The Marquess of Cake (27 page)

“I was not expecting you, my lady,” Alys said, rising to greet them.

Lady Hatbrook nodded stiffly but Beth flew to give her a hug, her healthy glow undiminished by the black crepe she wore.

“I have had no satisfaction from the War Office and my nerves could not take another day in London,” Lady Hatbrook announced.

“You have had a most trying time,” Alys agreed. “I do not know if my husband has learned anything more.”

Lady Hatbrook sniffed. “It is unlikely. We shall not stay for long, but a few days of fresh air will do us good. Will you pour?”

Alys went to the bell pull, but the staff knew the routine when Lady Hatbrook descended and were bringing in a tray before she could touch the tassel.

Lady Hatbrook sniffed as Alys offered her seedcake. “I would have thought you could do better. I hope you aren’t trying to reduce when you have an heir to produce.”

Alys’s mother hid a smile behind her napkin at the lady’s inadvertent rhyme.

Alys didn’t want to discuss Michael’s health concerns, especially since she suspected his mother had similar issues, so she merely said, “We are experimenting with the menu.”

“You must have a cake about here somewhere,” Lady Hatbrook said. “I’ll ring for one at once.”

Alys sighed as her mother-in-law took the initiative. She supposed there might very well be cake in the house, prepared for the servants, but when the maid who came shook her head, Lady Hatbrook demanded Mrs. Hall.

Alys refused to create a scene, so when the housekeeper arrived she agreed that cake would be available for the next day’s tea. Pudding wasn’t mentioned, nor breakfast, but she wasn’t going to bring that up. They’d simply have fireworks at each meal. Perhaps twentyfour hours without sugary foods would soften her ladyship’s temper.

By Friday, pastry had been added to all menus again, but Alys was gratified to see Michael refusing to partake of most of it, patting his stomach whenever his mother made rude remarks. She felt quite in charity with him as they retired together that night for the first time in days.

“How are you feeling?” he asked. “I imagine it is difficult to have all these guests when you are scarcely accustomed to your new role.”

“My family is no trouble, any more than your sister, who is a delight.”

“But my mother is another matter.”

“She looks so unwell,” Alys commented. “I cannot help but think ill health troubles her disposition.”

“She was never pleasant,” Michael said.

She hadn’t been looking at him, but she turned, surprised by his bald statement. “That must have been hard to deal with as a child.”

He shrugged. “In aristocratic households, servants raise children.”

Visions of teaching her child to bake diminished. “Then what are the mothers supposed to do?”

“They are very busy. Parties, calls, charitable works, especially on properties their family owns, supervising households.” He put his hand on her nightgown-clad thigh. “Pleasing their husbands.”

When she didn’t push it away, he slowly moved his hand higher.

Tired as she was, she felt her body softening and warming under his touch. Despite the early February chill outside, the fire and warming pan kept the room warm enough. When she removed her nightgown, her husband’s grunt of admiration heated her everywhere the fire had not.

He reached for her breasts, whispering endearments and praise.

For the first time, he avidly suckled her nipples, and Alys found a new level of sensual pleasure. He scarcely had to touch her between her legs before she was spiraling into ecstasy. The feel of his erection nudging its way into her body only heightened the feeling, and she rode a wave of delight, circling complete abandon as their bodies moved together.

It was only when they lay together, intertwined, that she wondered what her life would be like. At least there was no thought that she was merely to be an ornament on Michael’s arm. With his mother being so difficult, surely plenty of work existed for her, in charitable affairs if nothing else. She considered what occupations would have filled her time had she been born wealthy.

When Michael’s breathing deepened, she tugged her assorted parts from underneath him and reached for her nightgown, flung on the opposite side of the bed. She went to bathe, feeling sticky from all the heat they had generated.

When she lowered herself into the tub, she saw streaks of blood on her inner thigh.
Not this
. Her hands shook as she covered her eyes and hunched into the hot water. No babe grew inside her. She pressed her legs together. All of this had been for nothing. What would Michael think of her? She turned her head to the wall and sobbed.

A couple of minutes later, the door opened. She jerked up with a cry, then saw Michael, his hair tousled, fingers struggling with the belt of his dressing gown.

“What is wrong? Did I hurt you?” Looking more awake now, he knelt by the tub.

She sniffled and rubbed her nose.

“What?”

“It’s too horrid.”

“Tell me,” he commanded.

“I have bad news.”

He took a washcloth and wiped her cheeks. “So?”

Her lower lip trembled. “I’m afraid there is no child.”

“You’re not—”

“Exactly. I’m sorry.”

He poked his hand into the water and found her hand. After squeezing it, he said, “It was unlikely, my dear, that you would have that expectation so soon.”

She sniffed again. “I suppose you are right. Thank you for being kind.”

“Of course I am right.” He found a towel and held it out. “The water is quite cool. Come out of there and we’ll go back to bed.”

When she stood, he lifted her out and carried her to the fire, then helped her into her nightgown. Remembering her condition, she went into her dressing room to find what she needed, then joined him back in bed where he held her all night.

He was right. She would navigate the early days of marriage better if she didn’t have to hide a pregnancy. Now, everyone could delight together when it happened and she wouldn’t have to hide anything. Still, a part of her regretted the loss of the child who had never existed.

A couple of weeks later, she was inspecting her wardrobe with her mother and Hortense, her new lady’s maid, when Beth ran into the room, followed closely by Rose.

“Gawain is here!” Rose sang out, then coughed.

Her mother frowned. “I wonder why? I thought he had business in Bristol.”

“It does seem strange,” Rose agreed, her voice croaking. “But I saw him in the hallway. He asked to see the marquess.”

“Not his own mother?” she said, frowning.

Alys knew how attached her mother had been to Gawain since he returned home and didn’t want her to be upset at the slight. “I’m certain he is simply greeting his host to make sure he is welcome, which he is of course. I’ll go and see him.”

Her mother smiled gratefully.

“Beth? Would you ring for Mrs. Hall and make sure a room is prepared?”

Beth nodded. “I know just the room for him, too. It’s quite military. Crossed swords over the mantel and lots of family portraits of fighting men. Judah used to stare at them for hours.”

Alys shared a look with her mother. Gawain would be unlikely to find the sight stirring, but perhaps it was better than one of the many rooms decorated in shades of rose, a color the dowager must have favored in the extreme.

While Alys had no interest in decorating, even she knew something needed to be done with at least some of the rose rooms. She

plucked at the laddered silk on a faded rose pillow next to her on the divan. Starting with this room.

“Mother, this room needs a fresh eye. I’d like to make some changes.”

Her mother’s petulant expression changed immediately. She clasped her hands to her chest. “I do agree, darling. William Morris.

That’s what this dressing room needs, some of his papers. I must make sketches.” She lifted her skirt and ran to a writing desk tucked in the corner like a girl half her age.

“I’ll leave you to it then,” Alys said. “And see to Gawain.”

With a wave to Beth, Alys went down the staircase at the end of the hall and headed for the newest part of the house, which looked out over a paddock. Michael’s study was at one corner. She opened the door to the first room, where his secretary worked sometimes, then started toward the open door leading to the inner chamber.

“But when did the War Office say he was killed?”

She recognized Gawain’s gravelly rasp, wondering why he was using that almost belligerent tone with Michael, especially about a death. Judah’s?

“The telegram said January second, nearly two months ago now, but we haven’t received any further information. Our cousin at the War Office hasn’t been able to confirm any details. I believe there has been a great deal of unrest in the area.”

Alys peeked around the door and saw her brother pull a letter from his coat. He unfolded the pages.

“I think the facts are wrong,” her brother rasped. “Look at this.”

Michael frowned. “What is it?”

“A letter from an herb trader I befriended. I’m working on an import business of my own.”

“What about your father’s factories?”

Alys could just see the sneer on her brother’s face from the side view she could catch from her angle. “That’s his business. Only Alys ever cared about it. I have my own plans.”

“And what? You want me to invest? This trader has something of value?”

“No man, you aren’t listening. It’s about your brother. Here.”

Gawain pointed at the top of the first page. “Look at the date.”

“January sixteen,” Michael read. “That’s the day I received the telegram from the War Office.”

“I just received this letter last Friday,” Gawain said. His voice rose to a command. “Now read it, this paragraph here.” He pointed again.

“I had the pleasure of conversing with your old comrades in arms.

I took tea with Captain Shield and Lieutenant Cross in Lahore, after we met at a market where they were purchasing dried fruit. This city has very fine fruit, though it is best known for carpets. Perhaps this merchandise may be of value to you? I have good contacts in this city, better than in Kabul. The captain bought some very fine silk, another specialty of the region. He hoped to ship it to his sister to be made into gowns. Since you have so many sisters this may be of interest to you as well.”

Michael set down the letter. “That is all very well, but it doesn’t mean Judah is alive.”

“Read further,” Gawain said impatiently.

Michael picked up the sheet again, muttering his way down the page. “Wait.” His index finger poked the page. “January fourteenth.

He says he arrived at Lahore on the fourteenth.”

Gawain nodded. “Exactly. Zahir Khan, the trader, mailed this letter from the city on the sixteenth. You probably were notified of Captain Shield’s death within a day of Khan meeting him at the market.

Since I received my letter on Friday you might see something from your brother soon.”

“He’d have sent it straight to London, but my family is here,”

Michael muttered. “I’ll write my butler and see if anything has arrived from India.”

“An excellent notion.”

Michael started to crumple the letter in his fist, then handed it to Gawain. “What if this has all been a mistake?”

“It does happen.”

Michael thumped the desk. “Everything, a mistake?”

Alys stumbled as her hand slid from the door, then, instinctively, she turned and ran. All a mistake? Not just Judah’s death, but the marriage too. After all, she wasn’t carrying his child. He was a marquess who’d married a baker, all for nothing.

Now what? He didn’t need her after all. But he couldn’t ask for an annulment. The marriage was consummated. Had he ruined his family for nothing? She knew it was his opinion that mattered, not hers.

He’d been sanguine when told of her courses. But they didn’t love each other. The marriage had been a convenient one, and not ap-

proved by his mother. They had made no attempt to enter society in the weeks since the wedding.

Good heavens. The dinner party tomorrow would be her first attempt with a local family since the wedding. Would Michael even attend her dinner, or would he head to London to try to find out the truth?

If she were him, she’d leave for the train station immediately.

When Alys rose the next morning, she saw Michael’s side of the bed had been slept in at some point during the night, though she had missed his entrance and departure. The news about Judah’s possible survival had given her a terrible headache on top of the stress she felt, and a strong cup of willow bark tea had allowed her to sleep, though very heavily.

When Hortense came in with her tea tray, she asked the young woman about the marquess’s whereabouts.

“I’m sorry, my lady, but I am so new to the Farm I don’t pay much mind to the toings and froings yet.”

“How have your first five days been?”

“Oh, I’m very happy for the work, my lady, and in such a fine house too.” Hortense turned to pull open the heavy wool and silk curtains of dark rose. The view displayed gray skies obscured by rain.

“I’m glad to hear it.” Alys’s hearing, sharpened from years of dealing with employees, noted that Hortense left out any commentary about her fellow servants.

“Would you like me to check for you?” Hortense asked.

“Perhaps you could ask Mrs. Hall to come to my study after breakfast,” Alys said. “We need to review the final details for the dinner tonight.”

“That should be lovely,” Hortense said. “I understand there is a greenhouse with flowers here. So nice to have flowers during the winter, I always think.”

“Did you hear talk about bringing in flowers?” Alys asked. That might make Rose feel worse. They never had flowers in the family rooms in London in case they aggravated her asthma.

“I heard talk of a display on that big table in the front hall,” the maid said.

“That is very well,” Alys said. Rose wouldn’t be in the hall.

“And something for the dinner table too. I believe the dowager marquess ordered a display, as she always had flowers on the table for parties.”