The Marquess of Cake (12 page)

 “Go,” her father said, his face still reddened, his eyes narrowed under bushy, graying eyebrows.

Alys fled the room. She couldn’t be sorry to go to bed early since she needed to sneak out in the morning to finish up the Hatbrook ball order.

At four A.M. the next morning, she was leaving the house by the servants’ entrance, when a broad-shouldered male body loomed in front of her.

For a moment, she was afraid it was her father.

“Alys,” the man whispered.

She recognized Lewis’s voice.

“Cousin,” Alys whispered. “What are you doing outside? It’s so cold.” For a moment, she wondered if he meant to kidnap her like some ancient Scottish laird.

“A little bird told me you’d be sneaking over to the bakery this morning,” he said. “Come.”

Alys held up the lantern she’d brought to light her way through the morning fog. In front of her was a large, black-painted carriage, suitable for at least six passengers. Yet only one horse stood in front of it.

“How does that work?” Alys asked. “Did you mean to drive me there?”

She saw Lewis’s teeth flash in the lantern light. “I’ve made some improvements. The carriage does much of the work itself. Come inside. I’ll show you.”

She let him help her climb into the carriage, then Lewis took the driver’s seat. She knelt on the seat, and hooked her lantern onto a sturdy nail. Lewis bent down, doing something with metal levers.

Then she heard a low belching and rushed to the back window to see steam exiting the back of the carriage, mixing with the fog. The carriage jerked and she fell back into the seat. They were off.

She judged there was some kind of steam engine in the undercarriage. What a treat this warm compartment was in comparison to the walk she’d expected on this chilly winter morning. Just a few minutes later, the carriage clop-belched to a stop behind Redcake’s.

The carriage shuddered, then Lewis must have disengaged the motor because the shaking stopped. A moment later, she felt Lewis jump down, then the door opened and he came into the compartment.

“It will be warm enough for a few moments in here.” He hung his lantern opposite hers.

“Where did you get the money to buy this?” she asked.

“I scraped money together for the first one from my allowance from Uncle and a few clocks I repaired, upgraded, and sold,” he said.

“I sold the first carriage to a collector of curiosities in Edinburgh. The second went to a German aristocrat. This is the third, and I think it will sell to an American businessman who has expressed interest.”

“I had no idea,” Alys said.

“We live in the same household, but I think we rarely speak.”

“Since Gawain has come home you’ve had a male companion, and of course I’ve my sisters.”

“Yes. The household has become increasingly formal, I find, as your father has risen in the world. It is not entirely to my taste.”

“No, I should think you’ve spent your last night there.” She shuddered at the memory of the previous night.

He leaned forward. “You cannot be happy, Alys. I know you too well to think you would enjoy life as a lady of leisure. You care for me, don’t you? When I sell this carriage I’ll be able to afford the rent on a cottage. You can bake to your heart’s content and I’ll eat a slice of every cake.”

“There’s a lot more to running a household than eating cake.”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to do much of the work yourself. But I’ll make sure we have a maid-of-all-work, and hopefully better soon. I have an idea for a new kind of clock, and a member of the royal family came to look at one of my birds the other day. I’m hoping for a commission.”

“I’m glad you are doing so well.” She leaned forward and took his hand. “And I do appreciate your offer, all the care you’ve taken. 

know Father’s precipitous decision about me probably tipped your hand prematurely.”

“You don’t have a firm grasp on his character,” Lewis said, putting his free hand over hers. “He had planned this ever since you came from Somerset.”

“I hope he hadn’t planned to marry me to Popham all this time!”

“No, Popham’s wife was still alive then. But no doubt he wants you married to someone who can run the businesses, in case Gawain flees the nest.”

“I can run them,” Alys said. “If he’d train me.”

“It’s not a woman’s place, my dear,” Lewis said. “But you could run my household. I’d never question you. We’d have a nice little family.”

“I’m sorry, Lewis, but as well as you know me, there are pieces you are missing. I’m neither willing nor fit to be a wife.” At that moment, the increasing pressure of his hands was too much, too demanding. She felt nothing for him beyond sisterly friendship and his grasp reminded her of darker times.

“I find that hard to believe, if the right man came along.”

She pulled her hand gently from his grasp. “I’m not fit,” she said.

“You are far more feminine than you think,” he argued. “You can find contentment in the running of a house, I know it.”

“You are missing pieces of me,” she repeated. “It isn’t possible, and even more importantly, I don’t want to marry you, Lewis. You are like a brother to me. I’m sorry. Perhaps my sisters do not see you that way, but I do.”

“Your sisters won’t be marrying the likes of Popham or me,”

Lewis said.

“Probably not,” she agreed. “I can only hope they find men as worthy as you, dear cousin.”

His mouth twisted as she named him thus. “So that is all?”

She nodded. “I’m sorry.”

“Very well. You know how to find me.”

“Of course. And in a week or two, you should come to dinner. I’m sure Mother will talk Father out of his temper.”

“You’ll be in the country by then, I think.”

Alys pressed her rapidly chilling lips together. “Yes, of course, I had forgotten.”

“I think you have blocked all the unpleasantness from your mind.

But I see you hate the thought of leaving London less than you hate the idea of marrying me, or Popham.”

“Rose will need someone sensible about her,” Alys ventured.

“Even so. You’d best get your work done before your father realizes you’ve been in the bakery,” Lewis said.

“Thank you. The ride here was exhilarating,” Alys said.

“I’ll send you a note when I’ve upgraded to carriage number four.”

“Good luck with the American. And the bird automaton commission.”

“Thank you.”

She smiled, a bit painfully, then he opened the door and fixed the step into place for her so she could step down.

A few hours later in her decorating room, the Fancy, in the basement bakery, Simon Hellman loaded the Hatbrook cake onto a cart for delivery later. Betsy had a list of pastries required and was checking them off in the bakery, since Alys didn’t want Ralph Popham to see her and report back to her father.

She supposed she should be irritated that she hadn’t received a day’s wages for a great deal of work, but she was happy to be done with it. Her father would likely recognize the cake as her style at the ball tonight, but wouldn’t be able to react in public and would have calmed down by the next morning. What was the worst he could do?

Exile her to the country? He was already going to do that as soon as the weather improved.

“Is that the cake?” The Marquess of Hatbrook strode in, dressed in a handsome suit with a waistcoat of red-striped silk.

The sight of him in the Fancy was so incongruous that Alys had to blink a few times. She tried to brush flour off the cakie uniform she’d worn to blend in, but realized the white mess was buttercream when she smeared it into the fabric.

“Your lordship?” Her heart beat out of rhythm.

“Yes.” Hatbrook drew out the word in a most superior fashion.

“Alys, I checked off every pastry as it was packed.” Betsy trotted into the room, waving a sheet of paper. “It’s all done!”

Hatbrook turned. The girl blushed nearly purple and dropped the packing list.

Alys snatched it from the floor. “Thank you ever so much, Betsy.

Please remember, I was never here.”

“Of course.” Betsy’s eyes were wide. “I—I—”

Alys made a shooing motion. The girl dropped a grateful curtsy and ran.

“Friend of yours?” Hatbrook inquired.

“Yes, actually. Though I don’t think I’ll be able to continue the friendship.” Alys stared at the list, but it might as well have been gibberish for all the sense she made of it.

“That my list?” Hellman asked, reentering.

“Yes. Betsy says it is all there.”

“Excellent,” Hellman said, taking it. “We’ll get it all there in perfect condition. I have no fear on that account, your lordship. We take pride in our work.”

Hatbrook nodded. Alys glanced between the two, wondering why Hellman would recognize the marquess since he never entered the tea shop. What was the marquess doing in the back rooms?

“Are you on a tour, your lordship?” she asked. “Did you lose your guide?”

Hellman coughed and exited the room, walking backward as if Hatbrook were an Oriental potentate.

“I did receive a tour, yes, thank you, but I was allowed to explore on my own after.”

“At ten in the morning?”

“It is nearer twelve, Miss Redcake.”

“Oh, dear. I hadn’t realized.” Alys untied her apron and tossed it into a bin. “I had better leave before I’m noticed.”

“You are quite noticeable to me.”

“I mean by Upstairs.” Heavens, but she was tired. And nervous.

He quirked a brow.

“Management.” No response. She tried again. “My father?”

“Ah. Defying his orders by being here?”

She tapped her foot. “I promised your mother the job would be done right.”

He smiled, causing his cheekbones to pop in a most sensual manner. “Is my mother a higher power than your father?”

“I believe my father would see it so, were I not involved. The customer comes first.”

“A noble sentiment.”

“You wouldn’t make the decision I did to get the job done?”

He considered. “You might have sent a note to other workers here.”

“I’m the only one who decorates the fancy cakes,” Alys said. “I was training Betsy, but she’s not ready yet.”

“You’re saying your departure leaves a hole in the smooth running of this bakery?”

“I believe so. I can’t say what other arrangements my father might have made.” She knew he had done nothing, but didn’t want to admit it.

A discreet cough came from just inside the door. Alys thought the man looked vaguely familiar, but certainly she couldn’t place him as a person who belonged in the bakery.

“Do you feel this changes anything?” said the man.

Hatbrook shook his head. “No, I was aware.”

Alys noticed he had gone a little pale.

The other man nodded. “Shall I wait for you?”

“No, Sir John. You can walk back to your office. I’ll be taking the carriage back to Hatbrook House.”

The other man nodded and left.

Alys didn’t understand, but whatever was going on, it seemed to involve her. “Your lordship?”

“You should speak to your father.”

“I’m sorry you are a witness to my most undaughterly conduct, sir, but I have explained to you the reason for my actions. I apologize if I have given you cause for concern for your mother’s party.” She felt sick that he might not take her at her word that all would be well.

He grasped a counter with his hand. “You wouldn’t happen to have a spare slice of cake around here, would you? I haven’t eaten in hours.”

“Of course.” She kept a small assortment of tasting cakes for undecided customers and brought him a slice of the best available.

Hatbrook ignored the fork she offered and stuffed a large piece into his mouth. She hoped he wouldn’t choke himself and risked leaving the room to find him a cup and water.

When she returned, she found the slice of cake had vanished, and Hatbrook had seated himself upon the stool she used when doing fine work.

“Here.” She thrust the mug of water into his hand.

His fingers trembled as he took it. “Thank you, Miss Redcake.”

He drained the glass.

“It’s very hot down here,” she ventured. “The men tend to work in shirtsleeves.”

He smiled wanly. “I can see why. How can you stand to wear black?”

“This dress is far less confining than what I wear at home.” She blushed at the intimate subject matter. “I do forget everything but my work because I love it so.”

“I am most impressed by your dedication.”

She sighed. “I wish my father had been.”

“If someone had the power to return you to your position, would you do so?”

“That would all depend on the cost.” She wondered if Popham would have let her work if she married him.

“I see from your expression that you have an unacceptable cost in mind.”

“My father brought Mr. Popham home for dinner last night. He’s the bakery manager and Betsy’s father. I love Betsy, but I don’t want to be courted by someone so much older than me.” She put her fingers to her lips. Why was she telling him this?

“Had he come courting?”

She nodded, not daring to speak.

“Why would your father bring him when you are out in society now? Surely he can find you a higher class of husband than one of his own employees.”

“Mr. Popham is a very nice man,” she said quickly. “He was very kind to his wife when she was ill. He has been in Father’s employ for fifteen years or more.”

“So your father thinks you need a husband who would be kind?”

The corner of Hatbrook’s mouth lifted in what might have been a sneer in a less aristocratic face.

“I believe he simply wants me to have a home of my own before it is too late. I am twenty-six. Popham is reliable.”

“I am twenty-eight and do not feel close to death yet,” he deadpanned.

“I am happy to hear it, sir. I find myself somewhat concerned by you.”

“May I confide in you?”

“Of course, sir.” She stepped closer to the table, thrilled that he wanted her confidence. This close, she could smell the scent of lime soap from his skin and fruitcake from his lips. She remembered her fantasies of kissing those sensual lips.

“I become rather ill when I haven’t eaten in a few hours. It is quite temporary. I eat, then the feeling goes away after a while. Something about being in the city makes the sensation worse.”