, possibly too much even for a mistress. She’d be one to complain if she were unhappy.

No patient forbearance there, and he knew any wife of his would have to deal with his mother, which could not be easy. Admittedly he would not be the easiest husband either, with his strange brain fog and devotion to physical labor in Sussex. He’d never even last a season in London. She’d have to pack and move regularly to stay at his side.

He reached the door that led to the stairwell to the sales floor. A squeak sounded behind him and he saw two stout men pushing a wheeled rack loaded with the distinctive Redcake’s boxes. They nodded at him, then turned to the right to take the rack onto the freight elevator, which was the latest hydraulic model.

Any man would be pleased to own a profitable business like this.

He could count himself lucky that the Redcake family wanted to rusticate.

Alys found her coat, hat, and gloves and brought them with her upstairs, knowing her father would be sending her right out the door.

Betsy would have to tidy the decorating room.

Ewan Hales appeared to be holding back a smirk as he ushered her into her father’s presence and took her things before shutting the door behind him. Her father examined papers on his desk with a magnifying glass as she seated herself. After a pregnant pause, he set down the glass and looked at her.

Instinctively, Alys wanted to shrink back in her chair, but she stayed straight.

“I thought I made it clear you were no longer welcome here.”

“I could not ignore the Marchioness of Hatbrook’s order, sir,” she said. “No one can do the work I can, and as she’s seen my cakes, she’d have known if someone else decorated it. Also, I was unsure the order would be handled at all if I wasn’t present. I left Redcake’s so precipitously that I was unable to give instructions.”

“You could have spoken to Ralph Popham last night.”

“Work at the dinner table? You’ve expressly forbidden that for years.”

“You cannot choose which of my rules to obey and which to not, Alys. I am your father. I will be obeyed.”

She tried again. “I did not want to embarrass the family. We are attending the Hatbrook ball tonight. How could we hold our heads high if the firm did not supply the goods?”

“That would not be your decision to make. It would be mine.” Her father’s eyes narrowed. “You should have told me.”

“I was angry.”

Their stares locked for a moment, then, surprisingly, her father smiled. “It would have been better if you were a man, Alys, but you are not, and you must learn your place in this world. I will not have you damaging your sisters’ chances.”

Apparently, her father had not been warned that associating with Lady Lillian would damage them with no help from her. “I want them to be happy.”

“Your behavior was appalling last night.”

“Marrying me to your bakery manager would not endear my sisters on the marriage market.”

“Ah, but he won’t be my bakery manager then. I thought you were set on London? Your sisters will be in Sussex.”

“You plan on separating me from them?” This was the last thing she had expected.

“No, I merely mean to place you with a husband.”

“I’m not going to marry someone of such an advanced age. Why, he has a daughter old enough to work here.”

“I thought Betsy was your friend.”

“Friend, yes, but not daughter.”

“Had you thought to marry better?”

His question struck her in a secret, prideful place. Her shoulders stiffened. “I had no thought to marry at all. I like having employment.”

Her father picked up a fountain pen, then dropped it on the table.

“You need to resign yourself to the elevation in your status.”

“You still work. Gawain works. Seven days a week you come here.”

“Not anymore, Alys. I’ve sold it, at least I think I have.”

“What?”

“We’re leaving, all of us. No more London. I hate it, Rose is ill.”

“Mother likes it here. She loves the theater and other entertainments.”

“She will be happy wherever I choose to be.”

“And Matilda? Gawain? Lewis?”

“Matilda can find love in the country. Gawain will be miserable everywhere. Lewis stays here. I cannot believe neither of you informed me of his proposal.”

“I did not take it very seriously.” Though she should have, considering the Christmas gift. “I was never alone with him to discuss it.”

“It should have been discussed with me. You do not behave as you should.”

“I should have been a man,” she said softly. “I could learn the business from you.”

Her father waved a hand. “Oh, you have no head for business. You are happy with your cakes. Art and baking, female tasks. You have no idea what the rest of it is.”

“You never offered me the chance to learn.”

“Your sisters are far better educated than you are, and I can see they have nothing useful in their heads. I’m sure it would have been the same for you.”

Alys’s left hand shook. She tightened her fingers into a fist and pressed against the thick, black cloth of her dress. “I thought I was so valuable to you. I had so many ideas for the tea shop. My cakes made us popular at events of people with rank. And the Scotch trifle. I suggested we make it, and that brought you to the notice of the queen.”

He stood slowly. His short stature did not reduce the awful majesty of his anger. “Do not ever think you are responsible for my success, young woman. You are a reflection of me, nothing more.

Now leave here at once before I must consider further consequences to your disobedience and willfulness.”

She stood at once, both hands in fists. With difficulty, she held her chin high, kept her booted feet from stomping. Slowly, she walked out and took her garments from Ewan. If he ever showed up at her dinner table, she’d slap the smirk from his revolting face.

She went into the street without even putting on her coat. Stinging snowflakes pelted her skin until she pulled on her hat and shrugged into her coat. She wished she had a muff so she didn’t have to force her numbed fingers into gloves.

It took her much too long to walk home, but she couldn’t find voice for even the most basic human interaction it would take for a conveyance.

When she reached the square, she discovered she couldn’t enter her house and face her mother or sisters. Then, she saw her brother a few hundred yards away, in the middle of the square. She picked up her skirts and ran toward him, the cold air streaming from her mouth like smoke.

When she was a few feet away, she stopped and screamed at him.

“How can you not stop him? You could offer to buy it yourself with your army pay.”

Gawain, expressionless, dropped his cheroot to the ground and ground it under his heel. “He did sell it then?”

“Or close enough.”

“The tea shop means nothing to me.”

Alys knew he must be lying. He must hurt like she did. “It has our family name on it.”

He shrugged. “Arthur was the Redcake heir, not me.”

She put her hand on his arm. “You are the heir now.”

He tucked her hand more securely and began to walk again. “Father sent me into the army, to India. He didn’t train me for the business, but discarded me.”

Her brother’s limping pace was as measured as his words, as if no emotion rested underneath. “He doesn’t want Redcake’s anymore.

Shouldn’t that make you want it all the more?”

“Oh, I’ve played at figures to keep the peace, but I can leave it now. No need for any more charades. I’m pleased with the start of my tea import business.”

But not happy. She hadn’t seen him happy since he joined the regiment at seventeen. “Gawain.”

His mouth twisted. “While you were being a petted daughter, I was fighting villagers in the Black Mountains, losing my eye, damaging my hip.”

Her heart thumped in outrage. “I wasn’t petted! I worked. Things happened. Things I’ll never tell you.” Things she didn’t care to remember herself.

“And there are things I’ll never tell you.”

She sniffed. Her nose must be flaming red from the cold now, and surely these tears clouding her vision were from the wind. “We were so close once.”

“That was years ago. But don’t worry, Twin. I still love you.” He patted her hand and released her.

She found that he’d moved her in a circle that placed them in front of their house. “I don’t know who I am without Redcake’s. I’ll die in the country.”

“Then you’d better find a way to stay in London.” He smiled tightly and walked away across the square.

She knew she couldn’t stay here, not if staying meant marrying Ralph Popham. At least she didn’t think her father was serious about him as a suitor. He wouldn’t be so concerned with her new rank as the daughter of a knight if he was intent on the match.

She kicked at the remains of a snowman someone had built in the square, ignoring the damage to her boots as she ground the snow into grass. A scarf and disreputable top hat were soon all that remained.

She picked them up, thinking they ought to go to the vicar’s wife for her charities.

“Miss Redcake?” One of their matched pair of footmen approached. “Your mother would like to see you.”

She sighed. “Yes, of course.” One more lecture and then she’d need to get ready for the ball, assuming she hadn’t been too disgraced to attend.

She hoped this wasn’t the case. Other than the one wedding, she rarely had the opportunity to see her cakes in the setting for which they had been created. And, she must admit, she looked forward to The seeing Hatbrook. Would he like the special chocolate cake his mother had planned for him and his cronies?

Even more deeply hidden was her desire to simply see him. If only the handsome man who’d entered her cake room this morning could have been a Redcake’s employee, someone her social equal. If Ewan Hales or even Ralph Popham had his looks and manner she’d have been more inclined to favor them.

Once inside the house she went to her mother’s dressing room. A large watercolor portrait of her father as a young man, painted by her mother, stared suspiciously at her, from next to a wardrobe.

“Alys,” her mother said. “Your bath is ready in here, since Matilda is in your dressing room. Wash your hair, darling, you smell like the bakery.”

“I’ll never get it dry in time.”

“Sit in front of the fire. I’ve had Lucy bring in your book so you can relax.”

Alys narrowed her eyes. Her mother knew what she’d been doing this morning.

Edith cleared her throat and Alys allowed her mother’s maid to help undress her, even though her cakie’s uniform was easy to manage.

“Lewis packed his things,” her mother said.

“You spoke to him?”

“Yes. He said you informed him that you do not plan to marry at all.”