The Marquess of Cake (9 page)

“I think that was my mother’s idea, actually,” Grandmother Noble said, stirring in her chair. “But I’m glad to see the tradition has been passed down. Where are Gawain and Lewis? They have their own letters to write.”

“I haven’t seen Gawain since we ate,” Rose said.

“Lewis was here, but he left again,” Alys said, remembering the metal bird.

Matilda yawned. “This weather is making me so sleepy.”

“Don’t fall asleep now,” Rose warned. “You promised to play backgammon with me.”

Sir Bartley entered the room and for Alys, the holiday spirit vanished.

“Everything in good order at Redcake’s?” her mother asked. The emporium remained open as most shops did despite the holiday.

“Fair enough,” he said, rubbing his hands together.

“I have to finish my socks.” Alys swept past him toward the door.

*

*

*

An extremely bad snowstorm overshadowed Boxing Day. All morning long, Alys could hear trees cracking outside as the weight of snow overpowered them. Her father had taken Uncle Jacob to work by foot so they could discuss new mill equipment, and Grandmother Noble had stayed in bed, claiming a sore throat and chest pains.

Would this be the first of many days to come just like this one, minus the
Tannenbaum,
with novels Matilda and Rose took turns reading aloud while the Redcake women knitted charity socks?

“I do wish we could take a walk,” Rose moaned. “My head simply aches.”

“It’s the storm. I always have the headache when it snows,” their mother said. “Do you want some willow bark tea, dear?”

“Yes.”

Alys knew Rose’s head must really hurt. She despised the bitter brew. “I’ll get it.”

She lit a candle to find her way down the dark hallway from the dining room to the kitchen. Her father had installed gas lighting in the kitchen but hadn’t done so for any of the hallways or staircases mostly travelled by servants.

“Miss Redcake?” Pounds’s large body loomed over her quite unexpectedly at the kitchen door.

She bit back an alarmed cry when her candle rattled in its saucer.

“Miss Rose desires some willow bark tea.”

“Very good, miss. I’ll have it brought in.”

“Thank you.” She stared as he returned through the door. If she were in Redcake’s, she’d have been able to go into every room and no one would block her way or question her. Here, in her home, servants had their own domains. She wasn’t free to roam her own house. Her hand went to her chest. Her corset seemed to be cutting off her air.

She was used to living in looser clothing most of the time.

This wouldn’t do. She needed to speak to her father.

For the rest of the day, she stilled her tongue, but on Monday, she rose early, before Lucy had even come in with her tea, and went downstairs in the simple black cakie uniform she could dress herself in without assistance.

As she expected, her father was in the dining room, drinking black coffee and having an egg before he left for the emporium. She had been at his side not too long ago.

What she hadn’t expected was that Lewis would be right next to him, pointing at a complicated diagram on a piece of paper in front of them.

“Father, Lewis,” she said.

“We’re discussing some potential upgrades to Uncle Bartley’s mills,” Lewis said. He smiled at her.

She realized she hadn’t seen him at all since the musicale, except for dinner last night when he was placed at the opposite end of the table. “You must have been busy designing over the holiday.”

His smile widened, showing pleasure that she’d noticed. “Uncle Jacob made some comments that gave me wonderful ideas. I couldn’t stop drawing.”

This also gave him the excuse to avoid the interminable sermon readings Grandmother Noble enjoyed so much, welcome since Lewis was not the religious sort.

“I’m happy you were so gainfully employed,” Alys told him.

“I could explain my design to you,” Lewis offered.

“No, thank you.” She kept her shudder to herself. Mills held no appeal to her. “But I loved your latest bird.”

“I’m glad.”

Sir Bartley set down his coffee cup. “Did you need something, Alys?”

“I wondered if I could go in the carriage with you this morning.”

“Whatever for? You need to get packing.” He stared at her uniform.

“Packing?”

“Yes, you and Mother and the girls are taking the train down to Eastbourne later today, and setting up the household at Redcake Manor.”

“Redcake Manor?” Train? Eastbourne? Her brain seemed to shut down.

“I’ve renamed the property. Since we’re going to be spending a great deal of time in Sussex, I want it all ready for me when the holiday rush is over.”

“But everyone’s in town now,” she said.

“Go pack, Alys.”

“I’d like to go into Redcake’s,” she pleaded.

Sir Bartley picked up his cup and put it to his lips. He frowned when he noticed it was empty. “You are no longer welcome there, Alys, unless it is to take tea with a friend.”

Alys felt anger boiling up and couldn’t care that Lewis witnessed her shame. “I did an excellent job for Redcake’s, Father. I love it there.”

He raised his hand. “I’ll take no more nonsense from you, young lady, not in my own house. Am I not master here?”

“Yes, Father.” Irritation made her bold. “But the least you can do is offer me a letter of reference. I deserved better than to be let go without a reference.”

Lewis’s eyes widened.

Her father pushed back his chair and stood. Silverware clattered against the table. “While there is breath in my body, girl, you will want for nothing. Even after, you will be provided for.”

“I want my position back,” she said. “Or a reference.”

His nostrils flared. “Lewis, wrap up those papers, you are coming with me. Alys, I will not speak to you again until we meet in Sussex.”

Alys stood her ground, not moving until her father and Lewis left.

Her father stepped around her without a second glance, but Lewis kissed her cheek. Clearly, her cousin had said nothing to her father about his offer. That would have only made things worse. When she heard the outer door close, she sank to the ground, letting her skirts puff around her knees as she knelt.

“Darling!” Her mother shrieked, coming into the room. “Smelling salts!”

Slowly, Alys pulled herself upright with the aid of a table. “My apologies, Mother, I was being dramatic. Father has just made it clear that not only am I forbidden at Redcake’s, I am to live in the country.”

“Yes, he wants us to leave today, but Pounds says the trains aren’t running due to the storm. I think I can persuade him to leave off the travel until after the first of the new year.”

“And my position?”

Her mother shook her head. “You have to let that go, Alys. Your father insists that you marry, not stand in the way of your sisters. Perhaps it might have been different if Gawain hadn’t returned, but now that he has a son in the business again—”

“He doesn’t need me,” Alys finished.

“I’m afraid that’s how he sees things. He feels we’ve gained a new position and he’s proud of that accomplishment. He wants his family to reflect his place in the world.”

“Even if we’re not happy about it?”

“You and Gawain are the only two who are unhappy,” her mother said in a slow, thoughtful tone. “But you both must make your peace.

Your father is the parent God chose for you, and he knows what is best.”

“What does Gawain want?”

Her mother toyed with a long necklace for a moment. “To be miserable, I think. But that will change in time. He suffered a terrible shock when he was injured, you know.”

“I don’t want to marry, Mother. I can’t, I just can’t.” Her knuckles began to burn and she realized she still clutched the edge of the table.

“You’ll feel differently when we find the right man for you.”

“Don’t I even get to choose?” She knew she shouldn’t use that bitter tone with her gentle mother, but that clawing, suffocating feeling was taking over again.

“I won’t let your father force you to marry someone you dislike.”

“To think I have to satisfy myself with that, when I was so very good in my position. I am ill-served by this, as is the bakery.”

“You can still make cakes, darling. I’ll explain to Cook that it’s your special hobby. Perhaps you can have a little kitchen of your own in the Sussex house.”

“You mean Redcake Manor?”

An impish expression crossed her mother’s face. “Even so. Let your father be proud, Alys. He’s worked so very hard for us. You can’t imagine how he started.”

“Unlike you, Mother, I was in the mill working as a child. I know very well how he started since things didn’t improve very much until the past ten years.”

“But you’ve always had a family to support you, brothers. He had no one,” her mother said gently. “Be kind.”

“I’d like to go to my room now,” Alys said, because she felt anything but kind.

Her mother nodded. “I’ll have Lucy bring you a tray.”

Alys shrugged and stepped around her. To think it had to be worked out with Cook so she could be allowed to bake in her own home. No home of Sir Bartley’s was really hers. And the only escape? How ironic.
Marriage
.

*

*

*

Michael shook the snow off his top hat before entering Mumford and Egglesworth for the first time on the Tuesday after Christmas. Sir John Smythe was meeting him here, unable to resist being a part of such a conference.

When he shut the door behind him, he immediately took off his muffler. It seemed the blasted thing had sucked in moisture from the snow and packed it around his neck instead of protecting him from the chill. Leave it to his mother to give him a gift with negative effects.

“My lord.” Sir John came toward him, hand outstretched, nose red from the cold.

Michael shook his hand. “I cannot believe a deal was reached with such rapidity.”

“Just so, my lord. You will be pleased.”

A few moments later they were ushered into an oak-paneled room. Gaslights sizzled on the wall and an elegant marble fireplace warmed the space. Plush chairs were arranged around a table.

Settled in the chairs were Mr. Mumford, Sir Bartley, and two other men, who Michael assumed were Sir Bartley’s man of business and accountant. Another man entered behind him, his arms full of papers.

After introductions were made, Mr. Mumford said, “As you are interested in the Redcake’s Tea Shop and Emporium, we have only examined the books of this enterprise, though you must understand that Redcake’s mills and factories have been major suppliers to the business and therefore could affect its health.”

“What did you find?” Sir John said.

“Nothing to concern us,” Mumford said. “The enterprise is five years old at this location. Start-up costs prevented a profit at the start, but it has done well for three years now.”

“This document here lays out the various departments and their profit margins,” said the man who’d come in laden with papers.

“We find the tea shop is lucrative because of the markup, and the bakery is lucrative because of the volume of business relative to the size of the space needed to operate it,” Sir Bartley said. “A very good business, poised for expansion.”

“Then why do you not expand it?” Michael asked. “It’s your name above the gate.”

 “I am retiring to the country,” he said. “I plan to learn to ride and shoot.”

“You’re going to take up the life of a country squire?” Michael wished someone had thought to bring a tray into the meeting. Samples from the bakery would be nice.

“Yes. I’ve had a lifetime of labor and I’d like my daughters to experience a different lifestyle. London is not good for any of them, year-round.”

“The weather is most unhealthful,” Michael agreed. “I try not to spend more than a couple of months at a time here.”

Sir Bartley nodded. “I plan to spend my time between Sussex and Somerset, where I have my other businesses.”

“My estates are in Sussex as well,” Michael observed.

“I am relocating there more by accident than design,” Sir Bartley observed. “The right property became available at the right price.”

“You won’t regret it. And it is easy to get to London from there, these days.”

“Yes, my travel should be quite convenient.” He rubbed his hands together.

“Sir Bartley is anxious that this business be completed as soon as possible,” one of the men said.

“One thing.” Michael lifted a finger.

“Yes?” asked Mumford.

“What about Sergeant Redcake?” he asked, still turned to Sir Bartley. “I believe your son said he worked as an accountant for the emporium?”

“I do not believe he enjoys this employment. You can of course offer him a job if you desire, but I hope he moves with us so I can train him for my other businesses, since I don’t intend to sell them.”

“You simply wish to be quit of London.”

Sir Bartley nodded.

“And Miss Redcake?” Michael asked, wondering about Sir Bartley’s city-loving daughter. “Who does the cakes?”

“She is no longer involved in the enterprise.” Sir Bartley’s mouth folded into a tight line.

“Is she well, sir?” Michael asked quickly. She seemed to be the blooming sort of person who never took ill.

“Of course, my lord. Never doubt it.”

He nodded with relief. The girl had been so enthusiastic about her

cakes, but it seemed more than the holiday had transpired over the past few days. He was well versed in family complications. Could she have run off with a man? “Very well. If we can come to terms on price, I am very interested.”

“Not concerned about entering trade?” Sir Bartley asked.

“I will not concern myself with day-to-day operations,” Michael said. “But I cannot deny a sense of personal satisfaction at owning such a charming business.” Even if it would be somewhat less than charming without Miss Redcake in his employ. He had wanted to speak with her again, see if the same sparks ignited, not that he intended to act on his attraction, but she probably had an excellent dowry, something to keep in mind if a man needed funds, not that he ever planned to be in that position again.