Trifling Favors (Redcakes Book 7)

by Heather Hiestand

  “What about Ralph? Does he want to be closer to his bakery?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I’m on my own because I have to be, but you aren’t. Isn’t your place with your father?” Prissy’s lovely dark eyes held real curiosity.

  “I want to build a trousseau,” Betsy confided. “I can’t do that if he’s in charge of my money. We could go on like this forever, and I’m already twenty-two. I’ll be twenty-three in September.”

  “You want something to bring to the marital bargaining table.”

  “Exactly. Before it is too late. I should have clothing, kitchen linens, dishes.”

  “Of course,” Prissy agreed. “And Ralph simply has no interest in you marrying.”

  “No.” Did he hope her mother’s tainted line would end?

  “It’s not uncommon for a family to want a daughter at home, but when there is only one child . . .” Prissy took a sip of her tea. “He must want grandchildren.”

  “He may not, given who my mother was.”

  “You can’t think he’d be afraid you would breed”—Prissy bent her head so close to Betsy that she could smell the chamomile scent of her hair—“a murderer.”

  She sighed. “He might. I’m realizing he’s much more religious than I’d previously thought. He keeps to himself in the evenings, and I’ve never known what he reads. Now I think it’s all prayer books and philosophy.”

  “How dreadful. Romantic novels for me.”

  “Me too.” Betsy folded her hands on top of the table. She needed to take care of her skin. It looked rough.

  “Have we been spoiled for regular gentlemen thanks to our reading taste?”

  “Regular gentlemen, yes. All men, no,” Betsy said, remembering Mr. Redcake’s kiss.

  “That almost sounds specific in its generality,” Prissy said with a quirky grin.

  Betsy noticed Prissy’s cheekbones were more pronounced than hers. She had excellent bone structure and would probably age better. “I cannot sort my own feelings.”

  “About who?”

  Betsy missed Lady Hatbrook desperately. Could Prissy take her place as confidante? “Can you keep a secret? I can’t tell anyone here, even the girls I’m closest to.”

  “Oooh.” Prissy leaned forward, locking her lips with a pretend key. “Sister secrets. I’ve simply longed for them.”

  “There is a certain gentleman who has kissed me a time or two,” Betsy admitted.

  Prissy’s lips curved. “How delightful. You like him?”

  “Very much, but he’s unsuitable.”

  “Poor?”

  “No, too wealthy for me.”

  “Never say he’s another aristocrat,” Prissy said. “Grace told me there was a rumor you used to step out with a man at Redcake’s who was secretly the heir to an earldom.”

  “Four years ago, long before the truth came out,” Betsy said.

  “Who do you have your hooks into now?”

  “I don’t have any hooks into anyone,” she retorted, before continuing in a gentler tone. “But he’s attracted to me. I just don’t know what he wants. I want to be married, but I never thought anyone really decent would want me. I thought I’d have to set my hopes low.”

  “Why? You have one of the best positions a lady could have in London. I agree you can’t set your cap for an earl, but anyone else ought to be within your sights.”

  “Because of Mother. Don’t you find your background makes you a bad prospect?”

  “I’m not like you, with a father who kept focused on what happened. I knew of course, I was older than you, but my grandparents raised me to be my father’s daughter, not my mother’s.”

  “Perhaps that is the difference between us. I do feel like my mother’s daughter, and my father’s keeper. It’s not the same. I’ve spent my life being ashamed, which meant Simon Hellman could control me.”

  “Not any longer. I’m sure the police will pick him up soon.”

  “And Victor Carter, I hope.”

  “Listen, Betsy, you deserve to be happy. Take a chance on this gentleman. Does he know your story?”

  “He does now.”

  “Good, and he’s still kissing you.” Prissy tapped her full lips with one finger. Betsy could see scars from too many pricks with a needle. “Yes, I think it is time to work on your trousseau. We had better start on the important things, like nightgowns.”

  Betsy blushed. “I don’t have the money, Prissy. Victor, you know.”

  “You’ll recoup, now that the thieves are out of your life. I’ll talk to Ralph myself if he protests; make him understand from a sister’s perspective.”

  “You can’t tell him I’m being courted. I don’t even know if that is what is going on.”

  “You had better ask this gentleman’s intentions,” Prissy advised. “You have a right to know. Normally, I would tell you to speak to your father, but if you want to be independent, you had better ask yourself. Don’t be shy; this is your future.”

  “It is. You are right.” Betsy wondered if she could really see a future with Greggory Redcake. How she wanted to fall into that fantasy and stay there. Mrs. Greggory Redcake, with two little babies to love already. United with him in their love for their business.

  She sat up very straight in her chair. What if he’d want her to stay home with the babies instead of maintaining her position?

  “What?” Prissy asked.

  “Oh, nothing. I had better return to my post,” she said. “It’s been so nice to visit with you, Prissy.”

  Prissy nodded. “When I’m running errands for Mrs. Fair, I’ll keep an eye out for the perfect fabric, so I can snatch it up when you are ready to start your nightgowns. I’ll sketch for you.”

  “Sketch for yourself,” Betsy said with a giggle. “We’re so similar.”

  Prissy patted her hand. “I’m so glad I found you. I hope 1892 is the year that turns you from miss to missus.”

  “Why not both of us?” Betsy asked. “You’re in London now.”

  “I’ll wait for you. If you can marry well, that will make it easier for me to do the same,” Prissy said with a wink. “Don’t take too long, now.”

  “That is very true,” Betsy agreed. “I accept your offer of help.”

  Betsy stayed almost giddy through the rest of the day, at least until she arrived at the dinner table to find she was alone with her father.

  “Where is Mr. Redcake?” she asked.

  “He has never come home,” Ralph said, arranging his napkin. “I told Mrs. Roach she didn’t need to be formal, but I believe Mr. Redcake left orders for a full dinner to be served.”

  Betsy frowned. She had checked with Greggory before she left for the day. He’d seemed distracted but told her to go on to the house and he’d be there soon. At the last moment, he’d looked up and smiled. She’d wanted to apologize for her silly behavior of the night before but decided she should leave personal matters for outside of Redcake’s. If he stayed out all evening, she wouldn’t have a chance to right their relationship.

  Or maybe this was his way of showing her that she didn’t matter?

  Greggory had been sorry to miss seeing Betsy the evening before, but Lord Judah had telephoned and asked him to call around when he left work. He’d spent the evening in conference with the man and some of his Redcake cousins, who were very curious to know how his branch fared in the present circumstances. Even though he’d been given the property as a wedding gift, they shared the business name and fortunes were somewhat intertwined. His cousin Matilda had told him that Uncle Bartley had planned to buy him a house, not give him the business, but his wife’s father had already owned the Kensington Church Walk property and it didn’t make sense to take on another house.

  On Thursday, though, he presented himself at dinner. Only Betsy was at the table.

  “Is Mr. Popham running late?”

  “He is playing chess with an old friend,” Betsy said. “They play once a month. He won’t be here until the wee hou
rs.”

  He smiled. “Then I have the pleasure of spending an evening calling you Betsy.”

  “Not when Mrs. Roach is present, I hope,” she said.

  He nodded agreement as the housekeeper walked in with their soup. “How did your first day with the new housemaid go?”

  “She worked a treat,” Mrs. Roach said, ladling out the broth with spring vegetables. “And the babies had a short nap today, so they are likely to sleep better tonight.”

  “So the world spins back in our favor,” Greggory said. “It is time.”

  He thought Betsy’s smile was weak in response to his words. Given her recent physical scares, it was probably difficult for her to relax, the poor girl. Noting the wine decanter on the sideboard, he brought it over and topped each of their glasses.

  She lifted an eyebrow.

  “Relaxation in a bottle. We both need it, I think.”

  “I am not much of a drinker.”

  “You have a need for control. I am a light drinker as well, given the babies.”

  “I’m sure Mrs. Roach will have a new nursemaid for you next week. I sat with them for an hour just before dinner. It is not hard to love such sweet little creatures.”

  My children are sweet little creatures. He puffed a bit with pride as he sipped his wine. “Not a bad vintage. My cousin, Sir Gawain, is becoming interested in wines. He sent over a case of whatever this is for the twins’ birthday.”

  “Were you supposed to set it aside to build their cellars?”

  “It does sound ridiculous, doesn’t it? I thought I’d save two bottles for them. Honestly, I wouldn’t know if the stuff was fair or foul, only whether it tastes good to me.”

  Betsy sipped from her glass. “I like how it feels in my mouth, but we only ever had ale at home. I almost never drink wine.”

  “You won’t turn into a connoisseur in this household.”

  Now, she smiled more genuinely. “Perhaps not, but I’m enjoying my nursemaid time. I’ve never had much exposure to babies.”

  “Do you want children?” he asked.

  Her eyes fixed on a position far above his head. She seemed to freeze. “Every woman does, I believe. It is what we aspire to.”

  “I might have thought otherwise in your case.”

  “Why not?”

  “Your father doesn’t seem to have raised you like a typical girl.”

  “No, he didn’t. I have learned independence, along with not nearly enough household management. But it won’t be so different from learning how to manage Redcake’s.”

  “I believe in you,” he said as Mrs. Roach reappeared to remove the soup and bring in the fish course.

  “Delicious,” Betsy said, forking up delicate white fish in butter sauce. “I don’t know how you can eat like this every night.”

  “I don’t indulge in Redcake’s pastry very often,” he said.

  “I can’t imagine giving it up. I am tired of wedding cake, though. I ate so much imperfect fruit cake that was left over in my previous position, I can do without it.”

  “When you marry, what kind of cake will you have?”

  “A spice cake, I think. With apples. Something very unusual, but decorated in the best fashion. I am not the most talented decorator at Redcake’s, but I do well enough.”

  “You want to make your own cake?”

  She nodded. “That way I will know exactly what is in it. I won’t be making my own dress, assuming I have a nice one. I don’t have those skills. But cake I can do.”

  “You are planning quite a modest affair,” he said with a smile. He loved listening to Letty right after they’d become engaged, bringing their wedding celebration to life with a picture in words. She had done it, too. A lavender dress in the year’s most elegant French style. Redcake’s best cake, decorated by Lady Hatbrook herself. A wedding meal at Lady Fitzwalter’s home in Bristol. All the best, and he’d enjoyed every second of it. He thought every bride would want the same.

  “I’ve been too busy to think about a wedding very much,” she said. “Plus, no beau.”

  Betsy wasn’t like his family. The Pophams were Redcake’s employees, not equals. Long-term, valued employees, but nothing more. Something about her had landed her into his home, made him think of her as something more, this brunette beauty with the glorious curves and sharp mind. Not to mention the tragic past.

  “I think every girl should have a nice wedding. Her parents should save for it, as they’d save for a son’s education.”

  Her lips tensed and her gaze drifted back to her plate. He winced as he realized he knew exactly where Ralph’s money, and hers, had gone. If she’d had a mother, it might have gone differently, but her mother had been even worse. The thought struck him: She really had no one she could count on but herself.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, pushing back from the table. She was seated to his right and he pulled his chair close to her and sat back down. “I’m being insensitive.”

  “We’re not from the same type of family,” Betsy said. “My family, originally, owned a boardinghouse. Yours owned factories. Then your family climbed the social ladder, and mine . . . well, mine didn’t.”

  “Yet you and I are both here at this moment.”

  She winced. “You own this house and I am a penniless guest. It hardly matters that we are both here.”

  He leaned in and cupped her cheek. “Oh, Betsy, my dear girl, it matters to me.”

  She closed her eyes for a moment, just long enough for him to know his touch affected her, but when she looked at him, her gaze was clear and imperious. “You know how grateful I am, and I will move on as soon as I see my pay envelope. Tomorrow or Saturday. I have it all sorted in my own mind. I just need the money and my day off.”

  “You do not need to work on Saturday,” he said. “We don’t have a lot of trade right now, and it was never meant to be part of your work hours.”

  “Or yours.”

  “I’m irrelevant. I’m the owner.”

  “Then I can stay here with the babies, if that would help.”

  “My children aren’t your problem.”

  He felt her draw away, both physically from his touch and mentally. “But I appreciate that you think that way. It’s who you are, Betsy. You always make yourself useful in any situation. I applaud that, you know. I don’t enjoy those ladies who have no energy for anything. Give me a charity campaigner, a suffragette, a doer of good works any day. An artist, or a mother who cares for her own children.”

  “Or someone who needs to earn a living?” she said with an edge of sarcasm that he was sure was meant to make it clear that she knew he hadn’t said it. “Well, all the better. I will look for a new residence in two days’ time.”

  “I spend all day with women like you,” he said gently.

  “Yes, but do you really have a passion for the business? You work as hard as anyone and even more, but as you say, Redcake’s was handed to you. I’ve been there since the first day the flagship teashop opened.”

  “I’ve worked at Redcake’s as long as you,” he said. “But on the factory side. I care as deeply as you do. It’s my name.”

  “And I’m just an employee.” He heard her heels scrape on the carpet. Her chair moved back and she stood. “If you’ll excuse me, I believe the first two courses were quite enough for me this evening.”

  “You never seem to finish your meal.”

  Her expression was strained. “I’m not used to these multiple-course meals. There’s no way to get through them except eating like a sparrow at each course, and I don’t think to stop.”

  “How are you going to spend the evening?”

  Mrs. Roach entered with a platter of sliced beef and vegetables. He wished she would go away. Betsy would leave and he couldn’t pursue her into her bedroom.

  “If you don’t need me with the children, I shall have an early night of it.”

  He couldn’t use them as an excuse to keep her available to him, not when he’d said they were not her
problem. Frustration filled him. How had he ruined a rare chance to have a quiet evening with her? Or at least as quiet as one could have with servants and children forever underfoot. He might have thought courting in one’s home would be easier, but it was actually worse than trying to court in public.

  And why was his mind turning to thoughts of courting, with his own employee no less?

  Chapter Ten

  “You could stay with me,” Greggory blurted out. Had any man, a widower at that, ever sounded greener?

  His housekeeper’s pleasant expression shuttered. She set down the beef and vegetables instead of offering the plate to him and left the room. Obviously, the older woman did not approve. He thought his words had sounded innocuous, but she must know his real, carnal intentions.

  “I do not have a reason to,” Betsy said, clasping her hands in front of herself, ready to flee him for the evening.

  “We work so closely together, but I don’t feel like I really know you.” Was this a reason?

  “You know me better than anyone else.” She said this in an exasperated tone as she pushed the bangs out of her eyes.

  “I know about your parents and your troubles. Now I’ve learned that you don’t want a large wedding. What else? What are your dreams? Do have other career hopes beyond being assistant manager at Redcake’s? Do you plan to leave employment when you marry? Do you like to play music or sketch?”

  “What does any of that matter?”

  He spread his hands apart. “We have an entire evening in front of us, if you don’t run away from me. We could play cards if you like. We could look at my late wife’s pressed flower albums. She was extremely proud of them. We could dance.”

  “We don’t have any music, and I don’t know how.”

  “I have a piano. Do you sing? We could sing together. Letty’s fashion magazines still come here, if you want to look at dresses.”

  “I don’t have money for clothing.”

  “You will now,” he said. “In a few weeks.”

  “I’m going to build my trousseau,” she said, then compressed her lips.

  He lifted one hand, then placed it palm side down on the table. “There, now I know how you plan to spend the near future. Planning your trousseau. Excellent. I’m sure there are articles in some of those magazines.”