The Marquess of Cake (8 page)

The marquess folded his arms across his chest and tapped his booted foot against the floor, even though there was no music as of yet. He seemed twitchy to her. Perhaps he was as uncomfortable in society as she, though that seemed unlikely. She glanced around the surrounding faces to see if she could spot his mother, but didn’t see her.

“Oh, Miss Redcake,” Lady Lillian said, coming toward them with outstretched hands. “Is this not the dampest Christmas you can remember?”

“Foul beyond belief,” Alys agreed.

“But it’s Christmas,” Rose said, taking her friend’s hands. “And it’s so pretty inside.”

A
Tannenbaum
stood majestically in one corner, decorated with tinsel, gingerbread cookies, and lit candles. A wreath was hung at each window. Though it was very faint, Alys could hear carolers outside. Ivy and holly were entwined below the gas lamps.

“Mistletoe!” Matilda gasped, coming up beside them.

Alys squinted, and finally saw a small bunch almost hidden beside the Christmas tree.

“Can you imagine the scandal?” Matilda said, almost wistfully.

“Don’t squint. It makes you look like an old maid,” Rose whispered balefully.

Just then, Lord Hatbrook’s friend turned and stared straight at Alys. He looked confused for a moment as if he couldn’t place her, but he was staring so directly that she bobbed the tiniest curtsy. He bowed his head then returned to his conversation, but a moment later Hatbrook turned. His gaze caught hers and she felt a flutter in her chest. Rose caught at her arm and opened her mouth, but then Alys saw Lady Hatbrook appear in the open doorway between the tree and her son.

Her eyes narrowed when she saw Alys. Alys turned toward Rose and drew her sister a few steps away.

“What is it? Your mouth was hanging quite open. You must be more discreet.”

“I just saw Lady Hatbrook,” Alys confessed, feeling a lump in her stomach that even a strong cup of tea might not dissolve. “Oh Rose, I have played the servant with that family, and now Father has taken away my position. But it might be too late to save you or Matilda!”

“What are you babbling about?” Lewis said, coming toward them.

Alys noticed her cousin’s white-blond hair was damp, hiding its natural curl.

“Did you forget your hat again, cousin?” Rose asked.

Lewis ignored her. “What is too late, Alys?”

Alys tried to smile. “How can my sisters make good marriages when I’ve been serving the aristocracy at Redcake’s? We reek of trade.”

“Uncle Bartley is a tradesman,” Lewis said. “We aren’t aristocrats and it is silly to think our status has really changed.”

Rose opened her mouth, her nose wrinkled in outrage, but Alys appreciated the good sense. What did she care if Lady Hatbrook recognized her? Lady Lillian might belong in this room, but she and her family did not. They were the interlopers and Lady Hatbrook could do what she liked.

Then she glanced up and saw Lord Hatbrook only two steps away • from her. His mother was nowhere in sight, but his friend stood at her elbow.

Hatbrook turned slightly to her left and spoke. “Sergeant Redcake, I am happy to see you again.”

Her brother must have come in with Lewis as he stood there now.

He shook the marquess’s hand.

“A pleasure, sir. May I introduce my sisters, Alys, Matilda, and Rose, and my cousin, Mr. Lewis Noble?”

“I have had the pleasure of meeting Miss Redcake a time or two,”

the marquess said. “May I make my friend Theodore Bliven known to you all?”

After introductions were made, the marquess said, “The sergeant here served with Judah until recently.”

“You must have some tales to tell, Sergeant,” Mr. Bliven said.

“Don’t envy you, man.”

“Better forgotten.” Gawain scowled. “I work at Redcake’s now.”

Mr. Bliven grinned. “Ah, then you are the envy of Lord Hatbrook.

I do believe Redcake’s is his most favorite spot in London.”

Lord Hatbrook caught Alys rolling her eyes and the corners of his eyes tightened as if he held back a smile. She flushed.

“I trust business is excellent for the season?” Hatbrook inquired.

Alys found herself fighting tears. “Excuse me, your lordship.

Something in my eye.” She turned away.

“I’ll take her,” Lewis said, grasping her by the elbow as Alys put a hand to her cheek to stop any tears from dripping. This forestalled her sisters from having to leave the conversation, as they most assuredly did not.

As they walked away, Lewis said, “You’re going to have to be stronger than this, Alys.”

“He took away what I love,” Alys sniffed. “And I’m afraid he did it so someone at the emporium can offer for me. I had the strangest looks from Popham and Hales. I thought they considered me an equal, but now this!”

“You don’t have to marry any of them, you can marry me,” Lewis said.

He stopped walking. Alys bumped him, stunned, her tears forgotten. She looked up and realized Lewis had halted directly underneath the mistletoe. On purpose.

“Don’t be silly,” she chided. “You don’t want to marry me.”

“How can you know that?” Lewis said, in a low voice.

He bent his head as if to kiss her, and she stepped back quickly.

Cousin or no, no matter how he felt, she wouldn’t let him kiss her at a public event.

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly.

“I must not embarrass my sisters,” she said, wishing her excuse hadn’t put that look of hope into his eyes.

Alys waited with the rest of her siblings in the back parlor to receive her Grandmother Noble and Uncle Jacob. They had decorated their
Tannenbaum
earlier in the afternoon. Due to the chill of the day and the oppressive sensation of a coming storm, her hands had been clammy and chilled. Lewis had stayed out of the house and no one knew where he was. She worried about him, feeling guilty because her initial reaction to his proposal had been to tell him he was being silly. His expression had told her he had been serious after all.

Alys’s view of the tree, with its candles, popcorn, and cranberry rings, blurred. She couldn’t clearly see the outlines of the papersnowflake cutouts Matilda had made a few years ago. Lewis had carved the bird ornaments from weeping-willow scraps and she had painted the tiny blue eyes that stared accusingly into hers now.

Where had he gone on Christmas Eve? They had resolved nothing the night before and she had the sick feeling of dread to show for that. What was she going to do? She couldn’t marry him. Not only was he her cousin, but he had no income of his own and hers had been stripped from her. Even Ralph Popham would be a better match from a practical standpoint, ill as the thought made her.

Pounds opened the door and male voices disrupted the quiet. Her stomach clenched, then she recognized the high tenor of Uncle Jacob, her mother’s only living sibling. The scent of roasted chestnuts drifted in along with the odor of wet wool from outer garments. Her uncle, tall and slender with a magnificent snowy beard, and resplendent in a bright green waistcoat, was two years older than her mother and had never married. He lived with his mother in Reading. Twelve years before, when her aunt had died, the Redcakes had accepted her son Lewis, then seventeen, into their household, and her uncle had taken in Grandmother Noble.

“We drove by Redcake’s,” Uncle Jacob said as he walked into the room with her father, followed by her mother and grandmother.

“Most impressive edifice.”

“Thank you, brother,” her father boomed. He always grew louder around Uncle Jacob, as if his more gentle tones brought out the bombast.

“Oh, dear, I do hate to travel,” Grandmother Noble said, sinking down into a wingback chair near the fireplace. It was their father’s favorite chair, but Grandmother Noble was one of the few people who Sir Bartley allowed to do as she pleased, despite his newly elevated place in the world.

“We’re so happy you made the effort, Mother,” Ellen Redcake said gently.

“Would you like a fur wrap to cover those old bones, madam?”

Sir Bartley boomed. “Or a dish of tea. Or whisky, perhaps?”

Since Grandmother Noble didn’t treat him with respect, Sir Bartley made an effort to expose her little foibles, like drinking more than was polite.

Alys sighed. She loved her family, but enjoyed escaping into her business world as often as possible. She felt a stab of pain in her palm and realized she was digging her fingernails into the opposite hand. If she didn’t figure out a plan, she’d be sharing the whisky bottle with Grandmother Noble by the end of Boxing Day.

“Where is my handsome Lewis?” Grandmother trilled, after receiving her whisky.

Silence ensued until Alys looked up and realized everyone was staring at her. Why? What did they know? She shrugged.

“Did he say anything to you at the musicale last night?” her mother asked. “I haven’t seen him since I saw you speaking to him there.”

Alys felt her cheeks heat. “No, Mother. He didn’t tell me of his plans.”

“He left rather abruptly,” Matilda said, her eyes narrowed.

Alys caught her father’s glance and looked away. She would only stay civil over the holiday if she didn’t speak to him.

Had Lewis said anything to Father? If so, she was doomed.

Clearly, he wanted to marry her off to get her out of the way of her sisters and their potentially greater success on the marriage market.

Could Lewis have been his choice all along?

The evening droned along, with a large, nap-inducing dinner followed by Bible and sermon readings. By the time Alys went to bed, she was desperate for solitude.

On Christmas morning they all went to church, then returned home to exchange gifts. Lewis still hadn’t appeared and many comments were made about his eccentricities.

Grandmother Noble planned another series of Bible and sermon readings. Alys pleaded a headache and went upstairs to lie down. As she opened the door to her room, quite dark despite it being the middle of the day, she heard a melodious chirping.

A footstool tripped her as she moved to the window to rearrange the curtains the maid had been too busy to draw. When she visited, Grandmother Noble’s needs always caused everyone else in the household to be neglected. Alys stumbled forward and pulled back the heavy, beige velvet drapes. This gave her enough gray light to find a candlestick and stir the fire to life. She hummed “O Little Town of Bethlehem” as she worked.

To the side of her fireplace she saw a glint of emerald green. Confused, she stopped humming. She moved closer and lifted her candlestick.

An emerald eye winked at her. She stumbled back, hearing the pretty chirp again.

“Oh,” she breathed, realizing. It wasn’t a person, but a bird!

Another of Lewis’s fantastic mechanical birds. The feathers looked amazingly lifelike in shades of green, orange, and gold.

“What is your name, pretty thing?” she crooned, touching a metal feather gently.

The bird opened its tiny beak and a lovely song poured out. She didn’t recognize it. Could Lewis have composed the tune? The bird’s claws clung to a metal branch of a bronze metal tree. When she looked closer, she saw a tiny sign tied onto the branch with twine. It read HEART’S DESIRE.

“You are a beauty,” she whispered, when the bird had finished its song. Lewis was so talented, and this would be a gift greatly appreciated by anyone who loved him.

Sadly, she didn’t love him in the way he apparently wanted. She sighed and stroked the bird’s feathers again. The song restarted.

Neither of them had what they wanted at this point in time. She had no idea what Lewis’s ambitions even were, other than an allowance from her father to continue work in his machine shop. Lewis built equipment for Redcake’s, which is why her father supported him, though his partner did most of the practical work.

Both of their lives were ruled to a great degree by her father’s whims. As a woman, could she break free? Lewis could find employment, but if she did the same, she’d embarrass the entire family. Already, it might be too late to redeem her younger sisters from their working-class taint.

She sat in a comfortable tufted chair by the fire and knitted a pair of children’s socks she’d promised to the vicar’s wife, deep in thought about her future prospects. Not the merriest way to spend the holiday, but she supposed it was as good a day as any to consider new beginnings.

She had fallen into a light doze when a knock came on her door.

The almost-finished second sock fell from her lap as she knuckled her eyes and went to the door through semidarkness.

“You have to come down,” Rose said, between coughs. “It’s time for our Christmas wishes.”

Each year, the Redcake children wrote a Christmas letter and cast it into the fire, a tradition passed on from the Noble side of the family.

Alys thought of protesting, but she could use all the help she could find for her future, so she followed her sister’s candle down the stairs and hallway to the back parlor.

Only the women were in the room, she was happy to see. She sat next to Matilda and took up her pen, writing that she wished her father would change his mind, that her sisters would be happy, and Lewis and Gawain too, but she found her thoughts drifting to the handsome profile of Hatbrook.

Could she wish him for one of her sisters? No, she was too drawn to his stern male beauty to want him for someone else, even if she didn’t desire to marry.

She folded her letter. Then, with a second thought, she opened it again, and wrote, “Hatbrook happy, too, please. And his mother will have a good party with the best cake ever.”

Content with those slightly juvenile wishes, she folded her letter.

When her sisters were done, they stood at the fire, united in a goal for once. Wrapping their free arms around each other’s velvet-clad waists, they bent forward in unison and dropped their letters into the fire.

Alys took in their faces, shiny with heat and burnished by the fire.

“I love you both dearly.”

Rose held up her hand. “Don’t tell us your wishes,” she croaked.

“Or they won’t come true.”

Alys shook her head. “I know that. I’m the one who told you that.”