The Marquess of Cake (30 page)

“I would imagine so, Mother.”

She took his arm. “Then I will join you.”

He examined her for a second, trying to see her through Alys’s eyes. Did his mother really look ill, or did the color black disagree with her complexion? He had no idea, but the anxious look in her eyes had him opening the door without further perusal.

He wished Alys was on his arm instead. He’d known it would be difficult to turn a baker into a marchioness, even one with money and relatives eager for the transformation, but he hadn’t expected her to find her new role this difficult. He needed to remove his mother from the Farm if he had any hope of domestic tranquility.

Two gentlemen dressed like civilians in black-checkered suits stood at the fire. Their military bearing gave them away, however.

“I am Hatbrook,” he said, and helped his mother sit in a rosecolored armchair. “And this is my mother, Lady Hatbrook.”

The gentlemen bent their heads.

“Be seated,” his mother instructed.

They all sat in a half-circle grouping at an angle to the fireplace.

“I would imagine you are here regarding Captain Shield?”

Michael asked.

“Yes, my lord,” said the elder, stroking his oiled, graying mustache.

The younger man unsnapped a valise and pulled out papers.

“Is he alive?” quavered Lady Hatbrook, in a rare show of tender emotion.

“Yes,” said the younger man.

Michael’s queasy stomach from the night before returned, along with a sense of elation that had him clamping his lips shut so that he didn’t smile in front of these men.

The elder narrowed his eyes. “What Captain Nettles means is he was alive two days ago, when we received a telegram from his regiment.”

“Dreadful series of errors,” said Captain Nettles.

The other man took the top paper from the captain and handed it to Michael.

He read over the reassurance carefully, then passed it to his mother. Fighting against the urge to bash their uncaring heads together, he drew in his chin and placed his hands on his thighs. “Why the confusion regarding my brother and Lieutenant Cross?”

“Bombay mixed up a death list and a discipline list,” said the captain.

“I’m afraid,” said the elder man, “that they made an unapproved excursion to Lahore. This resulted in disciplinary action, but a dreadful paperwork error ensued. We deeply apologize and will visit the Cross family upon our return to London.”

“I can scarcely believe two experienced officers would jaunt off many miles just to buy fruit and carpets,” Michael said.

His mother tittered harshly, then covered her mouth with her hand and sank into her chair.

“Even so,” began the elder man.

“My brother is a gentleman,” Michael said, injecting steel into his voice. “A man of honor, bred from generations of fighting men. And you tell me he has done something worthy of discipline?”

The elder man shifted in his chair, spreading his feet apart. “It was all rather a misunderstanding.”

“Then he was under orders when he went to Lahore?”

“Unclear,” said the captain.

“From this distance, you know, my lord,” said the elder man.

“Hard to say what is happening in India. But his career is secure, you need not worry about him.”

“And the lieutenant?”

The captain cleared his throat. “Resigned his commission.”

“Then he’s on his way home?”

“Believe he’s taken a civilian appointment.”

Michael tapped his fingers against his chin. “Why don’t you start from the beginning? I can see there was some incident.”

“Nothing that reflects poorly on your brother,” insisted Captain Nettles.

“Can you not see, Hatbrook,” interrupted his mother, “that we were meant to think Judah and this other fellow were dead, and it is only the stink we caused that has brought them back to life again?”

The older man’s eyes widened. “Now, Lady Hatbrook. I assure you—”

She waved her hand. “Do not try to pull the wool over my eyes. I

can see the situation clearly enough. If it wasn’t for my son’s new brotherby-marriage finding out the truth quite by accident, we’d have gone on thinking Judah was dead. My own cousin would not tell us the truth.”

“Madam—”

She sniffed. “I hope you have not turned my son into a spy. I will not tolerate such nonsense. I shall write him at once. Yes, and write the Cross boy’s brother too. For all their birth and noble relatives, that family has never been any better than they should be.”

The younger man sat stone-faced. Michael could see he was the real power of the two men.

“You may do as you wish, of c-course,” stammered the older man, stroking his mustache.

“War is a dangerous business,” interrupted the captain. “The border region is full of petty tribes. Do not expect your mail to reach him.”

Michael stood, his fists clenched at the implied threat. His mother’s hand had flown to her throat and he noted the trembling, so similar to his own. “As you can imagine, I have many pressing affairs. Good day, gentlemen.”

His mother started to rise too, but couldn’t support her weight.

Michael took her arm to assist. The officers stood instantly. He pulled the bell pull on the way out, and didn’t stop walking until he had his mother upstairs in her own parlor.

“You are not well, madam,” he said, pushing aside thoughts of possible actions to focus on for the sake of the problem in front of him.

“How could I be with all this worry oversetting me?” she said irritably, sinking into a flower-patterned armchair next to an open box of chocolates.

He watched as she reached for a chocolate. After she had chewed and swallowed, she rested her head back. Her shoulders lowered.

“Ah, that is better.” She put her hand to her stomach.

“Do you have pains, Mother?”

“Sometimes.”

“I’ll send for the doctor.”

“No one locally is any good,” she said irritably.

“Then we’ll return to London.”

“I do not want to travel.”

He leaned over the chair. “Mother.”

She fixed him with a glare. “Let me rest. I am always better after a rest.”

“Very well.” As his mother’s maid entered the room, he said, “Her ladyship is not feeling well.”

“Shall I ring
pour une tasse de thé
, my lady?” the woman asked in her exaggerated French accent.

“Idiot,” his mother muttered, but nodded.

“Also, you can put away her ladyship’s mourning clothes,” he said, wanting the reminders of this terrible time gone. “Captain Shield is alive.”

“
Mon dieu
,” squeaked the maid, clasping her hands together.

“
Vraiment
?”

“
Oui
,” his mother said in an arch tone.

He bowed to his mother and left the room. As long as she continued to be rude, he couldn’t worry too much about her.

When Lady Lillian called, Alys and Matilda were helping Edith put the rest of Rose’s winter wardrobe into trunks. Their shared maid, Lucy, had stayed at the Farm, and Alys’s maid, Hortense, had already come down with a cold and headache. Matilda was afraid Edith would pack up some of her clothes by accident if she didn’t supervise.

“Put her ladyship in the afternoon parlor,” Alys told the maid.

“We’ll be down in a moment.”

“Those are the final two gowns, I believe,” Matilda told Edith.

“You don’t think Rose will need her pink silk in the country, do you?

I’d love to wear it to the musicale at the Canders’ next week.”

“No pink,” Alys said. “You know you look frightful in it.”

Matilda put the gown to her cheek. “Are you quite sure? I think it is delightful.”

“It is not,” Alys said firmly. “You sent a note to Lady Lillian, so let us not keep her waiting.”

When they walked into the parlor, Lady Lillian’s dark sausage curls were vibrating as she paced in front of the fireplace. Alys had never seen her so animated.

When the younger woman saw her, she smiled and hop-stepped toward her, reaching for her hands.

“Lady Hatbrook, I wish you happy!” she said, giving Alys a kiss.

Alys had always been a wallflower at best when her sisters’ friend

had visited in the past, but now, it seemed, her triumph had brought her out from behind the metaphorical potted plants. “Thank you, Lady Lillian.”

“Will you and Lord Hatbrook be out and about in town for the Season?” she asked.

“We’re in mourning for his brother,” Alys said, gesturing at herself.

A frown creased Lady Lillian’s pretty, plump face. “But I had a letter from my cousin, Magdalene Cross, this morning, saying he was alive all along.”

Matilda gasped.

Alys put a hand to her chest as her heart thumped wildly. “What?”

Lady Lillian fluttered her eyelashes. “Some mistake in India. One of those native clerks, no doubt. Why, Lady Hatbrook, you are still in mourning. How is it that I heard this news before you?”

“The Cross family was intimately involved, since one of their sons was reported dead along with the captain,” Alys said. “I left my husband at the Farm.”

“Surely he sent you a note,” Lady Lillian cooed.

“It would not reach me as quickly as one from Miss Cross, here in London,” Alys said, though she was not sure Michael would bother notifying her. Would he consider his brother his own business, or a family concern she might need to be aware of? She honestly did not know.

Lady Lillian toyed with a fat curl. “Of course, silly me. I am so grateful to be the bearer of such news then. Why, you can throw off your crow black and dress fashionably again!”

“I’m so pleased,” Alys said in a monotone.

Matilda cleared her throat. Alys knew she wanted some attention.

She gestured to the seating arrangement closest to the fire as a maid brought in a tea service.

“Your note said it was urgent,” Lady Lillian said to Matilda. “I assumed you wanted assistance consulting on your sister’s new wardrobe.” She turned. “Of course you haven’t been able to dress to your new position in life, what with the mourning.”

“I wanted advice on Mr. Bliven,” Matilda said with a pout. “Oh, Lily, I know I could have him, if I could just cipher how to make it clear I am prepared to accept.”

Alys wanted to throw up her hands in an echo of her sister’s dramatic behavior. “You wouldn’t be so forward.”

“I know I must be subtle, but we are allied to the marquess now.”

Matilda grinned.

“With that and your dowry, your capital on the marriage market has gone up considerably,” Lady Lillian said. “Wouldn’t you rather set your cap on a title?”

“Mr. Bliven expects to inherit a title someday,” Matilda said.

“None of the men between him are likely to have a family. At the very least his son is likely to be an earl someday.”

Lady Lillian tapped her chin. “I see. But there is Viscount Hortley. He has a title now and he did seem very interested in you at the Mewses’ party.”

“Besides, I believe Mr. Bliven is no longer assured of the title,”

Alys interjected. “Father said his cousin is engaged.”

“I have not heard that,” Lady Lillian said thoughtfully. “Well, that ought to make him an easier catch.”

“The viscount is balding,” said Matilda. “Whereas Mr. Bliven is too handsome for words.”

“And too charming,” muttered Alys.

“You do not like our Mr. Bliven?” Lady Lillian asked.

“I find his tongue to be overly sharp,” Alys admitted. “And I think he takes liberties with my sister.”

Matilda did not look at her, but faced Lady Lillian resolutely. Alys wished she had been a better role model. Her own adventures with Michael could have ended so badly. While she could offer counsel, it could not be specific to a properly conducted courtship.

“But your husband is his close friend,” Lady Lillian said. “Certainly he cannot be too bad.”

If Mr. Bliven knew from Michael what had happened, he might indeed think he could take the same liberties.

“I would counsel caution,” she said. “Mr. Bliven is clearly enamored of you. You have no need to rush a declaration.”

Matilda’s right eye half closed. Alys felt a frisson of alarm. Matilda was always hiding something when she did that with her eye.

“You haven’t been compromised?” she whispered.

Matilda flushed up to her carroty hair. “No.”

“You did seem quite familiar at the Farm.”

Lady Lillian leaned closer.

“You need not worry, Alys,” Matilda said. “I have not been foolish.”

“A little foolishness can sometimes help,” Lady Lillian advised.

“With an honorable man it can be just the thing.”

Alys felt her fingers digging into the fragile fabric of her mourning gown. “I do not think that is sensible advice. I am ready to pour.

Would you care for tea, Lady Lillian?”

The door opened and a maid said, “Mr. Lewis Noble is calling for you, my lady.”

Alys handed a cup to Lady Lillian, who was staring at her. She realized the maid meant her. She shook her head. “Thank you. Could you direct him to the library? I will join him shortly.”

“Oh my goodness. You haven’t seen him since the wedding,”

Matilda said.

“Or spoken to him since Father refused his suit to marry me,”

Alys added. “Heavens, that was months ago.”

“He must have heard that you’d returned. At least he and Father are speaking again.”

“I’m glad to hear that. Well, I had better go see him.” Alys poured quickly for her sister then rose, wishing she had time to change, but she couldn’t keep her cousin waiting. How exciting that her brotherby-marriage was alive after all. The entire Shield family would be so relieved, and Michael would not be so busy.

She ventured down the hall slowly, wondering about Lewis’s mood. He had thought she refused him because she never planned to marry. It had been true at the time. She couldn’t possibly reveal the reason behind her sudden change of heart. Where Michael was involved all of her reason disappeared as quickly as a soufflé could collapse.

With a sigh, she pushed open the door to the library and found Lewis perusing a book on natural history.

“Not your subject,” she said, moving toward him. She wished to give him her hand, but he held the book open on his palms.