by Alice Kirks
She set aside the embroidery she’d worked on – a white linen strip, decorated with white flowers, that could be used to adorn a gown. She looked up; hearing Matthew call out to the butler. He came in.
“Alexandra!” he said. “My dearest. How are you?” He went to her and took her hands in his. She stood, and they were soon wrapped in an embrace. His lips pressed against hers, and she flushed, knowing how much she wanted him.
The first weeks of marriage had taught them both a great deal, and now they knew much of passion that at least Alexandra had never imagined before, though longed for. She smiled at him, feeling the familiar heat of wanting in her body.
“So,” Matthew said as they went towards the French doors that led onto the terrace. They were shut now, as it was very cold outside, wintry and frost pale. “Shall we invite Albert and some others around for tea?”
“Certainly,” Alexandra nodded. She looked down at her dress. She was wearing a gown of brown velvet. It was, she thought, utterly appropriate for hosting teas in. “Will we invite Lady Henriette?” she asked, thinking of Arabella.
“Of course,” Matthew nodded. “We shall indeed. And anyone else you fancy.”
Alexandra grinned. “I suppose we should limit it to perhaps ten guests? I don’t know how happy the housekeeper will be if we invite more.”
“No,” Matthew nodded. “Probably not.” He grinned. “You can be so practical sometimes, my honey.”
Alexandra grinned. “Sometimes?”
He laughed. “Well…you know what I mean. Sometimes you are so intellectual I have to almost catch my brain alight to keep up.”
Alexandra chuckled and reached up to kiss his shoulder. He drew her close, pressing his lips to hers in a way that made her heart thump.
“Now,” he said, and she could see that he felt as warm with longing as she did. “I suppose we should send out those invitations before we forget. Or get distracted.”
“I agree,” she teased. She could see his eye sparkle and she knew that he was thinking what she was. Her face flushed.
They both went to sit down, and Alexandra rang the bell for some tea. She had settled into the household very well – the servants, or those who had always befriended her – had accepted her as mistress. Those who had not liked her liked her even less now, but luckily, she almost never had to see any of them; and the housekeeper had come to treat her with respect, which was returned in full. Alexandra had never felt anything but grudging respect for the older woman.
“So,” Matthew said, smiling at her across the table. “I suppose we have something to plan.”
“We do?” Alexandra asked, frowning. She remembered what he meant. They had discussed it the previous evening, and she had barely been awake, though the topic was interesting and she remembered it now. “Oh, yes. The trip.”
“The trip to Europe. Yes,” Matthew nodded. “I think Austria is probably the safest place to go, to start with. Switzerland next, mayhap. And then maybe Italy, I thought.”
“Sounds grand!”
Matthew nodded. Alexandra felt her mouth stretch with a grin.
“I am excited to see what Arabella says, when she knows she is to come with us. I suspect she will be spending quite some time in Austria. At a certain college, I think.”
Matthew sniffed.
“Yes, I somehow imagine that too,” he agreed. His eyes glowed. “I think she will be very happy. Though of course we shall keep an eye on them.”
“Of course,” Alexandra agreed. “Oh, Matthew…I am so excited! I have heard so many wonderful things about these places! And to think that I will be traveling there with you!”
He grinned. “Nowhere would be wonderful without you, Alexandra. And somehow, when I’m with you, every place is wonderful, even the little village shopping-street.”
Alexandra felt her heart light up.
“I know what you mean,” she said with a smile. “Since I feel exactly the same thing. I could be anywhere with you, and it is the best place I could envisage, truly. But then when I am not with you, anything would be dull and horrible.”
Matthew chuckled and took her hand in his, looking lovingly into her eyes.
“Not dull and horrible, surely?” he asked.
She grinned. “Absolutely. You are the brightest point of myuniverse, young man. And don’t you ever forget it.”
Matthew chuckled and she wrapped her arms around him. He kissed her and looked into her eyes.
“And you are the best thing in my whole world, Alexandra. And never forget I love you.”
She felt her heart melt and rested her fingers on his sturdy shoulder, looking into his eyes. “I love you too, Matthew. With every beat of my heart. Forever and ever.”
“And me too,” he murmured, pushing her back against the soft coverings of the chaise-lounge as he kissed her lips. “Forever, and ever…”
She giggled and wrapped her arms around him and drew him close. He held her against his chest.
She shut her eyes and knew that she had never felt this joyful.
THE END
Can't get enough of Alexandra and Matthew? Then make sure to check out the Extended Epilogue to find out…
Who will be the charming visitor that will make Arabella's heart skip a beat?
What kind of surprise could be awaiting Arabella on the night of a Ball she will eagerly attend?
What is the exciting news Alexandra will share with her dear husband?
Click the link or enter it into your browser
http://alicekirks.com/alexandra
(After reading the Extended Epilogue, turn the page to read the first chapters from “The Recipe to Win An Earl's Heart”, my Amazon Best-Selling novel!)
The Recipe to Win An Earl's Heart
Introduction
Clara Sedley is an inspired cook and the daughter of a baker who has raised her with love and affection ever since her mother died. When her father falls seriously ill, she decides to put all her dreams aside and seek further employment, as the medical expenses are piling up. However, the only available position seems to be the one of the cook for the reclusive Earl of Dunham. Feeling like she has no choice, Clara hesitantly accepts the offer and joins their estate. She never expected, though, to discover a hidden side of this lonely man, a side so tender, that it would make her heart beat only for him. Even so, the challenge of a relationship between a prestigious son of a malicious lady and the daughter of a baker still persists. With her loving kindness and outstanding cooking skills as weapons, will Clara manage to capture the Earl’s heart? Will she eventually live the fairytale she has always been dreaming of?
Having grown up with a judgmental and tyrannical mother, Charles Blackstone, Earl of Dunham, has become a cold and detached man. His short temper and mean words have pushed away every single person around him and he is now doomed to a miserable and lonely life in an enormous estate. Everything changes almost overnight when he crosses paths with Clara and is taken aback by her generosity and remarkable beauty. While tasting her meals which reflect her talent and affectionate nature, Charles finds himself falling deeper in love with this wondrous woman. He is nevertheless utterly conflicted, knowing that everyone will be against this love, and above all, his own mother. Will Charles stand up for himself and escape from the loveless future his mother has planned out for him? Or will he simply avoid the risk of being with the woman of his heart out of fear for society’s judgmental prejudice?
Even though Clara and Charles develop an undeniable connection, his cruel mother will do whatever it takes to sabotage their blossoming love. An unexpected secret that Clara’s father kept buried for years makes things even more complicated, as it will irreversibly change the course of their life. In the end, will Clara and Charles defy society’s constraining rules and choose love on their own terms? Or will dominant norms and formidable barriers overpower their special romance?
Prologue
Clara breathed in, smelling the rich scent of yeast. The smell b
rought back her earliest memories from when she was five years old, standing on the little four-legged stool by her father as he worked the bread dough. She recalled his smile and how he’d given her a lump to knead too, her tiny hands pressing on the springy, soft substance as hard as she could.
Now, she scraped a strand of pale hair back from one eye, her long, slim fingers lifting from the bowl of dough, and turned to him. He was still standing beside her, but fifteen years later there was no need for the stool and Clara was a good inch taller than he was.
“Could you pass me that tray, Clara? There’s a fine lass.”
Clara smiled fondly at him. “Here we are,” she said. “All ready.”
As he nodded thankfully and started to divide out the rounds of dough into loaves, Clara went to the oven. It was afternoon and she’d cooked a batch of buns, ready to be sold around tea-time. They were almost ready, and the air was filled with the delicious scents of steam.
“Now, we’ll have to get these in for a good hour,” her father was saying. “Can you…oh! Thank you, daughter.” He smiled up at her as she carefully lifted the tray from his hand. Her baking was ready to come out of the oven, and it was time for the loaves to be cooked. She glanced across at the little clock on the mantel – an old, battered one, but essential in their trade – and saw it was almost five o’ clock.
“In a moment the place will be filled with customers,” she observed, starting to unload the buns.
“Yes, it will,” her father grinned. “And I’ll be even more thankful than usual for an extra pair of hands. You’re a fine help. What would I do without you?”
Clara swallowed hard, her father’s affectionate words warming her. She had no other family save him, but, even had she done, she knew he would always have held a special place for her. Her heart filled with love as she looked at that worn, familiar face.
“I don’t want to think about what I’d do,” Clara said firmly. “I don’t want to think of losing you.”
Her father’s hazel eyes misted suddenly. “No, daughter,” he said thickly. “No. We’re not thinking about that.”
Clara nodded, turning away to hide her confusion. She thought perhaps she’d made him think of losing her mother – it had happened almost twenty years ago now, but sometimes it still hurt him. She didn’t have a moment to think. She heard footsteps in the front of the shop and turned to see Mrs. Hudson coming in.
“Afternoon, Mrs. Hudson,” she greeted her. She was a big figure in Dunham village – one of the oldest residents, there was no-one she hadn’t met and nobody who hadn’t met with her sharp-eyed scrutiny.
“Oh! Fine afternoon, Clara. Are those Bath buns?” she asked, pointing at the buns that Clara was laying aside to cool. “I’ll take five of those. I’m having visitors for tea.”
“Of course, Mrs. Hudson. That’s lovely. Just waiting for them to cool. Oh! Hello, Mr. Simmons.”
“Afternoon, Miss Clara,” Mr. Simmons greeted, taking off his cap. “An unusually warm day, eh?”
“It is,” Clara nodded. It was late autumn, and she was pleased to see some sunshine.
The bakery was filling up, as it always did. They were not the only source of baked bread in the village – the innkeeper’s wife also sold it – but their loaves were the most sought-after.
“Got some loaves ready?” Mr. Simmons asked eagerly.
“Yes, yes,” her father answered, taking over as Clara bent to check the buns. They were not quite cool enough to ice yet – they would need a good twenty minutes. She was about to tell Mrs. Hudson so, when another customer came in.
“Hello, Mrs. Delford,” she greeted. She was about to ask the diminutive woman what she could fetch for her, when a rumbling noise started. They all turned to stare.
“It’s horses’ hoofs,” Mr. Simmons said authoritatively. As the man who ran the inn stables, nobody questioned him. Clara nodded.
“That’ll be the earl and his cronies,” Mrs. Hudson said. The look on her face was stiff.
“What’s he doing?” her father asked lightly. “Leading the charge?”
Clara bit her lip to stifle a smile. Her father was so funny sometimes.
“Just him and his friends, heading up yonder.” Mrs. Hudson indicated the manor house, which was a good half hour’s walk away. “Bad lot, likely.”
“Not necessarily,” Clara said lightly, reaching for a bowl. She had certainly never met the earl, and she wasn’t about to pass sentence on anyone.
“I’ll bet so,” Mrs. Hudson said firmly. She wasn’t the sort to bet on things, so Clara was convinced of how strongly she felt.
“That lot’ll be trouble like flies be bothersome,” Mrs. Delford said.
Clara started to laugh and her father laughed, turning to check on the bread loaves in the oven. She went to the window to hold the glaze up to the light – she couldn’t see if it was thick enough yet – and as she did so, the first horse in the group rode by. She caught sight of a man with a thin, handsome face.
He had dark hair, a firm jaw and a narrow but well-shaped nose. He looked haughty and a little cold. When he turned around to glance at the bakery, she shivered at the remote and distant expression on his face. He was riding close by and Clara hastily looked away, lest he see that she stared at him.
“That’s the earl,” Mrs. Hudson, who had appeared beside her, commented. “Difficult soul.”
“He does seem that,” Clara agreed with a shiver. Something about him had struck her. Her mind lingered on his eyes. He didn’t seem wicked – rather, he looked unhappy.
You’re silly.
Why would he be sad? She had no reason to assume that! He was just a difficult earl, and she would never meet him anyway, so why make herself worried on his account?
“The buns will be ready soon, Mrs. Hudson. Can you wait ten minutes?” she asked.
“Of course I can,” she nodded. She went to sit restfully on the stool in the corner. Clara returned to the kitchen, but found her father absent.
“Father?” she called. She went to the back door, which led to the plot of land where they grew herbs and garlic. She heard a heavy cough.
That sounds unhealthy.
She turned away from the door and back to the counter, hurrying to fetch goods for the customers, putting aside the shiver of worry that went down her back. A moment or two later, he came back in again and Clara felt relieved.
“A fine day, eh, dearest?” he asked her with a smile. “So many customers.”
“Yes,” Clara nodded. “I’m glad the party has passed by,” she added.
“They did make a fine lot of noise,” her father nodded with a grin. “Rattled the roof-tiles.”
“Oh, father,” Clara chuckled.
He laughed too and patted her hand and she forgot about the earl and his cold, sad eyes and all her worries and turned to the customers. She loved being a baker. Her mind was restless, though, and uneasy, despite her attempt at calm.
She couldn’t stop worrying about her father, and she hoped that he was not unwell.
Chapter 1
Clara shut the door of the bakery. She looked out of the glass panes and onto the cold morning. It had started to rain. She closed her hazel eyes and tried to feel brave.
She could not do this.
She looked through the window where the scrolled paintwork was emblazoned with the name “Dunham Bakery”. She hated the thought of closing these doors. It was just over a week since her father’s first cough, and now she was astonished she had thought so little of it then. She made herself roll the curtain across the panes and walked back to the counter. The bakery was cold and empty, and dark behind the curtain.
