“Ready to transport?” asked Simon Hellman, their delivery manager, as he came into the room.
“I think so. The pastries and smaller cakes are already boxed.”
Simon gestured to two apprentices and Alys left the room with the bakery manager.
“Always a flurry of activity at this time of year,” Popham said.
“Yes, and I’ll be out this afternoon at that luncheon. The bride’s mother asked me to be on hand to make sure the cake is displayed and cut properly.”
“Don’t they have enough servants?”
“I don’t mind,” Alys assured him. “It gives me a chance to discuss cakes with guests and bring in business. After all, we’re nearly done with the October to December wedding rush. We won’t be busy again until the April to June wedding season.”
“I should think the name of Redcake’s is all the advertising we need.”
“Not if we want the best sort of customer.” Alys’s eagle eye caught a misaligned tray of shortbread in the display case and she quickly restacked the rectangles so they displayed perfectly.
“I’ll take your word for it, miss. But don’t wear yourself so low you damage your constitution.”
Alys grinned. “The only thing that tires me is playing cakie. I’m much happier when I can stay out of the tearoom.”
“Those girls do put up with a lot from our gentlemen guests,” he agreed. “I prefer when my daughter reports most of her trade was from the ladies.”
“Yes, sometimes men do behave like they are in a pub, but overall, I think we do a good job with the atmosphere. People expect ladies to be safe here and act accordingly.”
“I’m glad Sir Bartley had the idea of the tea shop. There’s nothing else in London quite like it.”
“I believe it was my mother’s idea, but my father enacted the idea beautifully. I expect we’ll be copied in time.”
Four hours later, Alys was dressed in her best, the reception gown she’d worn for the investiture, and stood next to the wedding cake in a corner of the second best ballroom in a duke’s Belgravia home. The bride was his granddaughter and she was marrying an up-andcoming member of parliament, someone sure to have his own title one day.
When a footman opened the door and signaled to her, she put on her apron. The wedding ceremony must be nearly over. Various family retainers entered to serve beverages and pastry.
She wondered if this would become the new style. Normally, bride’s families had a luncheon after a morning wedding and the cake would be served at the table, but this wedding had been far too large for that. Instead, the wedding had been at two P.M. followed by dessert.
The wealthy did set trends, after all. And this way of doing things wouldn’t hurt her business at all. In fact, it might enhance it as the cake would be on display longer.
Since a receiving line had been set up in front of the ballroom doors, in order that guests might receive a bit of good luck by touching the bride or groom, guests began to spill into the ballroom in small groups.
The scent of evergreen from boughs hung under the gaslight sconces began to be overset by that of perfume and warm bodies.
Alys fended off the guests who went right toward her cake and sent them to the coffee, tea, wine, and pastries. The bride and groom planned to cut the cake together to symbolize their first task as a married couple, and feed each other a bit of cake to symbolize their commitment to provide for one another.
“How beautiful,” an elderly woman said, clasping her hands to her bosom. “Who made that lovely cake, dear?”
“I did.” Alys smiled. “This is a Redcake’s three-tier masterpiece.”
“Ah, Redcake’s. I do love their marmalade. How does one order a wedding cake?”
“If you come to the Emporium bakery, we can show you drawings of cakes and help you design what you need.”
“I may just do that. My daughter is marrying in April.”
“We’d love to assist,” Alys assured her. “If you send us a note in advance or come in to schedule an appointment, we can have tasting cakes ready.”
“Wedding cakes are very traditional. Doesn’t everyone do the same cake?”
“No, ma’am, we have different options depending on what kind of fruit is used, how much butter, the kinds of alcohol in the cake, and so forth.”
“Fascinating.” The woman was joined by an acquaintance and they asked numerous questions about frostings and decorations.
“Orange water is most traditional for frosting flavor,” Alys told them, and was about to suggest alternatives when her gaze was caught by a tall, austere man entering the room, his arm gripped by an angular lady in a rose-colored gown.
She wondered why she’d noticed him, until she saw the way the gasolier revealed a hint of sun in his hair. Hatbrook. Her entire body tingled traitorously as she put name to the broad-shouldered, impeccably dressed gentleman.
Of all the guests who might enjoy a slice of cake, he’d likely take the most pleasure in it, with his keen appreciation of Redcake’s.
She’d heard the cakies gossip about how often he came into the tea shop. Most of their clientele was female.
“I’m sorry,” she said, when one of the ladies repeated a question.
“Yes, of course we could make a mint-flavored frosting.”
The second lady put her hand to her ear. “Speak up, please.”
Alys repeated herself at twice the volume.
The woman nodded. “But only for the groom’s cake. Chocolate mint, my son would love that.”
“Are your children marrying each other?” Alys asked with a wink.
The ladies tittered.
“No, no, my dear. Two separate ceremonies, I assure you.”
“Wonderful. Can I answer any more questions for you?” She pulled out a cake-ordering pad and wrote down the specifications of each as she had been told them, then handed the sheets to the prospective customers. “If you bring these in with you we won’t have to start again.”
“Very thoughtful, Miss Redcake,” the deafest of the two said loudly.
At those words, Lord Hatbrook’s head snapped up, as if he was a bloodhound going on point. Alys’s attention had never really left him and even though he was several feet away, his glance met hers.
He nodded in her direction and she mimicked the motion, pleased with his recognition, though it made her breath catch in her throat.
She hadn’t expected such a gentleman to notice her.
“I look forward to seeing you both at the Emporium,” she said.
“I’d suggest quite a bit of notice, especially if you find you want this particular cake, as the alcohol needs to soak in for some time.”
“Do you keep cakes on hand?”
“Yes, but since your son’s wedding is at the height of the nuptial season I can’t guarantee the best cake with less than a month’s notice.”
“We will order well in advance,” the first lady said. “Let’s get a cup of tea, Mrs. Minter.”
Alys smiled at the ladies and kept her smile pasted to her face as Lord Hatbrook approached. “Your lordship.”
“Hello.” His gaze drifted to the wedding cake, then back to her face.
“It’s Alys,” she said quickly, realizing she didn’t have her name tag and of course he wouldn’t remember a cakie’s name. Or perhaps he recognized her from the investiture instead of from the tea shop?
“You told Lady Burnham you were Miss Redcake,” he said with a frown.
“I am. Alys Redcake, the eldest daughter of Sir Bartley Redcake.”
She stood taller, proud to represent her family at a prestigious event.
“I see. I must have met your brother then. Sergeant Redcake?”
His gaze moved down, then back up to her eyes again.
Or did he not remember her at all? “He’s my twin.”
“You don’t look anything alike.” He seemed fixated on her nose.
With difficulty, she refrained from scratching at it. “He
takes after my mother. I have three living siblings. Matilda and I look like Father, and Rose and Gawain have Mother’s hair and build.”
“And all of you work in the business?”
The angular lady joined them.
“Ah, there you are, Mother.”
“How tiresome,” Lady Hatbrook said, her fingers worrying at a fold on her fashionable gown. “Why ever are you speaking to this person?”
Alys watched as Lord Hatbrook’s eyes briefly pinched closed, as if his mother’s mere voice gave him a headache. “Miss Redcake’s brother served with Judah, Mother, until he was wounded last year shortly after the Battalion moved to India. He is in that photograph Judah sent us recently.”
“I see. I’d like a cup of tea.”
This last was directed at Alys, but the mother of the bride had begged her not to leave the cake, for fear that a certain mentally challenged guest would slip away from his supervision and thrust his fist into her creation.
“Yes, your ladyship.” Alys raised her hand and waved, hoping to catch one of the servant’s eyes. When that didn’t work, she craned her neck, hoping to see a footman, but they were all blocked by the crowd.
“Whatever are you doing, girl?”
“I am so sorry but I’ve been asked not to leave the cake.”
Lady Hatbrook offered no response other than a bored expression.
“I’ll get it, Mother.” A slight smile fluttered one side of his lips.
The marquess dashed off. Alys had the impression he was thrilled to leave her with his mother.
“Do you like wedding cake, Lady Hatbrook?” she asked.
“Not particularly.” Her nose went into the air. “I prefer soda crackers. Better for the digestion. Huntley and Palmers makes an excellent product.”
“Yes, like Redcake’s they serve the royal family, I believe,” Alys said.
“They have a warrant here, as well as for various European royal families,” Lady Hatbrook said. “Does Redcake’s?”
“No, we are a domestic concern,” Alys said.
Lady Hatbrook sniffed. “I see.”
“It’s more difficult to transport our baked goods,” Alys said, feeling the need to defend Redcake’s.
Lady Hatbrook sniffed again. Thankfully, her son returned with a cup of tea.
“With milk, just as you like it,” he said.
Alys noticed telltale crumbs at the corner of his mouth. She’d never really noticed his mouth before. He had a beautifully plump lower lip. His top lip was thinner, though pronounced, but his mouth was very nearly oversized. She wondered if he’d have dimples in his cheeks if he smiled, to match the slight cleft in his chin. Overall, it was a very sensual mouth. How would it feel against her lips?
“Did you enjoy the wafers, your lordship?” she asked politely.
“I do not enjoy the flavor of lemon as much as some others,” he admitted, “but it is purely a matter of personal taste.”
“It is the bride’s favorite flavor,” she said. “You can also find small strawberry jam tarts at the table.”
“Sadly, they have all been eaten and the servant must go back to the kitchen for more,” he said.
“How tiresome,” Alys agreed, glad not to force her smile any longer.
“This is tiresome,” Lady Hatbrook said. “I’d like to sit now. It’s not as if her brother is here to discuss the army with you, and I don’t understand why you find it so interesting. Sometimes I think you wish you were the second son so you could have gone to India.”
With a mother like her, Alys could understand why. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Lady Hatbrook. Would you like me to see if we can procure a plate of soda crackers for you?”
“No thank you,” she said, raising her chin and walking away. Lord Hatbrook shrugged in Alys’s direction and followed her.
Alys permitted herself a small smile. Her mother might be dramatic and dreamy, but at least she was pleasant.
Alys entered her shared dressing room at home, intent on removing her damp uniform and putting on a warm dressing gown. A cup of tea in front of the fireplace with The Vanished Diamond by Jules Verne, a book she wanted to read for the simple reason that the heroine’s name was Alice, were her plans for the rest of the afternoon. She wished her mother would allow her to change how she spelled her name, but her mother found “Alice” too common. She found “Alys” to be silly.
Instead of solitude, she found her sisters bent over one of their new dresses, laid out on the dressing-room floor. As it was a rather small room, she had to edge around the rug to reach the wardrobe.
“Is something wrong with the dress?” At least the fire was going and the room was toasty. She unpinned her hair in hope that the damp edges would dry.
“Change into something suitable,” Matilda hissed. “We have a caller.”
“You do?”
“Yes. Lady Lillian sent a note around. She’s coming for tea.”
Lady Lillian Cander was the youngest daughter of Earl Gerrick and had been at finishing school with Rose, though she was around Matilda’s age. Alys suspected her of being a bad influence, though she’d never actually heard her say anything truly inappropriate. Still, many a conversation ended abruptly when she entered a room when the girl was in town.
“I don’t need to join you,” Alys said. “I just want to relax with a book. You have no idea how beastly the weather is today.”
“If it wasn’t so bad I’d have gone shopping,” Rose said. “Lily is bringing us an invitation to a musicale. We’re trying to decide if this dress is suitable.”
“I should think not. It’s a ball gown.”
“What do you wear to a musical evening?” Rose fluttered her hands. “Oh, Mother should have prepared us for this.”
“She may not have been invited to many musical evenings herself,” Alys pointed out. “I think your dinner dresses should do nicely.
The new ones you ordered in October?”
“But they aren’t new. We’ll be meeting fashionable people. There will be Americans there, most likely. We can’t be dressed in old rags when American heiresses are in new gowns.”
Alys blinked. Rags? Hadn’t her sisters ever seen what poor unfortunates wore compared to them? “Matilda, can you help me with my buttons? I’m soaked.”
Her sister helped her disentangle herself from the damp fabric while Rose continued to fret.
“Are we in direct competition with Americans for some reason?”
Alys inquired in a low voice.
“Rose feels our future husbands are probably the sort of British gentlemen who might marry an American shipping or mill or banking heiress,” Matilda said in an equally low tone. “I believe she is right, and since we don’t have the mystique of an American at least we’d better dress properly.”
“Ah,” Alys sighed.
Matilda helped her strip down to her combinations, then found fresh stockings and a tea gown suitable for an aristocratic caller. Before Alys knew what was happening, she was dressed for Lady Lillian instead of Jules Verne.
“You have the most spinsterish taste in clothing,” Rose said.
“Combinations? Really?”
“They’re comfortable,” Alys said. “And don’t tell me I need to suffer for fashion. I don’t spend my days swanning around like you two.”
Matilda had opened her mouth to protest when a housemaid knocked.
“Your guest is in the parlor,” she informed them.
Rose squealed and rushed from the room, followed by the others.
As Alys entered the parlor behind Matilda a few minutes later, she heard another squeal as Rose greeted Lady Lillian.
The young woman had an air of refusing no pleasure life had to offer. Overly plump, wearing jewels more suited to an opera performance, she dressed in a gown so lacy and flounced she could have been trying to imitate a wedding cake.
If wedding cakes were decorated in that shade of plum.
Her hair was raven dark and curled into se
parate sausage ringlets that dangled unattractively around her cheeks. But, her smile was genuinely warm as she greeted them.
“Did you secure us the invitations?” Rose gasped.
“Oh, yes. I called on Mrs. Lennox this morning with Mama and she said she would send Lady Redcake an invitation in tomorrow morning’s post.”
“How thrilling,” Matilda said, clasping her hands above her bosom.
Alys narrowed her eyes. Something had changed with Matilda’s silhouette. She gasped, then put her hand over her mouth. Nothing could be said with a guest present, but was her sister wearing a bustimprover? Good heavens. She really should have stayed for the rest of that dressmaker visit. The bustle was quite enough artificiality, thank you.
“Are you a music fan, Miss Redcake?” Lady Lillian fluttered her eyelashes at Alys as a maid brought in a tea tray.
“Certainly, when it is well played.”
Lady Lillian giggled. “There’s no hope of that. The Misses Lennox are frightfully tone deaf, but have such a china doll prettiness the most handsome young gentlemen come to such evenings.”
“Gentlemen with titles?” Rose inquired.
“Gentlemen with money?” Matilda asked.
Lady Lillian giggled again. “The Lennoxes have good dowries, enough so that some of the men could be fortune hunters. You must be prepared to listen to the gossip and decide who might be most suitable for you.”
“A fortune hunter with a title might be fine,” Rose said. “As long as he has property. I’m sure Father plans to give us good dowries.”
“Has Father ever said anything to you, Alys?” Matilda inquired.
“Certainly not.” Alys bit savagely into a buttered scone.
“Of course not, because you don’t want to marry,” Matilda sighed.
“Is Sir Bartley going to insist on Alys marrying first?” Lady Lillian asked.
“He’d better not,” Rose said. “Otherwise we’ll all be spinsters. I’d like to marry by the age of twenty, so Matilda needs to find a husband this year.”
Matilda choked on her tea. “Not just anyone, Rose. I want to fall in love.”
“Make sure he’s suitable,” Rose said. “So we don’t waste time with objections.”
The Marquess of Cake Page 4
