Trifling Favors (Redcakes Book 7)

by Heather Hiestand

“It was to me.”

  “Don’t be cruel,” she said.

  “I’m not, Betsy.” He sat down next to her and swiveled his body to face her. “I don’t make a habit of such things. I haven’t been with anyone since my wife.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “Then you might be confusing emotion with lust.”

  He had to know. “Why did you allow such a thing to happen? The risk is all on your side. I thought it meant you loved me.”

  She huffed. “I scarcely know you outside of Redcake’s, Greggory. Please be reasonable. Don’t make this all about my feelings. You have all the power here.”

  “I do not.” He put his fingers on her cheek. “I’d like to court you.”

  “What does that mean?” she asked in clipped tones. “Are you going to take me for long walks while your children go unattended? Sunday afternoon carriage rides? Surely you aren’t going to want to stop doing what we did.”

  “Is that what you fear? That I’ll tell your father we’re courting while I really have nothing more in mind than keeping you as a mistress?”

  “A girl in my position, one who owes her livelihood to you, cannot be too careful. I must be allowed to move out. I cannot be under your roof. I find you too attractive, I must admit.”

  His heart lost a little of the buoyant feeling he’d experienced since Thursday. “That is all you will offer me? That you find me attractive?”

  “Even that is too much, when I work for you.” She put her head in her hands.

  How difficult this must be for her. He was chastened. “I am sorry for all the pressure I’ve put on you. I do not want you to go and I do not want you to spend all your money on lodgings. If I prove we can live chastely under the same roof, will you stay?”

  Her voice was muffled. “It’s not good for my digestion. Neither of us see eye to eye with my father.”

  “He wants to control you, as he always has. You’ve seen what is really going on now with him and your eyes are open. Still, you are safer here, what with Hellman and Carter on the loose.” He caressed her cheek again. “Please, don’t go.”

  “I wasn’t leaving until Wednesday,” she said. “That’s half a week for the police to do their jobs.”

  “You’d best give them longer. Skip this lodging house and wait for the next one. Promise me a couple of weeks, at least?”

  She rubbed her cheek against his hand. “I’ll think about it.”

  “We need time. Besides, Mrs. Roach has an advertisement in the paper for both a nurse and a nursemaid. They are a different class of female. I hope we can hook at least one sort into this household. It’s not such a bad place.”

  “No, it’s clean and the food is good,” Betsy said, putting her hands down. “From the servant’s perspective.”

  “And the head of household isn’t completely an ogre,” he teased.

  She smiled at him. He wanted to kiss her but suspected this was absolutely the wrong moment to attempt it. His mind would have to rule over his passion for now, but the desire to take her in his arms seethed within him, especially now that he knew the intimate details of her beautiful body.

  “Right?” he said softly. “Not an ogre?”

  “No. I promise I will attempt to separate my thoughts about you from my frustration with my father. But please don’t argue with him at dinner.”

  “I shall do my best to avoid it. But you see you will have to invite your sister to stay for the evening meal. She can distract him.”

  Betsy patted his arm. “I understand. I shall.”

  Betsy poked at her overly warm pillow and rolled off it with a frustrated groan later that night. The stifling air of the room made it impossible to sleep. Every time she started to relax, Greggory’s hopeful voice came to mind again. Despite having lost his young wife, his outlook on life seemed so much rosier and more optimistic than hers.

  Of course he had so much less to lose. She risked her position and a pregnancy by staying the course they had set. No wonder her perspective was darker than his. All he’d lose was a lover. He’d admitted he’d had no one but her since his wife died, though. That had to mean something. But he hadn’t said he loved her, and wouldn’t he know after two years of working with her?

  She rolled over again, turned her pillow around. Of course he’d been married for part of that time. He wouldn’t have looked at her that way, and then he’d needed time to mourn. Maybe romantic thoughts hadn’t been in his mind until recently.

  What if she were merely convenient? She hadn’t missed her father’s point that she was second wife material. Not good enough for a first wife. They were both so young, however. He’d want society beyond his family. Did he have a club? Sporting interests? Friends? She had no idea. He spent a great deal of time at Redcake’s. It had paid off at first, in a thriving business. More recently, she suspected he spent a great deal of that time staring out the window behind his desk. Her workload never seemed to reduce.

  Did she want to marry a man and manage his home as well as his business? The prospect seemed exhausting, yet it came with its own benefits. A comfortable home, no money worries. What she would have thought she’d give for either of those things in the past. And yet separating from her father would bring her both, from the labor of her own hands. Assuming she could keep her position.

  She needed to decide if she wanted Greggory himself. She needed to understand whether he really, truly found her worthy to be a Redcake. How she wished she could speak to Lady Hatbrook. Her friend had always been so practical, back before she was Lady Hatbrook. She missed her friend, the simple times, Ewan. Young, busy people who thought they were solid, middle-class citizens. Now she had been left behind, and the comfort of her life had turned into a mess of money trouble, violence, and homelessness.

  She hadn’t lost everything, though. Not her drive to succeed. Not her intelligence. Not even her looks, though she’d never relied on them.

  When she flipped her pillow again, the opposite side had finally cooled enough to allow her to relax. She fell asleep thinking about all those stars in the sky tonight, wishing she could count them as blessings instead of as problems.

  Prissy flipped through a year’s backlog of Myra’s Journal of Dress and Fashion, seated in Greggory’s parlor the next afternoon. Betsy had older issues of Le Moniteur de la Mode that the late Mrs. Redcake must have purchased in her lap. She didn’t speak French, but the fashion plates were beautiful.

  “You should glance through Les Modes Parisiennes next,” Prissy said. “They have larger plates.”

  “Such sweet clothes for children,” Betsy said, reluctantly setting the French publication down.

  “Already dressing those babies upstairs?” Prissy teased.

  “It’s hard not to. I believe they slept through the night last night. If they would do that consistently, they would be absolutely perfect children.”

  “You aren’t going to marry Mr. Redcake just to be his babies’ stepmama, are you?”

  “He hasn’t proposed,” Betsy said. “Merely asked my father if he could court me.”

  “Hmmm,” Prissy said, with a finger to her cheek. “You are living under his roof, with pressure not to leave, and he’s brought your father in line. If he doesn’t propose by the end of the month, he’s behaving in an utterly disgraceful fashion.”

  “I know,” Betsy said. “But he has so much on his mind.”

  Prissy picked up her half-eaten plate of sponge cake and dribbled another teaspoon of strawberry jam over it. “Did you make this? So delicious.”

  “It is an easy recipe,” Betsy said. “I’m not much of a baker, but sponge is easy.”

  “You’ll have to show me how. Of course one doesn’t need a skill like this to be Mr. Redcake’s wife.”

  “No. I probably don’t even need a trousseau. All of Letty Redcake’s linens are still relatively new.”

  “Just personal things, to entice your new husband,” Prissy said. “You don’t have the money for anything more.”
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  “I can give you some money now, if I’m prepared not to take the lodgings I found on Wednesday. But I’m not convinced I should stay.”

  “Stay until the end of the month,” Prissy said. “Give him a chance to declare himself. You’re a fool to give up. It’s everything a girl like us wants. Quite a step up the ladder, wouldn’t you say?”

  She reached for another magazine. “Of course, even as a second wife.”

  “Don’t be bitter,” Prissy admonished. “Think of it as having a trained husband, instead of having to do all the work yourself. I would dearly love a similar opportunity.”

  Betsy smiled despite herself as Mrs. Roach came into the room. She picked up her teacup as the housekeeper spoke.

  “A Miss Carter has come to call, miss.”

  “It’s Violet,” Betsy said with a frown. “I wonder why she is here. Please, send her in, Mrs. Roach.” She finished her cup of tea while the housekeeper went back to the door.

  Violet came in, looking strained. Her eyes appeared even larger than usual, with dark circles underneath. Her hair hadn’t been washed recently and had lost much of its curl.

  “My goodness,” Prissy said. “Your new lodgings must not be agreeing with you.”

  “Betsy looks tired, too, if you don’t mind my saying so,” Violet said, sitting down gracefully in an armchair.

  “I tossed and turned all night,” Betsy confirmed. “What we need is a good walk in the countryside. Some fresh air.”

  “That sounds lovely, but I’m afraid to be outdoors,” Violet said with a shiver.

  Betsy reluctantly passed her a large slice of cake and a cup of rather cold, overbrewed tea. She’d never be able to serve it in the tearoom in such a state. But she didn’t want to put on airs in front of Mrs. Roach.

  Violet took them with an abstracted air. “As you know, I’ve gone to stay with Winnie Baxter’s family. They have a flat in Bayswater, which isn’t an area of town we ever spent time in; my mother, my brother, or me, I mean.”

  “You saw him?” Betsy gasped.

  “At Whiteleys on Queen’s Road,” Violet confirmed.

  “Do you think he’s found employment there?”

  Violet rolled her eyes. “He demanded money from me. I think he followed me from work last night. It’s just my bad luck. We had remained indoors since returning home from Redcake’s yesterday.”

  “I wonder where he slept,” Prissy said with a shiver.

  “Not the flat. The rent was due yesterday for this week, so it’s gone now.”

  “What happened to your possessions?”

  “Your father helped me retrieve everything. It’s all here, somewhere, I think.”

  Prissy gave Betsy a sympathetic look. Betsy appreciated that her sister shared her concern for her father’s overindulgence with the Carters. She hoped he didn’t turn his romantic regard to pretty Violet in the wake of her mother’s death.

  “That means you have fresh clothing here,” Prissy said brightly. “You could have a wash and change and feel much better.”

  Violet clasped her hands together. “Really? Do you think I could?”

  “No,” Betsy broke in. “No, you could not. This is not my house; it is Mr. Redcake’s.”

  “He’d allow it. He’s courting you,” Prissy wheedled.

  “What a way to make him change his mind,” Betsy said tartly. Surely Prissy knew better. “This is not what we need to be doing. If Victor followed Violet to the Baxter home, who is to say he didn’t follow her here? We need to tell the police he’s been spotted.”

  “We can’t go outside,” Violet squeaked. “I don’t want to see him. What if he hurts us?”

  “He’s going to keep scaring us and yes, possibly hurting us, if we don’t keep the police aware of when you’ve seen him, Violet. We haven’t any choice.”

  “We can go together,” Prissy said. “Strength in numbers.”

  “Strength in numbers?” Greggory said, walking into the parlor. “What’s all this? A revolution?”

  Betsy smiled despite herself. He had been upstairs with the babies. The evidence was a fresh dark stain on his shoulder, probably a cleaned-up baby mess. “Violet saw Victor today, in Bayswater. We’re wondering if he followed her here.”

  Greggory’s expression went grim. “You girls stay inside. I’ll go fetch the police.”

  Half an hour later, he returned with PC Rivers, who had given Greggory his personal address. He listened to what Violet had to say.

  “No sign of him around here,” the constable said. “But I’ll contact the police in the area and have them keep an eye out. We don’t want dangerous men walking the street. Don’t go about alone, miss.”

  Violet nodded, looking terrified. PC Rivers cleared his throat. “Would you like an escort home, miss?”

  “Would you mind terribly?”

  Betsy watched the girl flutter her pale eyelashes and wondered if this had been her game all along, to have the police on her side in case of trouble. At least she seemed to genuinely dislike her brother, and Betsy could believe Victor had followed Violet in Bayswater.

  “Not at all.” PC Rivers smiled, the lack of any lines around his eyes accentuating his youth.

  Violet stood with a smile. “Thank you so much for the tea and cake, Betsy. I’ll see you tomorrow. Good-bye, Prissy, Mr. Redcake.”

  “One thing—” Greggory said.

  “Yes, sir?” Violet asked.

  “Do you think your brother killed Manfred Cross?”

  Violet blinked hard, as if she was trying not to cry. “I have no idea, sir, but if he did, it was directed at me. Why I would see him killing a stranger as a threat, I have no idea. Is there any chance he could have killed Mr. Cross thinking he was Ralph?”

  Betsy felt her eyes go wide. She and Prissy stared at each other in horror. “I never thought of that. But how could he possibly have thought that, when my father doesn’t work in Kensington?”

  Violet shook her head. “I don’t know, but Victor hates your father. It was an idea.”

  “Do you think Ralph is in danger?” Greggory asked.

  “Probably no more so than I am. I’ve betrayed him after all,” Violet said.

  “Come, miss, let’s leave them to their dinner,” the constable said.

  Violet nodded and retrieved her hat. The constable nodded at them and opened the parlor door, then they both went out.

  “Where is my father?” Betsy asked with a shiver.

  “I don’t know, but I expect we should keep a closer eye on him. I have no idea whether he and Cross were even the same size,” Greggory said.

  “Lord Judah would know,” Betsy said.

  Prissy stood abruptly. “If you don’t mind, I have a bit of a headache, and I’d like to return home while it’s still bright daylight.”

  “Of course,” Betsy said. “I hope you aren’t becoming ill.”

  “Just the strain of staring at so many lovely dresses I can’t afford,” Prissy said with a laugh. “May I borrow this magazine? I’ll make a pattern from this engraving. I think it will be perfect for you.”

  “Of course,” Greggory said. “Do you want me to walk you home?”

  “No, of course not. Stay with Betsy. No one is after me.” Prissy smiled and tucked the magazine under her arm. “Have a lovely evening, both of you.”

  Betsy was left to stare at Greggory, but as Prissy left through the front door, she heard more footsteps, and her father appeared in the doorway. She wouldn’t be dining alone with Greggory after all.

  Chapter Twelve

  “Do you know, I can almost accept the lack of customers today,” Greggory said, leaning an arm against the window behind his desk and resting his forehead on it.

  “Why do you say that?” Betsy asked.

  “Our morning meeting is usually interrupted at least three times. But here it is Monday and we’ve been here alone a full ten minutes.”

  “Maybe you locked the door,” Betsy said.

  Greggory turned t
o her with a smile. “I should do exactly that.” He crossed to the door, moving with more swiftness than usual, and turned the key in the lock.

  “I take it the twins slept well again,” Betsy said, noting the bounce in his step.

  “Yes, and Mrs. Roach’s advertisements are in the papers today, so I hope we’ll have some new nursery help within a week.”

  “That would be perfect.”

  “Yes, it is impossible to plan for the future if I have to spend most of my evenings, every evening, with the babies. I love them, but it is trying.”

  “And very hard on your wardrobe. You need to wear an apron, like women do.”

  He chuckled. “I’ve noticed the shoulders of some of my coats are becoming worn from all the scrubbing.”

  Betsy whipped off her apron and handed it to him. “Will it fit?” she asked, teasing him.

  Greggory made a show of trying it on. “No, I’m afraid not. It doesn’t even go over my shoulders.”

  She put a hand to her forehead. “A pity.”

  “Not really. You are down one item of clothing.” He waggled his eyebrows at her. “What will it take to get you out of the rest?”

  “Mr. Redcake!” she gasped.

  “Greggory,” he corrected. “We’re courting, remember?”

  “Courting doesn’t take place here,” she admonished.

  “I think it must,” he said with a thoughtful tilt of his head. “At home there are babies and servants and your father and guests.”

  “It is a busy household,” she agreed, “but courting doesn’t mean intimacies.”

  His lips curved. “Having been with me once, will you deny me now?”

  She cast her gaze to the floor. She’d been afraid of this but was surprised they’d lasted this long. “You were a wonderful lover, but it’s such a risky thing to do.”

  He stepped to her and cupped her cheek. “And such a wonderful thing to do.” He put his hands on her shoulders. “Such a burden you carry, and so much stress. We can relieve it, you know.”

  “What a Casanova,” she murmured.

  Her words were answered with a naughty grin. “It’s my Italian blood. It runs hotter than the average Englishman’s.”