The Marquess of Cake (19 page)

“He’s never been here,” Mrs. Pelham said.

“How did he buy the house then?”

“Through an agent.”

“Had it been vacant long?”

“At least since I was a girl.”

“What was it called before he renamed it?”

“Pelham Manor. A cadet branch of those who lived in Pevensey Castle, I believe, built the house.”

“And Pelham is your name too.”

“Yes, miss, but I have no idea what the connection is. My husband’s mother died when he was young and all that sort of knowledge was lost with her.”

“Perhaps Robbie’s father will know something more.” A stray thought she’d had on the train coalesced. She needed an occupation.

Learning about the house’s history might be interesting. Certainly overseeing the modernization of the kitchen would keep her busy but her father might have that in hand. “Which room is mine? The one next to Rose?”

“We only cleaned the one, miss. We can start on the next one tomorrow if you wish.”

“I think that would be advisable. It’s possible more of my family will come soon and we can’t all stay in one room.”

Mrs. Pelham’s lips pursed in an unattractive manner. Really, one wondered if she was suited for this position or perhaps she’d have done better as a mere caretaker, though from the look of the place, not much care had been taken.

“I’ll have my letter ready for you to post by the time you bring up our food.” There’d be no point in asking for a bath, filthy though both of them were. The dirt wouldn’t be good for Rose’s lungs. Maybe she could heat some water by the fire and at least wipe away the coal marks. She’d send Lucy for a cauldron and water when she arrived upstairs.

At least she’d not be bored.

“Is it true you’re courting the middle Redcake daughter?” Michael asked Theodore Bliven as they sat at Hatbrook House with brandy and cigars after dinner on Thursday.

 “Sir Bartley hoped for a match with his oldest daughter, but she’s not to my taste.”

Michael had noticed Theo hadn’t taken an instant liking to Alys like he had back when they had first met at the tea shop, but beyond her personality, he much preferred Alys’s active intelligence and body to the younger, softer sister. Matilda Redcake seemed a dreamy sort.

“I don’t think the eldest Miss Redcake minded. Perhaps she has a secret lover.”

Michael took a sip of brandy. He preferred to keep his own counsel about the state of Alys’s love life. In fact, he hadn’t been able to call on her as he’d told her he would, deciding he needed to complete the purchase of her father’s property before he could decide how he felt about her. He’d received a message from Mumford first thing that morning, necessitating a visit to his office that took up the entire day.

He would be very happy when his new man of business understood all his affairs and he didn’t have to manage both his business and the firm’s. All he’d had time to do was leave his card at the door with the Redcake butler late in the day.

“So you turned your affections to Matilda Redcake?”

“I don’t know if I would term it as affection, though I did call on her the next day. She’s a bit dreamy, but very eager to wed, I think.

Her mother chaperoned us and did much of the talking.”

“Mothers.” They shared a rueful smile.

“Yes, maids are much better chaperones. They don’t care what goes on as long as they are allowed to sit quietly.”

“Will you call on her again?”

“I don’t want to rush into anything, but my father is pressing me.

The pockets are a bit empty and Matilda comes with a good dowry.”

“They seem like a nice family, despite the tradesman aspect of things.”

“You are taking the London face of the business off their hands,”

Theo said. “That will dull the tradesman sheen.”

“They bought a house near Hatbrook Farm. You wouldn’t have to go too far afield to visit your bride’s family.”

“Yes, better than if I married Courtnay’s daughter.”

Courtnay was a dye magnate who had a suitable daughter who’d been a considerable presence during the autumn Season. But he’d made it clear the family was based in Liverpool and his daughter

would have to visit her mother frequently. Theo hadn’t quite been able to bring himself to propose.

“Is she still on the market?”

“I believe so. Her father headed off a fortune hunter or two.”

“Good that you’re more subtle about the thing.”

“I may not have the luxury if my father’s losses are as steep as he claims. And now my cousin is marrying. Really, the news couldn’t be worse.”

“You could manage Redcake’s for me when the deal is done.”

Theo laughed heartily. “I’m not suited for the tradesman life. If I had to take a job I’d rather go out to India, get rich.”

“Have the money for the fare?”

Theo grinned ruefully. “Don’t suppose you’d let me have Beth?”

“She’s not even out yet, my friend. Too young for you anyway, and much too innocent.”

“Probably best to propose to Matilda, if I must. You don’t think her father expects me to work?”

“No, I think he wants to have a country gentry family. That is what Miss Redcake indicated.”

Theo took a sip of brandy, then leaned back and sucked his cigar.

“She’s already in the country, with the pale sister.”

Michael wondered how rare these luxuries had become for his friend. Only two months ago he’d been in entirely different spirits. As Theo blew a smoke ring, his brain fixed on what Theo had just said.

“She is?” Alys had left London? How could he not know? She might have sent a note to Beth, at least. His sister had indicated they had built quite a rapport in one short meeting.

“Yes, left Tuesday. Rose was chaperoning us when I called Monday but she became ill and went upstairs.”

So Alys hadn’t been in London when he’d missed his call on her.

Good. He’d appear less than a cad. But still, he did like her, liked the idea of meeting her on the street or at the tea shop. “How ill? Something serious?”

“A common lung complaint of hers, I believe. Nothing out of the ordinary. Too bad. She’s a dashed pretty thing, a veritable china doll.”

Unlike her older sister who was blooming and robust. Perhaps it was time to take a trip down to his farm. He could visit the sisters on the way. He’d felt it increasingly difficult to button his waistcoat this past week. Nothing to do on the Farm of course, at this time of year, but maybe he could help the blacksmith with repairs or some such physical labor. Make Mumford earn his pay. Not the fashionable time of year to be in London anyway. He could persuade his mother to bring Beth home for a few weeks.

“I’ll offer you my congratulations, then. Think Redcake will let you marry Matilda this year?”

“I haven’t asked, but he’s friendly with my father, so I expect they’ll work out the details if I must.”

“Shall we join the ladies?” Michael asked. “I think we’ve kept them waiting long enough.”

Michael knew where Redcake Manor was, since Sir Bartley had mentioned it during their business dealings over the tea shop and emporium. Resolving to visit, he arrived in Polegate the next day, getting off there instead of taking the six-year-old Cuckoo Line up to Heathfield, near his farm. He swayed on his feet as he exited the train.

Far too muzzy-feeling to descend on the sisters right now. He went to find a pub so he could have something to eat.

His mother had refused to come down to the Farm, or to allow Beth to come with him. She’d have remembered to bring a hamper and force a sandwich into his hand, but quite a bit of society was still in town, thanks to the filthy weather, and parties were abundant, though not with the best people. Poor Beth would be left to her own devices, not being out. Quite selfish of Mother, but no surprise on that account. At any rate, he’d told her he just meant to pop down for a few days then come back again. A week of visits and labor and he’d be fit for London again.

At least this meant he didn’t have to go all the way to his farm first. He might have managed a womanish faint if he’d had to stay on the train any longer.

He checked through blurred vision for the sight of a pub on the street. Churches, a grocer, but no pub. Not a tea shop in sight, of course. He stumbled on a rock and would have gone down if he hadn’t been caught under the arm by a firm hand.

“My lord! Are you drunk?” A familiar pair of nutmeg eyes peered under his hat.

Of all the people to meet on the street.

“No, ill,” she mused, squeezing his arm. “But you don’t look feverish.”

“Haven’t eaten since breakfast. I was coming to see you, Alys,” he said thickly, hoping he wasn’t hallucinating her.

“Robbie!” she called.

A man jumped down from a rundown hired carriage. “Yes, miss?”

“My excursion has been cancelled. Please help his lordship into the carriage. I’ll be back in just a minute.”

Michael watched Alys dash into the greengrocer’s while a large man dressed in coarse brown took his elbow as if he were an elderly aunt.

“Were we expecting you, my lord?”

He shook off the hand gently. “No, friend of the family.”

Robbie shook his head. “Don’t know where they’ll put you. That house isn’t fit for Quality. Don’t know what Morris was thinking.

He’s a bloody pirate, taking money for that place.”

“Morris?”

“The purveyor of property what sold that tumbledown house to Sir Bartley. That land is fine, sure, but to claim the house was hospitable? Just not right.”

Michael closed his eyes as he stepped into the swaying carriage.

Robbie stuck his head in, bringing with him the odor of onions.

“Do you have a bit of bread and cheese about your person, my lad?” He reached into his pocket and inspected what dropped onto his palm. “I’ll give you three shillings for it.”

Robbie raised his eyebrows. “Back in a tick.”

A minute later, a greasy packet of soft cheese and rye bread was thrust into Michael’s hand. It might have been Scotch trifle for all the pleasure he took in the sight and smell of the bread. He flipped the driver his shillings. “You are a prince among men.”

The driver put a finger to his forehead. “Pleasure doing business, my lord.”

Michael still shook two minutes later, but thanks to the food he’d wolfed down he knew he’d feel better soon. By the time Alys climbed back into the carriage, a wave of exhaustion had made him ready for a nap. She held up a withered apple and offered it to him.

He took it. “Thank you, and I took the driver’s lunch off him.”

“Very resourceful.”

“I don’t like the sound of that house of yours. Everything all right?”

Alys’s full lips curved. “No pastry room.”

“No!” Michael said with a grimace. “I am serious. The place has a roof?”

“No leaking in the room Rose and I slept in last night.”

“What was it called before your father renamed it?”

“Pelham Manor.”

The carriage jerked as the driver called to the horses. Michael took a bite of the sour apple, relishing the tartness if not the mealy texture of the fruit.

“I have a vague sense of the place. Seems like some work was done there about the time I went to Oxford, but I don’t recall hearing anyone had moved in.”

“The housekeeper and one maid managed to do their duty by one bedroom. The kitchen was clean enough, if terribly old-fashioned. I came into town to post a letter to Father as well as to pick up a few special items for Rose.”

“How is she feeling? Bliven said she’d had a lung attack.”

“Yes, she has asthma quite badly in the winter. Already I think she has improved, being out of London.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“I am so sorry to have missed your call, but because of Rose I had to leave London so suddenly.”

Her fingers brushed his. A bolt of heat shot south. “I consider myself to be at fault. I didn’t know you had left because I only left a card at your door that day.”

“Oh?”

She looked bewildered. Michael opened a window and tossed his apple core out.

“I had unexpected meetings. New man of business is complicat- ing my life. Too late to pay a decent call, but I didn’t want you to think I’d forgotten my promise.”

“Surely you don’t think I expect anything from you, my lord.”

He patted her hand, noted she didn’t draw away. “I expect courtesy from myself. I wouldn’t want to behave as less than a gentleman.”

“I don’t expect you could,” she said, staring forward as he played with her glove.

She didn’t speak again until the carriage stopped in front of the house, though the silence was companionable. Scraggly bushes lined the drive, but the main path was clean of weeds. He saw a cat slink around the side. At least they had a line of defense against mice.

His heart sank when they stepped inside and he saw the dingy condition of the great hall. “You are going to need an army of servants to make this place right.”

“We are interviewing footmen today.”

“What about housemaids?”

“I’m not sure. The housekeeper wasn’t prepared for us.”

“I cannot believe your father sent a sick girl here. You cannot manage everything, Alys.”

Robbie came in behind them and deposited two large market baskets at Alys’s feet.

“Pack them up again,” Michael said. “I’m taking the Misses Redcake to Hatbrook Farm. Water the horses if you need to, and call whoever is about to bring down the ladies’ boxes.”

Robbie touched his cap. “Excellent notion, your lordship.”

“It isn’t proper!” Alys gasped. “A bachelor? I cannot subject my sister—”

“My great-aunt is in residence,” he interrupted. “She is no chaperone in truth, being confined to her room due to ill health, but it’s enough for proprieties. I imagine Miss Rose is best confined to her room for the time being as well. I shall write my mother, and Beth too. I’m sure they can come down in a few days.”

Alys blinked, her eyes bright. “I am concerned about Rose receiving nourishing, hot food. The kitchens are so far from the room we’ve been placed in and there’s no cook.”

He wanted to hug her. “You’ll send Sir Bartley a note from the Farm,” he said, “but for now, make your sister ready. Do you think she needs to be carried?”