One Taste of Scandal

Book 2: Redcakes

by Heather Hiestand

Genres: Historical Fiction; Victorian Romance; Romantic Suspense

Synopsis

A cup of sugar. . .a dash of cream. . ..and a craving for a cake decorator that won't be denied. . . When Captain Judah Shield learns he is more bastard than noble born, he goes in search of his true lineage. Determined not to lean on his family's wealth, he accepts a job managing Redcake's Tea Shop. Despite the flurry of excitement a single soldier creates among the staff, Judah clearly has no time for a wife. Though what man doesn't have time for a delectable beauty like lovely Magdalene Cross?. . . He has the bearing of an English gentleman and the fiery touch of a true rake. Which is precisely why Magdalene must avoid Judah if she hopes to escape her family's reputation for scandal. Surely no good can come from a man whose kiss leaves her hungry for more. Certainly not the kind of marriage that could restore her social status. Still, Magdalene cannot help imagining what an incredible wedding night it would be—and when fate steps in, she may not have to imagine after all. . . " One Taste of Scandal is a delicious, multi-layered Victorian treat." --Gina Robinson, author of The Last Honest Seamstress and the Agent Ex series 89,400 Words

Release date: December 1, 2013

Publisher: eOriginals

Print pages: 269

Sample

August 1887

“Penny daily, sir, penny daily! Latest edition!” the newsboy called, his pointed chin thrust upward as he shouted.

The sun shone hotly over the tarmacadam surfaces of Trafalgar Square as Judah Shield, hearing the lad’s call, strode to the base of Nelson’s Column to buy a newspaper. He had an hour before his meeting at Redcake’s Tea Shop and Emporium, only a mile away, and was desperate to look at the employment notices. Never was a man more in need of a position than when he’d bet nearly all his army pay on an Indian gem shipment that wouldn’t arrive in England for another two months.

“Latest scandal in the navy! Trouble at Osborne House!” The boy thrust a paper into the hands of an elderly dandy and tucked away the penny.

As the man tottered away, clutching his paper and cane, Judah reached for the newsboy’s next paper. His hand collided with someone’s wrist.

“My apologies,” Judah said, taking the paper and tossing the boy a penny.

“Eddy Jackson at your service, milord.” He grinned and slipped the penny into his pocket.

“No milording for me,” Judah told him, thinking his years in the army should have knocked the aristocratic polish off him. His civilian clothes were years out of date for London.

Next to him, the lady whose wrist he had touched raised a delicate eyebrow. Or rather, a forceful eyebrow, as the damsel in question had formidable dark brows over a pair of piercing blue eyes. They created a sharp contrast to her blond hair, giving her the appearance of off-kilter strength.

She wore a gray-blue dress that didn’t appear to be stylish, though he couldn’t know for sure, being only a week off the boat from India, but her slim-fingered hands were genteel, though perhaps more reddened than they should be. A lady whose household could only afford a maid-of-all-work?

He doffed his bowler and held out the paper to the fetching miss.

“Oh, I couldn’t,” she said, clutching her reticule.

“I insist, please.” He thrust it at her and pulled another coin from his pocket, tossing it to Eddy, who handed him a second paper.

Turning with military precision, he strode across the Square, still perturbed by being called “my lord.” He no longer wanted to use his courtesy title. Truly, even “captain” seemed wrong, since he’d left the army.

His mother had not served him well upon her deathbed earlier this year. She had written him after surgery, perhaps thinking there would be time to explain, though a massive infection had robbed them of that time. How could she have sent a letter informing him he was not the late Marquess of Hatbrook’s true son, but a bastard?

Even worse, she had not informed him of his true father’s name. She’d set him loose from the birthright he’d thought was his own.

Until he had seen his brother, the current Marquess of Hatbrook, he hadn’t known Hatbrook did not care. In fact, he admitted he had been the one to accidentally uncover their mother’s sordid past. Still, Judah felt cut adrift from family life, in a way similar to how he’d felt when he’d joined the army then had been posted to India seven years before.

Oh, it had been exciting, true, but he had missed England. Funny that he would arrive back during the heat of summer when what he remembered was the fog, wind, and cold.

“Are you following me, sir?” said a voice at his elbow.

He discovered the young miss was directly next to him, clutching her paper. “Not at all. I am on my way to an appointment.”

“It is coincidence, then,” she said, matching his stride.

“Why would you think I would follow you?”

Her shoulders lifted and fell, a graceful movement that somehow drew his attention to her full bosom, hidden under sprigged muslin. He felt a spark of interest, though his attentions were best focused elsewhere until he had secured his future, one that did not involve taking money from his brother.

“I have an appointment at Redcake’s.” He attempted to keep his tone cool, though his blood ran warmly through his veins and risked the consequence of tightening his already snug lower garments.

“Why, so do I,” she said. “It is a coincidence for certain.”

He wondered why the lady seemed so paranoid. A strict father? Or lover? It didn’t matter to him. He had no time to chase potential mistresses and he wasn’t wife hunting either. His brother had chosen to restore the family fortunes by hard work. Hatbrook’s recent marriage to a woman from a wealthy family had been a love match. Judah could do no less than follow the example and make his own fortune.

So, he had rented a small house on Adelaide Street with a valet and housemaid, both new to their present positions and related to long-term retainers of Hatbrook House. He’d eat meals out and look for employment.

The woman smiled tentatively at him. “I apologize, but you cannot be too careful on the streets around here. It has been rough going this summer.”

Realizing the lady walked quickly in an attempt to keep up with him, he smiled vaguely in her direction. Had the ladies of London become so forward in the last seven years? Or had she decided he was now her protection from street ruffians?

“What kind of a place is Redcake’s?” he asked. “I have never been there.”

“It’s quite nice, the first perfect place for ladies to relax. Not that gentlemen are unwelcome, but the atmosphere is most genteel. What is unusual is that a woman is at the helm. A marchioness, no less.”

His own sister-in-law, Alys, who was born a Redcake. He had not yet met her. She had been raised to be a baker, not an aristocrat, and his curiosity about her was intense.

“Ah. I am meeting a lady there.”

“Not for a tryst, I hope,” she said sharply. “It is not that kind of establishment.”

My, but the lady had an impetuous tongue. What business was it of hers? “I am astonished you would find me such a danger to your sensibilities.”

She stopped dead on busy Regent Street, allowing others to stream around her as she stared at him. Carriages and carts passed by slowly, the scent of fresh bread and horse manure wafting through the warming air.

What did she see? He had no visible scars. He’d shaved off his military mustache on the ship. He knew his thick brown hair was neatly trimmed, his sideburns in check, his attire appropriate. His gaze had been called piercing, but never alarming. Perhaps it was his military bearing that had alarmed her gentle femininity.

“Why are you grinning?” she demanded, gathering curious stares from passing gentlemen.

“I’m grinning at you,” he replied, resuming his walk. “Really, you’d think I was a Thuggee.”

She trotted to keep up. “I can see the parallel, though you did buy me the newspaper.”

“Women don’t usually read the news,” he observed.

“My cousin is very often late for appointments,” she told him. “I thought the paper would amuse me.”

“Ah. You are soon to find out if she has surprised you, as I believe we are nearly at the tea shop.” He nodded to her. “Good day to you.”

She stopped again, perhaps to gape at him. He passed through the iron gates that led to a small, neatly cobbled courtyard outside the building proper, observing the window display of pastry his brother had written about in his letters, somewhat plaintively, as he had an illness of digestion that prevented him from enjoying the goods he so loved.

Once inside, Judah found himself in a wide entryway. The polished wood floor gleamed and the ceiling hung verdantly with ferns. Most palpable was the scent of fresh baking, the best possible advertisement for such a place. To the left he could see the tearoom, lit by large windows facing the street. Ladies in fashionable garments were dotted around the room at small tables, though he did see two with gentlemen. On the right bustled a bakery with glass cases full of cakes, pies, and other items. People of all ages moved past him carrying distinctive white boxes, embossed in gold and tied with red ribbon.

The enterprise was comprised of these two parts, plus a delivery service, sales to businesses such as hotels, and a party service, for which cakes were the calling cards. All of this he had learned from a clipping his brother had sent him from a business paper, about Sir Bartley Redcake selling his flagship to the Marquess of Hatbrook just before he married Sir Bartley’s oldest daughter.

What Judah did not know was why his sister-in-law had requested an interview with him here. He had promised to visit the family in Sussex when he had time as he did not intend to be a complete stranger to the extended family, who might not know of his shameful secret.

“Lord Judah?”

He turned, frowning at the name, and saw a pretty full-figured girl in a black uniform smiling at him. “Yes?”

“Goodness, I thought it was you. You have the same mouth and chin as the marquess.” She studied him most impertinently. “But your eyes are a completely different color. And you are so tall!”

He tilted his head. “Are you a friend of the family?”

“I’m Betsy Popham. I make cakes with Alys, that is to say, her ladyship.” Her smile became sheepish. “I’ve known her for nearly three years.”

“I understand, and ‘Captain’ or ‘Mr. Shield’ is good enough for me.”

She looked confused, and for the first time he realized his discomfort with the courtesy title might cause him some trouble outside the family. After all, his late mother had a well-tarnished reputation, but no one actually knew he was not his father’s son.

“Never mind.” He folded his hands together behind his back.

“Oh, I understand. You were a military man, and no doubt quite proud of being a captain.”

He chuckled. That was a good explanation. He liked this girl, whom he judged to be in her late teens. Sharp like the slightly older lady from Trafalgar Square, but without the paranoid edges. “How did you come to work here?”

“My father has been with the company since before the Redcakes left Bristol. We moved when Sir Bartley set up here and he promoted my father to bakery manager. I’ve worked here since the day it opened.”

A door opened in front of them, apparently one that led into back rooms. A tall, curvaceous redhead dressed in a striped gray and lilac gown stepped into the entryway.

“There she is,” Betsy said, waving at the lady.

The Marchioness of Hatbrook smiled and held out her hand. “Captain Shield, I would have recognized you anywhere.”

Once Judah’s brother stepped out from behind the lady, he recognized her too. Then he moved closer and took her hand. The scent of cake and oranges filled his nostrils. Now this was the Alys his brother had described to him in letters. Ambrosial Alys, he had called her.

He couldn’t hold back his smile. “Such a pleasure to finally meet you.”

“All settled in?” the marquess asked.

Hatbrook had met him at the docks when he first arrived, and tried to persuade him to live at Hatbrook House in Belgravia, but his wife hadn’t been feeling well at the time and had remained in Heathfield. At least she was in the full bloom of health now.

“The private dining room is free,” Betsy said.

“Excellent,” the marquess said, rubbing his hands together. “We have business to discuss.”

“I was surprised you didn’t want to live at Hatbrook House,” the marchioness said to him as they traversed the dining room. “It is so large, and we are not always there.”

Judah waited to respond until they were seated at an intimate dining table for four. The room was as well appointed as any at a club, with upholstered chairs, an ornate fireplace, and a cage filled with stuffed birds. A gasolier hung over the dining table and sconces were spaced along the walls for excellent lighting.

“Cousin Lewis wants Alys to upgrade to electricity,” the marquess said.

Judah raised a brow.

The marchioness smiled. “Michael gifted this business to me after our marriage. Lewis is my cousin, not yours, if you were uncertain.”

He was certain of very little regarding his relations now. “Quite a gift, my lady.”

She smiled. “Indeed, but circumstances continue to change. Please, do call me Alys. We are family now.”

Family. She said the word so easily, a lady sure of her place in the world. He had once had the same certainty, but no more.

Young women wearing the same black dress uniform as Betsy stepped in, carrying trays with tea, scones, and eggs. Judah watched without comment as his brother took an egg instead of a scone, something he never would have done as a child. He did wonder how much one could truly know a person by letters, however. His brother had gone off to school when Judah was five. When he joined the army at seventeen, his brother was still at school. They hadn’t seen each other for more than holiday visits in over twenty years. At least they had been faithful correspondents.

“Are you planning to sell the establishment?” Judah inquired.

“No, no,” she said hastily, buttering a scone. “It has been such a successful year. We did a brisk line in Golden Jubilee cakes. Our retail line of Victoria serving ware was very profitable too. I have learned more this year than in any other, I can assure you.”

“You have been managing the entire enterprise?”

“We had one gentleman for three months, but his behavior toward the cakies was inexcusable.” She colored at the memory. “But I can no longer shoulder the burden.”

He looked more closely at his sister-in-law.

His brother cleared his throat. “We have expectations, at the beginning of spring.”

Judah lifted his teacup. So he was to be an uncle. “Congratulations to the both of you.”

The marchioness blushed and nodded.

“I understand now. At some point the work will simply become too much.”

“Yes, and the air is much more pleasant at Hatbrook Farm. London in late autumn and winter is not so nice.”

“What about the social whirl?”

“I do not know if you are acquainted with my personal history, but Society was never an interest of mine.”

“Nor my brother’s, I understand.”

“Exactly. We are happier down at the Farm at this moment. What do you say, Judah?”

Confused and startled, he set down his teacup. “What are you asking?”

“That you manage Redcake’s,” Alys said, sweeping an arm around the room. “All of it. The supply piece is the easiest, since most of our goods come from my father’s mills and factories. Except the porcelain, which was an innovation of that manager we had so briefly.”

His breath stilled. Could finding a position be as simple as this? Wasn’t this taking money from his brother something he’d promised himself not to do? “I have no experience,” he countered.

“You have insisted to me that you want employment, instead of taking your rightful place in Society,” Hatbrook said.

“That is true, but managing such a place as this is not a position for someone just starting in London. Should I not work on accounts or supplies or some such, and earn the manager position?” He didn’t want to take anything from the family that he didn’t earn, desperate as he was for work. The coal bill needed paying, and he must have new clothes. The rent on the house would send him to the workhouse soon enough, not to mention the servants’ wages.

Alys smiled. “I like you, Judah. I really do. If you would simply agree to come in every day while we are gone, I promise to teach you everything I know during September and October, before we retire to the Farm for the winter.”

“You are leaving?” Yet another shock.

His brother smiled. “Off to France on the first train tomorrow. Alys needs to rest and I have some research to do in the Loire Valley.”

“This feels like a sneak attack,” Judah said.

His brother’s smile widened. “You wanted employment, Judah. I recognize your reasons for not taking an allowance from the estates, even though you are entitled and welcome to it. Legally, you are not a bastard, no matter what Mother did.”

“I didn’t mean for you to offer me a position. I didn’t want to take anything from you.”

“I am well aware of that, as much as I wish you felt differently. Alys made this decision. She said she would know what to do as soon as she saw you.”

He glanced at the lady, who was frowning at one of the scones. He noticed the minutest speck of black in the dough. “A problem?”

She glanced up. “We pride ourselves on unadulterated flour. Or, I should say, the mills do. This is probably just a random bit of bug, but it is something to keep an eye on.”

“You have a detailed eye on this venture.”

“I am very, very proud of it. What do you think?”

He heard the note of steel in her voice. Family or not, she would be an exacting employer. He made a quick decision, as it was in everyone’s best interest. “It is a fine establishment, and I shall do my best while you are away. I do not want you to worry during this time of joy for you both.”

Hatbrook clapped him on the shoulder. “I am glad for all of us.”

“We’ll pay a fair wage as well,” Alys assured him, naming a figure. “That is what the previous manager accepted. He was very qualified, if not of the moral character I had hoped.”

“Then that is too high a wage.”

“Stop that,” his brother said. “You are an experienced leader of men. That is the most important factor. We have written to Alys’s brother Gawain, who promised to come in from Bristol this week and give you some advice. He still works for his father in addition to managing his own concern.”

“That is Sergeant Redcake, correct?” Their army service had overlapped by some years, though it must have been about three years since their paths crossed. The distance between officers and enlisted men was vast, but Gawain had a wealthy family and was very intelligent, which set him apart.

“Yes, the same man you knew.”

“Did he work here?”

“Yes. He learned the accounting side before Father sold the business to Michael,” Alys said. “But he didn’t love it.”

“He worked with supplies when I knew him,” Judah mused. “I think he liked his army duties well enough. In a small station you get to know the men.”

“You are exactly right. He enjoyed dealing with the traders and not doing the same thing every day, the way he did here. But he will advise you properly.”

“I do agree. He was wounded. Has he recovered completely?”

Alys’s lips tightened. “No, he still limps. That does not seem to trouble him much, but he suffers greatly with his eye.”

“Did he lose it?” Judah winced.

“No, just the vision. He is almost blind on one side and scarred, but he can still see light and dark and is convinced that he can find a cure.”

“Indian medicine is so different from our own. I expect he remembers the variety of herbal remedies and wonders if some cure might be found.”

She folded her hands on the table. “Do you know, that is exactly his way of thinking. That is probably the main reason why he has gone into business for himself, to interact with traders.”

“Gawain is making good money with his imports,” Hatbrook said. “Plenty of money to be made still in Indian trading.”

Judah tilted his head. “You have been considering my future.”

Hatbrook regarded him closely. “I’ve been worried about you. You cannot imagine the strain we felt when we were told you were dead.”

Alys’s eyes were suddenly bright and Judah wondered if she might cry. He understood expectant ladies could be emotional. He thought it best to end the interview before it became maudlin.

Pushing his chair back from the table a couple of inches, he tapped his fingers on his thighs. “I know our time together is short. Would you give me a tour?”

Magdalene Cross found Lady Bricker on the far end of the tearoom and hurried over to her. Her cousin, formerly known as Lady Lillian, now married to yet another cousin, was a newlywed. She had been banished to Yorkshire over some naughty bit of gossip and was forced to marry her elderly spouse a year or two ahead of schedule. Now, she had returned to London within a month of her marriage to consult on her wardrobe.

Magdalene suspected Lady Bricker’s father, Earl Gerrick, had only allowed her to come here now because the time of year was rather unfashionable. The Season was down to its final moments and many people had already left Town. After all, if Lady Bricker had been here in November as the government sort began to return, her plump cousin would not waste time on a poor Cross girl when there were far more prominent friends or relatives to enjoy. People who had the funds for new ball gowns and time to pay afternoon calls.

Nonetheless, Lady Bricker’s dark sausage curls vibrated excitedly as she stood, brushing crumbs from her bosom. She squealed and embraced Magdalene, burying her cousin’s nose in her scented neck. “Oh, I have so missed the Town gossip!” She squealed again.

Magdalene coughed away the scent of strong powder and gently removed her much slighter person from her cousin’s ample form.

“I am sorry, but I arrived a bit early and was simply famished. I am always hungry when I’m out and about at an unfashionable hour.”

This was exactly when Magdalene liked to leave home. Things the ton must never see her do would pass unnoticed, such as shopping for food. No one knew they were down to one maid-of-all-work at her brother George’s home. She did her best to hide their circumstances so she could still cling to her tenuous place in the fashionable world.

“I am glad to hear I’m not late.” She had been forced to learn to cook since her sister-in-law was so ill, and she had made breakfast for the household before she left. Her brother tutored his two sons. Privately, she thought he should look for employment, to supplement his meager trust fund, but she knew he hated to leave his wife for long.

“No, no, and even if you were, I’d expect you were tending to poor sweet Nancy. The dear lady.”

Then there was their youngest brother, Manfred, walking trouble in trousers. He was nineteen now, and longed to be part of the usual male pursuits. But they could scarcely afford to keep up George’s one club membership. Manfred would have to make his own way but he needed to learn discipline first. When Lady Lillian, as she was known then, shared the delicious gossip from New Year’s Eve about Manfred and his sordid exploits with Lord and Lady Mews, Magdalene had never wanted to show her face in public again. But Manfred? He thought his erotic adventures were the height of entertainment.

No wonder they were known as the Scandalous Crosses. She could not remember the last time she’d gone to a party and not had inappropriate offers from gentlemen.

“Nancy is as well as can be expected.”

“The doctors offer hope?” Lady Bricker buttered another bit of scone as a cakie, as the female waitstaff were called here, approached them.

She placed a tariff in front of Magdalene.

Her cousin must have seen her hesitation. “Go on, Maggie, anything you like, my treat.”

Magdalene had sacrificed her bacon to George and her oatmeal to the boys, so this was welcome news. She perused the menu and ordered eggs, toast, and tea.

“I am not surprised you keep that slim figure with a diet like that,” Lady Bricker observed. “Don’t you want a cake or something?”

“Maybe from the bakery when we leave,” she demurred.

“Oh yes, all those boys. Cakie,” Lady Bricker said. “Can you box up a dozen of those petits fours with the Queen’s face on them? We’ll take it when we leave.”

“The boys will adore you,” Magdalene exclaimed as the cakie nodded and left the table.

“I’m glad I can make someone happy.”

“Your father is still upset with you?”

Her cousin leaned forward. “You have heard the rumors about Matilda Redcake, haven’t you? I assure you they are all true. And I am to be blamed for it all, as if the conception was immaculate and not the fault of that Theodore Bliven.”

Magdalene didn’t dare glance around to make sure no one heard, just in case that drew attention to their table. “When is the unhappy event expected?”

“Just before Christmas, I think. There is still time to find Mr. Bliven and make him come up to snuff, but not much. I wonder if your brother Mark has run across him in India. He’s still there, isn’t he?”

Magdalene bit her lip. They’d had word he resigned his commission, and expected him to be on the boat with a couple others in the regiment, like Captain Judah Shield, who by all accounts was his best friend and partner in troublesome exploits. But Mark hadn’t returned, and they’d had no word in months. “India is a very large country.”

“No word then?” Lady Bricker tutted. “I hope he isn’t dead.”

“Oh no, not dead. We’d have had word.” Magdalene spread her napkin across her lap to hide the shaking in her finge. . .