“Good, wait right here. I need to ask Mrs. Long a question.”
Chapter 16
TheairinRegencyMeadows Park smelled of cinnamon.
Trees scattered throughout the place painted the grass in orange and yellow leaves. In the open center stood several covered stands. One was our stand for Cupid’s Confections, currently manned by Jane and Lizzy, though mostly Lizzy at the moment as Charles lingered nearby, taking up Jane’s attention. Pies and other results of Lydia’s stress baking adorned the table. I had to admit my sister’s manic habit was well-timed, if nothing else.
Bake-off entries rested on a table draped in an orange and green gingham tablecloth. Every baked item bore anumber to prevent revealing the bakers’ identities. The five judges sat at a table across the way. Above their heads, a woven cloth banner proclaimed theAusten Heights 37th Annual Autumn Bake-off. My mom occupied the end seat, sitting prim and proper as if she always belonged there, her hands clasped in front of her.
I stood next to Lydia and Ms. Long. The older woman wore a cozy fall coat that went down to her ankles, and her hair was pulled back in the usual twist.
Lydia bit her lip as furiously. I laid a palm on her arm. “We’re doing the right thing.”
She nodded. I checked my phone. Where was Frank? We needed him for this next part. In fact, I’d volunteered him for it.
As if on cue, hands grasped my shoulders. I sensed their warmth, notwithstanding my coat. “I’m here. Where do you need me?” Frank asked.
Even though I’d texted him the entire story and our plan, this was the first time I’d seen him since I’d told him. A lightness landed on my chest when I noted the gentleness in his gaze despite everything.
“Over there.” I pointed. “Mrs. Long’s is the next-to-last pie. Make sure she gets the one with the blue mark on the plate.”
“Got it.” But he didn’t move away as he searched my eyes. “And how are you?”
Somehow I’d made it this far without breaking down, but the concerned furrow in Frank’s brow was the moment all of it became real, and it almost snapped me like a twig.
“Not now,” I gritted. I needed to remain focused, not wind myself into an emotional mess.
He seemed to understand. “Okay, let’s get this done.” He put on his most charming smile and moved over to the tables with the other volunteers.
Mayor Pembroke stepped up in her orange and black sweater and her scarf covered in miniature pumpkins. Plastic bat wings stretched from her back. “May I have your attention, please? Thank you for coming to our annual bake-off competition. The esteemed Lady Catherine de Bourgh will do the honors of officially beginning our festivities and announcing the winner at the end.” She gestured toward the older lady in her no-nonsenseblue pantsuit. Lady Catherine lifted her chin proudly. She placed a hand on the young woman beside her, signaling her to remain still, then marched forward to stand next to the mayor.
Lady Catherine didn’t even crack a smile as she faced the crowd. “Let the annual bake-off tasting competition begin!”
A cheer rose from the onlookers. Not far from where Lady Catherine had been standing, Pastor Collins held his wiggling nephew by the shoulders. Brexton stood close by, and when our eyes met, he gave a small wave. I lifted my hand in return.
We watched as the various confections were delivered, one by one, to the judges. Lydia’s nervous fidgeting intensified the closer they got to her pie.
“Maybe we shouldn’t,” she muttered.
“We agreed this needs to be done,” I said.
My eyes fixed on the piece of pie we’d convinced Mrs. Long to substitute only for Mom. It had been a little too easy to convince Mrs. Long to make the switch. After all, Mom could hardly nag her friend about a pie that originated from her own shop.
Frank’s hands closed around the piece, and he met my gaze. I gave him a slight nod, and he took it over to my mom.
All three of us held our breaths while we watched Mom take a bite of the baked good, chew it and swallow. Her eyes grew round and shot over to where we stood with Mrs. Long, her face growing red.
“She looks angry,” Lydia said.
“What did you expect?” I whispered under my breath.
A small, satisfied smile came to Mrs. Long’s face.
Mom held it together until the end of the contest, though she kept glancing over at us, her hands shredding the paper napkin next to her plate into little pieces.
By the time the event concluded, someone had set up a microphone in the middle of the square to announce the winner. Lady Catherine approached the microphone, her stern gaze suggesting she felt superior to the crowd but couldn’t resist the chance to hold a prestigious role, even at a local bake-off.
She opened the envelope grasped in her lace-gloved hands. “The winner of the 37th Austen Heights bake-off is…” She squinted at the paper, then turned to the mayor knocking against the mic, causing feedback to screech across the square. “This can’t be right. There must be a mistake.”
