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9
Two weeks after she’d nearly been ruined in the dining room, Rosalind was once more contemplating seduction. She’d thought of little else while perfecting the orange sponge cake since Torrington’s last visit. It was a daring, scandalous thing she meant to do. It was possible that most young ladies of good family didn’t think overmuch about physical relations. But thanks to Lord Richardson’s extensive, obscene collection of books, her opinion on the subject was far different from that of her contemporaries. Also, there was the matter of Cousin Amanda, the dowager duchess. She believed all young ladies needed to be forewarned about what their futures held and not be led blindly into the marital bed. The dowager duchess had been quite thorough in her descriptions.
The point being, Rosalind was fairly knowledgeable but still innocent, which made her vastly curious and not the least afraid. A dangerous combination.
Since she intended to remain unwed and free of the encumbrance of a relationship so she could devote all her energies to her craft, Rosalind saw no reason to not satisfy that curiosity. Remaining unwed didn’t necessarily mean she must remain a virgin or deny herself the benefits of physical pleasure.
Rosalind stood before the mirror in her bedroom, turning back and forth in one of her oldest dresses, slightly out of fashion, but one cut loosely enough that it didn’t require the wearing of a corset. She thought the absence of the corset much more important to today’s mission than the style of her dress.
Tugging at the bodice, she fluffed the lace at the neckline, making sure not too much flesh revealed itself. Her bosom hadn’t been nearly so large when she’d been fitted for this dress, and she didn’t want bits of her poking out in the wrong places. Torrington seemed to like her more generous form—or at the very least, didn’t seem to want to seduce her less because of it.
Do not wear a corset when you present me with the sponge cake.
Nothing in the world could make her wear a corset today after hearing such a declaration.
Arriving at Torrington’s home, alone, with no chaperone, stretched the very bounds of what was proper. Even Viscount Richardson, who undoubtedly had seduced a great number of young ladies, Rosalind’s mother included, wouldn’t have approved his daughter’s course of action.
Actually, Lord Richardson would likely have been far more scandalized at the knowledge his daughter had entered trade.
Yesterday, Rosalind had spent the entire day in Pennyfoil’s company, preparing the orange sponge cake and discussing their future. They were in agreement that the current space housing Pennyfoil’s would not be large enough for their future plans. The small bakery was already overflowing with customers. Word had spread about the custard. Largely due to Rosalind convincing Pennyfoil to allow their patrons to sample it. She’d had him set out several small plates, offering a taste to anyone who came in to purchase another pastry. One of those customers had been the valet of Baron Rothwell. After tasting the custard, he’d immediately asked for a full order, which he’d then taken back to his employer in Mayfair.
The very next day, Rothwell’s cook had arrived to place a rather large order of the custard for a dinner party Lord Rothwell was giving the following evening. The day after Rothwell’s dinner party, the small bakery was inundated with requests for the custard. Pennyfoil had even had to hire a girl for the front counter.
The orange sponge cake, now perfected, was spectacular and would likely produce the same results.
Pennyfoil was overjoyed.
He had found them the perfect location for their new establishment near Berkeley Square, but the expense was great. Mr. Ledbean, the owner of the building, wanted far more than Rosalind and Pennyfoil could afford at present. Yes, they were making a profit, but not so much that they could spend all of it on their new establishment. Rosalind, footman trailing her, had walked past the building earlier, knowing in her heart the location would be perfect.
Pennyfoil told her he would visit Ledbean again the following day and see if there was any movement on the price. If not, there were other buildings in London.
She gave herself one last glance in the mirror and, satisfied with her appearance, made her way down the stairs. Rosalind had prepared an entire tale to explain her absence today should her mother inquire after her whereabouts.
The butler awaited her downstairs. “Miss Richardson.”
“Jacobson.” Rosalind gave him a small nod. “I’m off to see my cousin.” She didn’t bother to specify which one. If Mother thought she was visiting the Averell mansion, she wouldn’t ask for details.
“Yes, miss.” He nodded. “Another box of oranges has been delivered to the kitchens.”
“Wonderful.” Oranges had appeared the day after the custard tasting, and a new box had arrived every few days. Torrington had access to an orangery, either his own or someone else’s. There had been no note on the box of fruit when it was delivered, but the oranges couldn’t possibly have been from anyone else.
Rosalind claimed to the kitchen staff she’d ordered them to experiment with a new recipe. Not a complete lie. She held out her hand. “My basket, please.”
Jacobson handed her the small basket Rosalind had packed earlier containing the orange sponge cake. After pulling back the napkin to ensure the cake was tucked safely inside, Rosalind tilted her head in the direction of the drawing room, hearing the muted voice of her mother. “Do we have a caller?”
“Lady Hertfort, miss. She arrived a short time ago. Lady Richardson asked not to be disturbed.”
“Very good. I might be gone for some time. A walk around the park will likely be in order after cake.” She patted the basket. Rosalind had no idea how long seduction might take but thought it best to be prepared.
“I’ll inform Lady Richardson, miss.”
Rosalind hopped into the carriage, secured the sponge cake, and clasped her hands in her lap. Nervous energy had her toe tapping against the floor of the carriage as the vehicle lurched forward. She hoped Pennyfoil could negotiate the price down with Ledbean. Rosalind wanted to do it herself but had been sternly reminded by Pennyfoil that she was a silent,discreetpartner.
She firmly pushed aside her irritation. Pennyfoil was right. What did it matter that she couldn’t speak to Ledbean directly? Rosalind’s final season was at an end. Pennyfoil’s was well on its way to becoming a success. Mother would be forced to accept the inevitable.
Add to all that the fact that Rosalind wasn’t wearing a corset or underthings and would likely return home with another magnificent recipe but not her virginity? It was quite a lot to contemplate.
