The Marquess of Cake (32 page)

“Why would you want him to marry you?” Hortense asked, with an air of disgust. “He’s a devil, that one. Black-hearted and nasty.”

“I did not ask your opinion,” Matilda snarled. She flopped onto Alys’s bed, her foot hitting the pedestal Lewis’s mechanical bird rested on. The pedestal rocked and the bird crashed to the floor. Alys ran to it and found one of the delicate wings had been corrugated into a lump of metal. She picked it up, cradling it in her arms.

“I am as broken as that bird,” Matilda cried.

“Do hush up,” Alys said. “You brought this on yourself.”

Her sister sniffed. “At least I do not think he finished. I might escape without consequences.”

Alys turned away and gently placed the bird back on the pedestal Hortense had just righted. In a testament to Lewis’s skill, it still balanced, despite the damaged wing. “How is it that you know anything about relations? Lady Lillian?”

Matilda didn’t answer.

“You are not to leave this house today,” Alys said. “I do not know what to tell our parents.”

Matilda swung into an upright position on her knees in the center of the bed. “Nothing! At least, unless you think Father can force the situation somehow.”

“You want him to know what you did?”

Matilda shrank back. “I made a mistake?”

“You do not sound very sure of yourself. I suggest you retire until you decide exactly how you feel about your actions.”

“I’m hungry,” Matilda said.

Alys couldn’t tolerate the childish tone of her voice. How could her sister be twenty-one years old? She might have understood this behavior from someone fresh from the schoolroom. But her sister was too old to be this naively calculating.

And she had chosen the wrong man.

“Why didn’t you think Mr. Bliven would not propose?” Alys asked. “Why couldn’t you have been patient?”

“He said he had needs that he didn’t want to satisfy elsewhere, but I made him unable to think of anything else,” Matilda said in her little girl voice.

“You were afraid you’d lose him to someone else?”

“Magdalene Cross,” Matilda said. “Have you seen her bosom?

She goes about practically naked from the waist up at every gathering. Theo could scarcely take his eyes off her.”

“But you have a dowry,” Alys said. “Did you think of that? Mr.

Bliven, by all accounts, could have used that. It’s of more value than a deep bosom.”

Matilda didn’t respond. “I think I shall retire now. I do not feel very well.”

Alys shared a glance with her maid. “I am not surprised. Hortense, would you have a tray sent to Matilda’s room, please?”

Hortense went to the bell pull as Matilda climbed off Alys’s bed.

Michael opened the afternoon post as he sat at his desk in the study. He had insisted his mother see the doctor after she’d felt so ill she’d had to leave church during the vicar’s sermon the day before.

The vicar had called late yesterday to make sure he hadn’t done any-

thing to offend. When the doctor came out of his mother’s sitting room he’d told Michael he was very concerned about her.

But, as his mother had said, the local medical man was not much use for anything beyond childhood injuries, and he had suggested they see their personal doctor in London. So, he’d asked Beth to supervise the packing, insisting that she return as well, rather than staying with Rose Redcake as she’d requested.

Beth didn’t want to admit anything was wrong.

He set down a terse note from Alys, suggesting that she planned to return to the Farm by midweek. Michael realized he didn’t know her well enough to understand if that was an apology or not. But, he had a feeling they would be spending some time in London after all.

At least winter was almost over.

Next, he opened a letter from Theo. He scanned the contents, not being in the mood for casual gossip. However, the contents were useful. He hadn’t realized Alys was at her father’s home, rather than at Hatbrook House. The letter kept him from looking a fool when he arrived with expectations that his wife was in residence.

He read on. Theo in partnership with Gawain Redcake? What had possessed his friend to actually take on work? He was leaving for India? Ahead of creditors, no doubt, and with a healthy chunk of Redcake funding in his pocket. Frowning, he dashed off notes to his butler, his physician, and his wife, then called for his valet and a footman. He had a great deal to do in order to travel the next morning.

While he was worried about his mother, eagerness put speed into every move. He could not wait to mend the situation between him and his wife. They needed to find a level of accord which left her unable to feel storming off and leaving was reasonable.

He wanted Alys beside him, no matter what the future brought.

Even if she wanted to spend hours poring over papers on his desk.

“Surgery?” Michael repeated to the physician, disbelieving his ears.

“It would be best. This procedure came into practice four or five years ago. I do not like the look of Lady Hatbrook’s skin. If the gallbladder is not removed soon, her liver could be compromised due to blockages.”

“How did she respond?”

“She said she would consider it. As her son, my lord, you need to counsel her that it is for the best.”

Michael nodded. “Thank you, Doctor.” First, he would let her rest from the ordeal of the examination.

A footman opened the door, handing the physician his greatcoat.

“Bring me my coat as well, and have the carriage brought around,”

Michael directed. He needed a walk in fresh air, or at least as fresh as it came in London. This was the first day of March, and with any luck the towns folk would begin to burn less coal as the weather warmed, making the air more wholesome.

But, first, he had business at Redcake’s, and later, he promised himself to dinner with the Cross family, to discuss the situation in India. He also sent a note to Gawain Redcake.

Most importantly, of course, he needed to see his wife. He had sent her a note to inform her that he would be in London with his mother. However, the train had been delayed coming into town and he had neglected the morning’s post so he had no idea if she responded.

Certainly, she hadn’t arrived at his door, ready to take up residence.

He knocked on the roof of the carriage with his umbrella a couple of blocks from Redcake’s, deciding he could take the time to walk the rest, and exited into a light drizzle that was, at least, preferable to yellow fog.

He pulled his top hat a little lower, to shield his eyes, but decided not to unfurl his umbrella. There were already so many open on this main shopping thoroughfare.

He was a few yards from Redcake’s when he spotted Alys. The only other woman he’d ever met with that insistent shade of orange hair was her sister, Matilda, and she wasn’t as tall or curvaceous.

As he slowed to watch, his wife, dressed in a shabby black mantle and dowdy gray dress, turned to her companion and gestured. Her male companion.

Alys turned sideways to let a portly businessman go by. Michael could not doubt his eyes, but the man was still facing ahead of him.

As Michael blinked away raindrops, a memory flashed through his mind. While out on a walk with his governess, he’d seen his mother gesturing to an unfamiliar gentleman, just like this. Only, she’d thrown up her hands and, wait, kissed him?

Michael squinted. Had he really just remembered his mother kiss-

ing someone, not his father? He must have been very young as his governess had been replaced by a tutor when he was five. Judah had stayed with the governess, being some three years younger.

He tried to place the memory. Not London, but Eastbourne, perhaps? He put his gloved hand to the back of his neck, feeling his fingers begin to tremble.

Alys put her hand through her companion’s arm and they began to walk again, passing Redcake’s without a glance.

Feeling sick and shaken, Michael went into the tearoom as soon as they were out of sight, and, without thinking twice, ordered a plate of scones and jam from a cakie who didn’t recognize him.

Instead of settling him though, the treat made him feel even worse.

He clasped his hands together. Even if he had just remembered some summer-soaked evidence of his mother’s infidelity, surely that didn’t mean Alys was up to the same game.

His parents’ marriage in had been all but arranged. His mother was of good birth and good dowry, his father of better birth and dwindling funds. Already he had been a gambler. He knew his parents had lived separate lives, but had they gone their own way so soon? Where was Judah in that memory? Not walking on the other side of the governess, not trailing behind in a pram pushed by a nursemaid. How old was this recollection?

He flagged the cakie again. “Have a meat pie brought up to the manager’s office as soon as possible.”

“Sir?” the girl said, looking confused.

“I own this establishment. I’m the Marquess of Hatbrook.”

“My goodness. I’m so sorry, my lord.”

He waved away her shock. “There is no cause for concern. I am going upstairs now.”

“Yes, my lord.”

He hoped the meat would make him feel better. Perhaps he would scrape away the deliciously flaky pastry outside and focus on the beef and vegetables. He knew Alys would suggest such a thing.

When he reached the desk, he put his head in his hands. Had he married a wanton? Why had he thought she only responded to his caresses?

A knock came on the door and he straightened, his head throbbing. It seemed, ever since the false report of Judah’s death, that his life had come crashing down upon him. His mother’s health, his new marriage, his concerns about what was really happening in India along with a forced connection with the unsuitable Cross family, a new business he had no time to run, and even his friend’s defection to India, had all created an unholy mess.

The door opened. It wasn’t his meat pie, but Ewan Hales, the secretary Sir Bartley had bequeathed him along with the business.

Michael found the man quite competent, though too young to run the entire enterprise without guidance.

“Mr. Hellman and Mr. Popham are waiting with their reports, my lord,” the secretary said. “I have a report as well.”

“Send in the cakie first, and give me a few moments. I need to collect my thoughts.”

“Very good, my lord. I shall attempt to find the cakie in question.”

“I don’t need the cakie, just my food,” he said irritably. “And give me your report while you are at it. I shall peruse it while I am dining.”

Hales bowed slightly and backed out of the room, as if Michael was ruler of the company instead of just its owner. Thankfully, Hales delivered his food and the first report within minutes.

Three hours later, Michael was clear of Redcake’s, but mindful that the place desperately needed a manager. Alys needed to be replaced too, since Betsy Popham was completely overwhelmed with orders. They were turning away business, which could be very bad. A couple of the cakies had announced engagements and new girls needed to be hired and trained. Apparently one of the ovens wasn’t working, and Lewis Noble had refused to fix it, though it was his own design, and the oven expert brought in to replace him had thrown up his hands in confusion.

Michael had a long list of tasks to complete, but at the top of the list was finding someone competent to manage. He resolved to write a note to Mumford and Egglesworth, asking more urgently for suitable candidates, as soon as he could find the time. He missed Sir John’s robust competence.

Now though, he had a couple of hours in which to confront Alys before he had to be at home to dress for the Cross dinner. His carriage pulled up in front of Sir Bartley’s mansion and Michael alighted, grateful that the meat pie had done its duty and calmed his nerves and hands.

When he rang the bell, the butler answered.

“What a pleasure to see you, my lord,” said the man.

Michael handed him his hat, gloves, and greatcoat. “Is my wife here? I have not had time to check the post and came here in between business matters.”

“Yes, my lord, I believe the marchioness is with her sister. Would you like to go into the drawing room while I ascertain her whereabouts?”

“Thank you, Pounds.” Michael allowed himself to be directed into the drawing room, which, thankfully, was not decorated in an abundance of rose, but wallpapered tastefully in a blue, white, and yellow floral motif, echoed in its soothing furniture and discreet tapestries.

He’d be pleased to have Alys redecorate the Farm accordingly, now that her dowry made the funds available for niceties.

He placed himself in an armchair and stared into the fire. Half in a doze within moments, he shot to his feet when the door opened, not quite sure where he was.

“I received your note,” Alys said, walking into the room, still in her dowdy gown.

He drank in the sight of her, then hardened his heart with the memory of that morning. “I see you have left off mourning. I am glad of that.”

She smiled. “I’m so happy that your brother is safe.”

“As safe as one can be in India, I suppose. I’m to dine with the Cross family tonight.”

“Perhaps they know more. I heard about your brother from a connection of theirs initially.”

“I am sorry you didn’t hear it from me first,” he said stiffly.

“News travels fast in London,” she said. “How is your mother? I am sorry to hear she is so unwell.”

His thoughts flashed for a moment on a sight of her, young and laughing, her hand on a strange man’s chest. “She requires surgery. I am to persuade her.”

“I’m sure she will have the best medical assistance.”

“Of course.” He cleared his throat. “Will you be seated?”

“Thank you.” Alys worried at her lower lip as she sat on a settee.

Michael seated himself at the opposite end.

“I was going to return to the Farm,” Alys said. “But I am so angry with what happened on Sunday that I have not had the heart to organize my things.”

“Sunday?” he asked, uncertain of what she referred to.

“The business with Theodore Bliven.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “I am sorry if there was some unpleasantness, but really, Alys, I have more important things to discuss.”