A Taste for Scandal (12 page)

He was ready for an entirely new treat, one that was altogether different from the carefully cultivated variety he was accustomed to. When it came to the little baker, there were no assurances, no guarantees that she would warm to him. He never knew what an encounter with her would bring. She undoubtedly could bring excitement and challenge to his otherwise predictable life, and if she would let him, he knew he could bring a little fun and enjoyment to hers. The question was, could he ever convince her to trust him?

He smiled slowly and turned toward the card room. It wouldn’t be easy, but lucky for him, he definitely had the taste for a challenge.

“Richard, darling.”

He paused midstep. If there was a betting book nearby, he’d wager his entire inheritance that his mother stood behind him with some young debutante or another at her side. Mother had the uncanny ability to know the very moment he was about to make his escape. Richard swiveled on his heel, smile firmly in place. Now, see, if the bet had been real he would have been an obscenely wealthy man by now. Arm in arm with his mother, Lord Blackburn’s perfectly nice, perfectly outfitted, and perfectly poised eldest daughter smiled up at him.

“Good evening Mother, Lady Anne. How are you finding the ball?”

His mother gave a subtle but unmistakable nudge to Lady Anne’s elbow, and the girl smiled even more brightly. “Lovely, my lord. Thank you for asking. And you?”

He’d be a hell of a lot better if he hadn’t just been waylaid by his scheming mother. She looked at him innocently, as if she were not holding up the girl like some pastel silk-draped bonbon on a silver platter. And Lady Anne, for her part, looked perfectly amenable to being offered up as his dessert.

“Quite the crush, this one is. I’m exhausted from the incredible amount of maneuvering it took on the dance floor merely to avoid colliding with any of the other couples.”
Hint, hint
.

Mother patted his arm in a show of sympathy, but her eyes held nothing but determination. “Thank goodness it’s the orchestra’s break. Lady Anne was just saying how overheated the ballroom has become. Perhaps you’d both be more comfortable on the terrace.”

Not unless there was a glass of whiskey and a game of cards with his name on it set up on the terrace balcony. Of course, he’d look like an arse if he refused the suggestion, or worse, hurt the girl’s feelings. Why did his mother always have to put him in these situations?

“The evening is quite chilly. Why don’t we take a turn about the room instead, Lady Anne?” He extended his elbow, properly detached smile in place. He could stand another unripe peach or two as he waited for the opportunity to explore something a bit more exotic.

And for a man like him, anything outside of Mayfair was definitely exotic.

Chapter Ten

It may have been her one day off, but if anything, Jane was up even earlier Sunday morning than she was on the days she worked. How could she not be? Yes, there was the nervousness about the lessons with the earl and his sister, but that paled in comparison to her excitement of finally being able to read Mama’s first letter.

Sitting at the table by the light of a single candle, a steaming cup of tea in one hand and the glorious unread missive in the other, she savored the anticipation like most people savored sweets. What words of wisdom did the letter contain? What thoughtful pieces of advice would Mama impart, woman to woman? She pictured her mother as she had been before the illness, when her eyes had sparkled with good will and her skin had been rosy and hale. The long absent sound of her laughter seemed to echo in the depths of Jane’s heart.

When she couldn’t wait a moment longer, Jane set down her tea, unfolded the paper, and devoured her mother’s words.

Dear Jane,

Before anything can be said of any potential suitors in your life, I must first remind you of the fragile and irreparable nature of the most important of a woman’s possessions: her reputation. And yes, I do realize that you are rolling your eyes, young lady. I know you are a clever and prudent girl, which is why I shall only say this once and be done with it. A woman’s reputation is like a lovingly prepared soufflé. It can take ages to prepare, but only a single moment to destroy. Once flattened, it can never again be reshaped to anything of use, and all who glimpse it will know at once of its downfall.

All this is just to say: Guard your oven door well, my dear.

Jane pressed her lips together against the horrified laugh that welled within her. Guard her
oven door
? Mama certainly had a way with words. Shaking her head, Jane turned the paper over and continued reading.

Now, it’s time to talk about this young man of yours. I have so many questions about him, though my mind fills in many of the answers with the hopefulness of a mother who wishes for her daughter the best of all things. Is he of a good family? Does he have a good living? Is he very handsome? For the sake of my nerves, I shall assume the answer to all of these is yes. But before we go on, forget all of those questions about him for a moment, for there is one very important question that you must ask yourself:

Does your heart sing the moment he comes into view?

Jane sighed and leaned back against the chair, pressing the paper to her chest. If anyone else on earth had asked the question—including Jane herself—the answer would have been a resounding no. Lord Raleigh was a useless fop, overindulged in all things and too self-satisfied by half.

But in the soft light of a single candle, alone in her home as the darkened city slept around her, she knew that she couldn’t lie to her mother. Those things may be more or less true, but they didn’t stop the overly buoyant feeling in her stomach when he was near. As for Mama’s question, the answer wasn’t yes exactly . . . but it also wasn’t no.

He was an odd mix of arrogant and kind; quick to judge but willing to apologize. In one breath he insulted her, in the next he praised. She honestly didn’t know what to think of the man, but there was no denying she
did
think of him. Often.

Today when he and his sister arrived, she would treat them as clients and the lessons as a business transaction. But now, as she sat in her night rail and ignored the chores to be done, the books to be balanced, and the week’s menu to be planned, Lord Raleigh could be something more. Not so much a suitor or even an admirer, but a means for hopefulness for a future when someone might sweep her from her feet and show her what love really is.

Shaking her head at the fanciful thought, she laid the paper on the table, took a quick sip of tea, and read on.

If you are still reading, then I must assume the answer is yes. This makes me smile very much, my dear. Until the day he died, your father always made my heart sing. It is what I wish for you. Although do remember that the heart and head must work together. In this, one of the most important decisions of your life, never neglect one over the other.

Now then, let us get on with the business of proper courtship. First and foremost, you must think ahead. When you know that you will see him, you must always dress your finest for your gentleman caller, as should he for you. A man who does not take care with his appearance when courting a lady leaves one to wonder what other things he is unmindful of.

The letter had gone on to speak of the importance of a chaperone at all times, reminded her that the only acceptable meeting place was in the parlor or in public, and finally closed with an admonishment not to appear too eager.

Which, hours later as Jane sat at her worktable awaiting the arrival of her students, still made her smile. If there was one thing she did not have to worry about when it came to Lord Raleigh, it was appearing too eager. If anything, she couldn’t help but feel overly cautious around the man.

“Well, that’s coming along right nice.”

Jane glanced over her shoulder and grinned at Emerson, who inspected the pattern she was working on for the tray. With less than an hour before the lesson was to begin, she had already checked and rechecked that everything was in order in the kitchen. With too much nervous energy to do anything constructive, she had dragged the tray and pail of broken china down to the kitchen with her to keep her anxious fingers busy.

“I suppose it’s getting there.” So far nothing she had done had seemed quite right. Either too random or too orderly or too impersonal—however she arranged the pieces, they just didn’t seem right. But still, she worked at it. After dinner, before bed, while drinking her morning tea—anytime she could find a few minutes, she’d sit down and puzzle over it.

Emerson settled onto the stool across from her, eyeing her speculatively. “You’re done up rather fancy today. Looking to impress his lordship, are you?”

Refusing to rise to his obvious bait, she kept her eyes on the pieces as she pushed them around. “Some of us had church this morning.”

It was true, though she was happy for the excuse. He certainly had no need to know that Mama’s letter had spoken of the importance of dress. It felt . . .
nice
to be able to heed her mother’s advice. Almost like a conversation.

She hadn’t realized how attuned she was to sounds from the alley until a door slammed across the way, and she started. She tried to cover the movement by rearranging her position on her stool, but of course Emerson caught it. The smile he gave her was all too knowing. “Uh-huh. And is church the reason you’re as jittery as a crab in a flock of seagulls?”

She grimaced, wishing the man wasn’t so perceptive.
Being
nervous was bad enough—having people
know
she was nervous only made things that much worse. “I’m no such thing, Emerson. Just anxious for the day to be through.”

He tilted his head as he considered her. “Are you sure you want to go through with this? It’s not too late to change course, you know.”

“The agreement has been made. I’m not going to back out of it now—especially since they are probably already on their way.” Her pulse gave a little shudder. Less than a half hour until Lord Raleigh would arrive, filling her kitchen with his always overwhelming presence. Thank heavens his sister would be there.

Nibbling her bottom lip, Jane looked around the room with a critical eye. Clean and tidy to be sure, but her eyes kept landing on the scuffed counters, the ancient pans, the dinged pots. She gave her head a tiny shake. What a ridiculous thing to be focused on. Of course her things would be a bit worse for wear—she
used
them. They were her livelihood, and all the scraps and scratches and dents were merely testament to her hard work. If the earl and his sister weren’t used to seeing such humble furnishings, then that was their problem, not hers.

Emerson leaned against the worktable, drawing her attention back to him and the conversation at hand. “I wish you would have talked it over with me in the first place. I have a bit of blunt stashed away—I could have loaned you the money. Lord knows you never would have accepted it as a gift between family.”

Lord knew indeed. When he heard word of Mama’s passing, he had promised to help them by sending a portion of his pay. She had steadfastly refused. He worked hard for his wages, and it should be for him and his future wife and children. If she were out on the streets and starving that was one thing, but she had two good hands and over a decade of experience in the kitchen—not to mention the fact that she had basically run the business for months before Mama’s death as she had withered and her pain increased.

Swallowing past the thickness in her throat, Jane lifted her shoulder in a halfhearted shrug. “Honestly, it never occurred to me. I am so accustomed to being on my own and being responsible for the business. And truly, Lord Raleigh happened to make the proposition directly on the heels of Mrs. Brown’s less than welcome visit. It was an offer I couldn’t refuse.”

Emerson shook his head, disgust flaring his nostrils. “That beetle-brained neighbor of yours had best steer clear of me. I don’t want to cause you any more trouble, but scaly-fish that I am, I know I wouldn’t be able to resist the urge to tell her exactly where she can go. Is it not bad enough that you lost your father and mother? Must she bedevil you for doing what you must to keep a roof over your heads?”

Instead of rekindling her anger, her cousin’s defensive words made her smile. Having a champion wasn’t something she was used to. She laid a calming hand on his forearm. “Thank you, cousin, but I think it’s best to let it go. Thanks to Lord Raleigh, I can do the repairs in plenty of time before Mr. Byrd returns. The glass is already on order, thank goodness.”

Nervousness gripped her once more, and she glanced to the clock. Standing, she gathered the pieces back up and lifted the tray, handing it over to her cousin. “And speaking of Lord Raleigh, you’d best be on your way. He and his sister will be here soon, and I don’t need your salty self getting in the way.”

“All right, all right, I’ll leave you be. But Weston and I will be right upstairs if you need us. And Jane?” he said, looking back at her with mischief in his green eyes.

“Yes?”

“I have
excellent
hearing.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’ll keep that in mind. Now off with you—and don’t forget to spend time on Weston’s maths lesson before you two get lost in your nautical lessons.”

He saluted and headed up the stairs, his steps surprisingly soft for his bulky frame. At last her kitchen was quiet again, save for the muted sounds from the alley and the streets beyond. She wished she had bread to knead or berries to chop—anything to give her restless hands something to do. There was no reason for her to be so nervous. After all, had she not taught Weston everything he knew?