A Taste for Scandal (10 page)

“I agree, but at this point, it would only make things worse. I don’t wish to insult the woman.” He hardly knew her, but he was absolutely certain that was exactly how she’d feel if he tried to force the money on her now.

“Then find a way to pay her for something.”

“I couldn’t possibly order enough biscuits and scones to pay for the damage—especially when you consider the work she would have to do to fulfill such an order. It would be more hardship than help, I think.”

They came to a cross street and paused, waiting for a safe time to cross. Richard pursed his lips, trying to think of something brilliant. “I could send the money anonymously.”

Beatrice rolled her eyes. “Really, Richard—and you don’t think she would know who sent it? It would be back at our door by nightfall, if the messenger didn’t make off with it first.”

“Good point. Blast, I never considered it might be difficult to get funds to someone. What a singular problem.”

“Isn’t it just?” Beatrice grinned broadly, her wide blue eyes dancing. “I quite like Miss Bunting. She is far and away the most unique person I have met this entire Season. It’s a pity she can’t teach all the grasping social climbers of our class the proper way to behave.”

An idea came to him so suddenly, Richard snapped his fingers. “That’s it!”

“What? No, of course it’s not. I was only being facetious, for goodness’ sake.” The look she gave him—as if he had suggested they pop round to see the king for supper—made him chuckle.

“No, goose, I don’t mean that we should hire her for etiquette lessons, for God’s sake.” He grinned, liking his idea more by the second. “I have something much more interesting in mind than that.”

And much more personal. The slow, delicious burn of anticipation kindled to life within him for the first time in a long time. Jane was unlike any female he had ever known. There was something about her that affected him. Yesterday that had been a bad thing, but now . . . now all he could think about was teasing that smile from her once more.

“Come, let’s get on with our errands. And after we are done, I think perhaps I’ll pay Miss Bunting another visit.”

The tears Jane had been holding back for days—months, really—suddenly sprang forth, filling her eyes and pouring down her cheeks.
Oh, Mama.

She couldn’t speak the word past the sudden tightness that gripped her throat. Instead, she ran her fingers across the precious handwriting she knew at a single glance. The one word—Janey—felt like a caress, warming her heart and her soul and every corner of her being.

When Mama was deep in her illness, at some point she realized—they all did—that she wouldn’t recover. With her waning strength but constant determination, she penned almost a dozen letters each for Jane and Weston. Simple and sweet, they retold the stories of how she and Papa met, of their joy at being with child, of her memories of when Jane and Weston were young. She reiterated over and over that they must always stay together, reminded them to go to church, and advised them to work diligently.

Jane knew each and every one of them by heart. So many nights she had fallen to sleep with one clutched to her chest, or reread them when Weston was testing her nerves or the business was too exhausting. And some days, when she needed to talk to Mama, Jane wrote her back. Dozens of little notes, some written, most simply composed in her thoughts, all addressed to Mama as if she were simply off in the country somewhere.

But this . . . Jane could hardly process all the emotions coursing through her. All at once, the reverence holding her hostage gave way to the urgent need to read her mother’s words. She turned the letter over, ripped at the seal, and quickly unfolded the paper.

My Dear Jane,

There are certain things to which every mother has a right, things that make all of the exasperation and strife worth it a thousand times over. I may have changed your nappies for two years, but I also can remember the moment you looked me in the eye and said “Mama” like it was yesterday. I carried you on my hip for months, and then experienced the indescribable joy of seeing you take your first steps, arms outstretched to me. Do you remember when you made scones for the very first time for my birthday when you were eleven? I don’t know if I’ve ever been so proud in my whole life as I was at that moment.

Witnessing these rites of passage kept me going, bringing laughter and light to my soul after your father passed away. It saddens me beyond words that I will not be able to see you embark upon the most wonderful rite of them all: falling in love.

However. Just because I won’t be there to see it, does not mean that I can’t still be there for you. I am far too meddlesome to allow this illness to take that from us. So, my dear, I have taken matters into my own hands. Use the enclosed key to open my hope chest. In the bottom, you will find two small bundles. The bundle wrapped with the lavender ribbon is for you. The one in the blue ribbon is Weston’s. You’ll know when the time is right to give it to him. I had no such gatekeeper for you, which is why I chose to hide this letter in my good vase, with the hope that when your first suitor brought you flowers, you would discover my gift at just the right moment.

Now, for the rest of this letter, imagine me wagging my finger at you, for I must be very stern. You may only read one letter per week, no matter how much you may wish to rush through them. Some of my advice is not fit for your innocent eyes just yet. The last one must remain unread until the night before your wedding. Promise me, Janey, that you will abide by my wishes.

All right, my finger-wagging is done. Now, dry those silly tears and go tell your young man thank you for the lovely flowers.

Love,

Mama

Jane lowered the missive to the counter, brushing at the tears dripping freely from her cheeks. Joy bubbled up through the sadness and she smiled even as she sniffled. It was the greatest gift she had ever received. She could almost hear her mother’s lilting voice, and she could certainly picture her shaking her finger at her in admonishment. The grin turned into a soft laugh.

Mama was here with her.

Jane lifted the vase from the sink and upended it, and out plunked a small fabric pouch. The key. The very key she had searched high and low for after Mama’s death. Jane couldn’t bear to break the beautiful lock of her mother’s chest when she couldn’t find it, so all this time it had sat locked like a sentry in her room.

There was nothing more she wanted than to close up the shop, run upstairs, and immerse herself in her mother’s letters. But it would simply have to wait. She certainly couldn’t afford to lose any more profits. Slipping the key into her pocket, she quickly filled the vase with water and plunked the nearly forgotten flowers in. Lord Raleigh may never know it, but she owed him a debt of gratitude for the bouquet. Without them, it may have been years, perhaps a lifetime, before she found this treasure.

Refolding the precious letter, she tucked it into the box holding her recipes. She took a deep breath, dragged her sleeve across her cheeks once more, and retrieved the bowl of whisked egg whites.

As she measured in the flour, she hummed to herself, her secret discovery bouncing around inside her heart like popping corn. It was no bother that she didn’t have an actual suitor. Mama
assumed
she would. Her only edict was that Jane must wait a week between each letter, and save the final one for the night before her wedding.

She would keep to Mama’s wishes when it came to how quickly she read the letters, but if she waited for her wedding for the last one, it would never be read. The best she could do was to wait six months. That was fair, wasn’t it?

Mama would understand. Jane smiled as she stirred, her thoughts far away from the batter at hand. Perhaps she would send a very special treat to Lord Raleigh. This time she allowed herself the small flutter that threaded its way through her belly at the thought of his devilish grin as he offered up his bouquet. If ever there was a man to serve as her pretend suitor, it was he.

Dear Mama,

Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

Love,

Jane

Chapter Nine

“Well, you’re certainly in much better spirits than when I left you.” Emerson grinned as he set down the armload of supplies he’d carried in through the back door.

That was putting it mildly. Things had changed so much since last night, Jane could hardly keep up with her own emotions. She set down the tray of tarts she had just pulled from the oven—the last of the day—and gave him an impromptu hug. “Indeed I am. It’s been an interesting day here. And just look at all the stuff you have brought me.”

He dragged off his tattered hat and tossed it on the hook by the door. He looked every bit the sailor in a pair of tan duck trousers and billowing white shirt. “Just some things to get started with the mosaic. Have you decided what you’d like to do?”

“I have actually.” She smiled briefly, feeling nothing but happiness at the thought of her mother. The discovery of the letters made her feel as though Mama were somehow here again, looking out for Jane in a way no one else had in the past year—and it had gone a long way in easing her heartbreak over the broken china. “I’d like to make a tray.”

Emerson lifted a sun-lightened eyebrow. “A tray? As in a serving tray?”

“Exactly.” She laughed at his dubious expression. “For good reason, I promise. One of the things that always stood out to me about my mother was that she was always giving. No matter how busy or tired she was, she would do anything for any one of us because she wanted to, not because she had to. Can you even think of a time you visited and she wasn’t offering you something?”

Leaning back against her wide worktable, he folded his arms and considered the question. “No, actually, I can’t. She always had something ready for me, be it scones, or biscuits, or tea, or even an embrace.”

Jane smiled at that. Emerson’s mother had died during childbirth when he was only three. Jane’s mother had gone out of her way to offer love and affection to her sister’s son whenever he was able to visit. “Exactly. I can’t think of a better use of the pieces.”

“Well, all right, then. I’ll haul this mess upstairs. Tonight we can work on the design, and tomorrow I’ll get to looking for a proper tray to use.”

“Jane?” Weston’s voice called from the top of the stairs.

She glanced over her shoulder. “Yes?”

“Oh, hello, Emerson.” He gave a quick wave before turning his attention back to Jane. The smile he gave her was enough to raise her eyebrows. “Lord Raleigh is back, and wishes to speak with you.”

Jane sucked in a surprised breath as her heart leapt. She had wondered if their paths would ever cross again, and he was back the very same day? Even as she told herself to be calm, that he’d probably forgotten something, an undeniable giddiness rose up within her.

“The earl?” Emerson asked, caution darkening his eyes. “After the way he reacted to your visit last night, what could he want with you now?”

Jane licked her lips, trying to focus on preventing the blush she could feel rising up her neck. “That’s actually one of the reasons my mood has lightened. He came round with one of his sisters to make peace this morning. It was quite a nice gesture, really. Although, I can’t imagine what he’s doing here now.” She untied her apron and tossed it on the table. “I’ll just go find out.”

“I’ll come with you.” He pushed away from the table to follow her, and she put up a hand.

“No, no—you stay here. We don’t need to remind Lord Raleigh of your little sparring match yesterday. And Weston,” she said, turning her attention to her brother, “get started washing dishes so we can lock up at a decent time tonight.”

Her brother groaned in protest, but clomped down the stairs anyway.

“Don’t worry, lad. I’ll help you,” Emerson said, eyeing Jane speculatively but thankfully not challenging her. “If there is one thing a sailor knows, it’s how to keep his quarters shipshape.”

Taking a long, slow breath to quell her pounding heart, she quickly ascended the stairs and headed down the corridor. Honestly, she didn’t know why she was reacting this way. He probably wanted to purchase some more biscuits to take home with them. Of course, if that were the case, then why would he have Weston fetch her?

Lord Raleigh had his back to her as she emerged into the shop. “Good afternoon, Lady Beatrice, Lord Raleigh. How can I help you?”

When he turned, his clear blue eyes held something close to a challenge as a small smile lifted the corners of his mouth. Jane slowed, cautious, and decided to head behind the counter to maintain a bit of distance between them. Anyone who could send a shiver of awareness down her spine with little more than a look needed to be kept at a safe distance—particularly if his name was preceded by the word “Lord.”

“Miss Bunting, thank you so much for seeing us again. I do hope we aren’t interrupting you.”

“No, of course not.”

“Good. Because I have a proposition for you, and I would very much like to hear what you have to say about it.”

A proposition? A thousand possibilities ran through her mind, though not a single one made sense. How could it? Men like him didn’t make propositions to women like her . . . at least not ones that could be mentioned in front of a younger sister.

Just as Jane was about to respond, the door opened and Mrs. Dobbins bustled in. Jane tamped down the flare of impatience at the interruption—could the woman possibly have had worse timing? She paused, surprise clear in her wide eyes as she took in the visitors. Jane only just managed to keep from shooing her out—no matter how much she liked the woman, Jane was dying to know what sort of proposition Lord Raleigh had up his sleeve.