The Marquess of Cake (29 page)

The telegram was on a silver tray, centered on Michael’s desk. She wished she could see the contents, but it was still folded shut.

Collapsing into his desk chair as the adrenaline-fueled curiosity diminished, she glanced at the rest of his desk, and ran her fingers along the ancient wood.

The top page of a stack of papers caught her attention, as she recognized her father’s handwriting. Apparently Michael’s secretary had yet to file away her dowry settlement. She stood, and leaned over the paper. At first, she couldn’t believe what she was reading. This wasn’t about her at all, but about Redcake’s.

Her father had sold the tea shop and emporium to Michael? His London flagship? How could he have done this and not told her?

How could
Michael
have purchased it and not told her?

She snatched up the sheath of papers and read rapidly until a cough at the doorway distracted her.

“What are you doing?” Michael asked, stepping into the room, still in muddy riding clothes.

“I was told a telegram had come for you from London, so I came in to see it, and found this.” She waved the papers at him. “My father sold Redcake’s to you and you didn’t inform me?”

“You have no place in my business life, Alys. I’ve made that clear to you already.”

She slammed the papers to the desk. “But Redcake’s is my business too. My toil, my ideas.”

His expression remained patient, remote. “Once again, my dear, your father has disputed that point of view.”

“Even when a woman is providing value he can’t see it,” she spat.

“I might have hoped you would be more enlightened, but you are all the same, brothers under the skin.”

He took a step forward. “Didn’t you enjoy your party last night?

Despite your lack of experience you did a wonderful job.”

“Thanks to outsmarting your mother at her game,” Alys said.

“She changed my arrangements without consulting me, and if I hadn’t discovered this Rose would have been too ill to stay.”

He frowned. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“This is my sphere,” Alys hissed. “Daily battle with your mother for supremacy? Taking my mother’s role with her daughter? Meanwhile doing nothing that I want because my husband’s health prevents me from even using the skills I’ve spent years honing.”

His gaze sharpened. “I’m happy to have your desserts on my table.”

“I’m not happy to make you sick, Michael. I am impressed by your self-control, but I see no purpose in testing that control continuously. Nor do I think it is in your mother’s best interests to have pastry ever-present, given that she looks to be at death’s door herself.”

Michael’s mouth closed into a thin line. “If you think that, then why deny her pleasures?”

She leaned forward, glad they had the desk between them. “That’s tantamount to giving me permission to kill her.”

“You are not a doctor. Your theory about sugar is merely that.”

“And you deny the truth?”

He hesitated. “Not for myself. If I didn’t feel better I wouldn’t play along. With all of the present difficulties it has been a great boon to have a clear head and steady hands. I am grateful to you.”

He stepped closer to the desk. Alys wrapped her arms around herself as much as her tight bodice would allow.

“Managing me is a large task of its own, wouldn’t you say, wife?

Cannot your success with me satisfy you?”

“My heart has not yet sacrificed Redcake’s.” She turned away, blinking back tears. How had business become so emotion-filled?

“To think you kept this a secret.”

“No secret, simply none of your business.”

“I cannot believe that,” she said. “When you know what it meant to me. You are most unfeeling.”

He tilted his head. “As are you, for taxing me with this when I have my brother’s very life to concern myself with.”

She gripped the edge of the desk. “I will leave you to your concerns then, husband. I believe I shall take the train to London with my mother and Matilda since you are so busy. I need to order dresses again and I would prefer to choose the fabrics myself.”

“Whatever you wish.” His cold gaze swept hers for a moment, then fixed on the telegram on his desk.

Would he open it in front of her? She wished to know if Judah had sent mail to the London address, too. But Michael didn’t move toward the telegram. Very well. He had resolved to shut her out. She lifted her chin and swept out from behind the desk, making sure not to touch him with any part of her mourning skirts.

*

*

*

Alys ignored her mother when she asked if Alys would be staying at Hatbrook House, and no further comment was made as she followed her mother up the steps to her family’s St. James’s Square mansion two days later, Matilda giggling behind her as she clutched Mr.

Bliven’s arm.

She thought his behavior was too joking, and Matilda’s far too sensual, but who was she to judge? She had little experience with men, and none of it successful.

Ten minutes later she was back in her old room. Lewis’s mechanical bird still perched next to her bed, its plumage dampened by dust.

“They must have shut up the room,” Hortense said, looking around.

“It appears so,” Alys agreed. “I share a dressing room with my sisters, just down the hall. I suppose you should hang my clothes there.

I’ll have to keep wearing the crepe until we’re certain Judah is alive.”

Hortense opened the door as a sharp rap came from the other side.

Alys recognized the knock instantly.

“Hello, Father.” Alys didn’t bother to keep the cool tone from her voice. Affection still bloomed instantaneously from her heart at the sight of his bushy, fading red hair, but anger filled her mind.

Hortense lowered her head. “I’ll be down the hall then, sorting out the luggage, my lady.” She scurried out and shut the door behind her.

“My lady,” her father said, leaning against the door with his arms crossed over his chest. “I never thought to hear one of my daughters called a lady.”

Alys mimicked his pose. “I imagine you thought exactly that, when you gave your two youngest daughters a lady’s education.”

He sighed. “Not this again, Alys. You’d never have wanted lessons in elocution or deportment, much less painting or the piano. You wanted to be in the kitchen.”

“And yet you forced me out.”

“To find your proper place in the world.”

“What would that be, stuck as I was between the kitchen and the boudoir? Do you have any idea how narrowly I escaped ruin?”

“Why do you think I let you stay in the kitchen as long as I did?”

She stared at him, noting he’d lost weight in the month since her wedding. How serious had his illness been?

“It seemed overnight you went from a bubbly girl as interested in young fellows as the next lass, to a frozen, cake-obsessed mite. At

first I thought you were simply following your old father, but something was missing behind your eyes.”

She scowled. “Do you want to discuss what happened?”

“No, daughter. I want to tell you that I saw you come back to life last fall. A sparkle had returned to your eyes that I hadn’t seen in a decade. I didn’t know why, but I noticed that men at Redcake’s began to show an interest in you that had never been apparent. I thought it was time for you to find a husband.”

“You didn’t think that spark was there for one man?”

He scratched his head. “You would have told me.”

“I did not,” she pointed out.

“I didn’t know a marquess was involved.”

She rubbed her eyes, still gritty from the train, then went to look in a drawer for a handkerchief. “Why did you sell him Redcake’s, Father? I cannot understand that impulse. I had no hopes of marrying Hatbrook. I wanted to stay where I was.”

“I did it for Rose, primarily, and Matilda too, though her situation appears to be resolving differently than I’d planned.”

“You did?”

“Yes. Rose doesn’t belong in London. And a girl needs her mother.

Your mother will not leave me, so we all need to move.” He scratched his head again. “I set out to conquer London and did exactly that.

Now I can move on, for my family’s sake.”

She wiped her eyes. “What do I do? I’m not prepared for the life of a marchioness. I’m prepared to be a baker.”

“I would have married you to Ralph Popham or Ewan Hales,” he said. “You made your choice.”

“Then why did you bring Theodore Bliven to dinner?”

“His father suggested he was in need of an occupation and I thought I might hire him as a manager for Redcake’s and keep ownership. But he is too light-minded to manage it. Your marquess has the sense needed, but of course he will have to hire someone. I have faith he’ll find the right person, however.”

“So you thought I might marry Mr. Bliven and he would run Redcake’s,” she said flatly. “Why not Lewis?”

Her father wrinkled his nose. “Lewis is good with machines, not people. He wouldn’t give any daughter of mine the attention she deserved.”

She laughed sourly, glancing at the bird and thinking of all the hours Lewis must have lavished onto his love token. “And Hatbrook will?”

“You chose him. Clearly this business with his brother has blackened his outlook for now, but the situation will eventually resolve.”

“If Captain Shield hadn’t been declared dead, Hatbrook never would have married me.” She wiped her eyes again.

“No one is to blame for that, unless you want to call out the army,”

her father said. “You and Hatbrook are bound together now and you’ll have to make the best of it. I’m just glad you’ll be living near Redcake Manor.”

“Which is uninhabitable.”

“An unforgivable oversight on my part,” her father admitted.

Alys knew that was an apology. “At least Rose didn’t suffer for it, thanks to Hatbrook.”

“And now you’ve left her in the country? Is Hatbrook on his way here?”

“I am certain he will have to come eventually, to straighten out this business with his brother.”

Her father sniffed and found his own handkerchief. “A difficult business. I am glad we never had this trouble with Gawain.”

“Yes. In fact it was him who brought the news to Hatbrook.”

“Yes, he informed me before he departed, since he was supposed to be at Redcake’s.”

“What is he going to do with Redcake’s sold?”

“I offered him the factories to manage. He didn’t refuse.”

She met her father’s gaze, and knew he realized Gawain wouldn’t stay for long. He wanted to make his own successes. But she understood her father was simply happy Gawain was alive, given how close they’d come to losing him. And Arthur was already long lost. He was worried about Rose.

With so much to consider, she was surprised he’d given thought to her future. Just a few months ago she hadn’t anticipated anything changing, but her father had been planning. Maybe she didn’t have the business acumen she had thought she possessed after all.

“Eighteen-eighty-seven is shaping into quite a different year than eighteen-eighty-six, is it not?”

He nodded. “It is indeed, my lady.”

She laughed, then put a hand to her temple as the vibration made her head throb.

“Are you ill?” Her father led her to a chair in front of the fireplace.

“No, the train made my head hurt. Hatbrook is angry with me for looking at the papers on his desk,” she whispered. “But I don’t want a life where I am supposed to stay strictly in the home. He won’t even share information about his brother with me! I do not know my place, except that what he wants is too narrow for me.”

“Marriage is an adjustment.”

“For the woman.”

Her father perched on the edge of the bed. “No, Alys, for the man, too. Have patience. A soft manner and tolerant heart will help greatly.

When he learns how strong and capable you are, he will relent and include you where appropriate.”

“You think so?”

“In family matters, certainly. Your mother had no interest in business. But over the years I wanted to tell her things, and she listened to me. Hear what Hatbrook has to say. Follow his lead. The rest will come.”

“He just disappears,” she confessed.

“He doesn’t appear to meals?”

“Not when I do.”

“Then alter your schedule to fit his. Eventually, he will talk.”

“Who would have thought you would be the one to give me sound marital advice?” She winced as the headache took stronger hold.

“I’ll ring for your maid,” her father said. “Rest now. I’m sure your husband will be on his way soon.”

Alys closed her eyes and rested her head on the back of her chair when her father departed. She thought she’d misled him about the actual nature of the situation. Michael didn’t care where she was and she didn’t really know if he planned to come to London.

Matilda burst into the room, slamming the door into the wall. “I’ve just sent a note to Lady Lillian. We must have a council of war tomorrow, to help me with Mr. Bliven. You will help me figure out how to catch him, won’t you, Alys?”

“Your visitors have been shown into the Rose Room, my lord,” said the footman.

Michael thought irritably that most rooms in the house were rosecolored. Alys had chattered about redecorating once her mother arrived but all the Redcakes except Rose had decamped to London the day before. He hadn’t asked Rose how she felt about her name matching the Farm’s decor. She’d been shut away with Beth, pouring over fashion plates. Which left him to hide from his mother as much as possible.

That lady had changed the menus again the moment Alys left. The night before the table had groaned under cream soups, fancy French sauces, and a seven-layer cake. He’d hardly slept last night as a result, even though he hadn’t touched the cake. It was as if, after a month of abstemious eating habits, his body had rebelled.

He was in too foul a mood to receive visitors, but nonetheless his boots ate up the hallways between his study and the Rose Room.

These men were from the War Office.

His mother met him in the hallway. The high ruffles on her dress angled her head even more arrogantly than usual.

“Is it about Judah?”