AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Good afternoon, Lord Tilbury,” John called out. He sported a smudge of flour on his cheek, and when he grinned, one of his front teeth were missing. In every sense, he was the epitome of a country lad.
“Good afternoon, Master Hodgins.” As he approached the table, he flashed a grin, one he knew easily won over the castle’s female staff. “Hello, Cook. How’s my favorite woman in Bedford this fine day?”
The short, round woman tittered, as did the two kitchen maids. A fierce blush burned in her fleshy cheeks. “Get on with you, my lord. You’ll make my husband jealous.”
“Ah, more’s the pity, but lucky man he is.” Stephen pressed a hand to his heart, for it was a game he often played with the cook. “I’ll bury my disappointment in pastries.” Then he slid his notice to Lynette, who watched the by-play with interest in her dark eyes. A pinafore apron covered her dress, but her sleeves were shoved up and her hands were covered with flour as she rolled out an expanse of pillowy, ivory dough.
And she was the most beautiful vision he’d ever seen. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Hodgins. Your mother told me I might find you here.”
“I’m surprised she let on to my location. She’s been rather selfish of my time since I arrived in Bedford.” Shock jumped into her face. Had she not meant to say that aloud, even if it wasn’t all that derogatory?
“I don’t know about that.” He glanced about the tables. There were racks of cooling pastries and a few platters of various treats ready to go. One or two baskets had already been packed with sweets, and all of them made his mouth water. “Is all of this largesse for the Christmastide festivities?”
John raced in to fill the gap. “Mama wants me to go around and sell these, but I’d rather eat them,” he admitted with a smile. “She won’t let me sample them.”
“I can see that about her.” He winked at the boy. Now was the time to win her son over to his side and help with the romance. Daring much, he snagged two hand pies from a platter and gave one to the boy. “I think it’s apple.” At least that was the hope from the amber juices that oozed up from the slits in the pastry crust. “You can see the flecks of cinnamon.”
The cook laughed but she made no comment.
“Oh, these are my favorites!” John took an over large bite, which rendered him mute for a few minutes while he vigorously chewed.
Stephen’s stomach growled. He sampled the still-warm pastry with a bite of his own. Immediately the sweet taste of apple and sugar tangled with his tongue, complimented with the warmth of the spices Lynette had used. Once he swallowed, he beamed. “As good as any French bakery, I’d wager.”
“Thank you.” A blush stained her pale cheeks. “You’re both eating my profits. I’ve not a clue how much the taxes are on Birch House, but any little bit of coin helps.” The shadows in her eyes spoke of her worry.
Immediately, he sobered and finished his hand pie in short order. “Then, how much for this collection of small cakes?” He gestured to one of the baskets as Cook handed him a cup of tea, which he accepted with a grateful nod and another grin.
“Four pence for the lot.”
Honestly, he thought she was wildly undervaluing her product, but he wouldn’t say so in front of the staff. “Consider them sold.” After he downed the tea in two gulps, he rested the cup on the worktable and delved a hand into an interior pocket of his jacket. When he’d brought forth a slim leather pouch, he removed the requisite coins and then plunked the money on the worktable. “Come, John. We’re going to do great justice to these cakes.” He caught the basket in his hand with a wink to the cook.
Lynette shook her head. “Lord Tilbury, I must protest.”
“Now, now, I’ve asked you to call me Stephen, remember.” His eyes met hers. Exasperation lined her face. “We have a prior history and no need for formality.”
John grinned. He dusted his hands together, dislodging a shower of pastry crumbs. “Might I call you Stephen as well?”
“No.” Lynette wiped her hands on her apron. “He is Lord Tilbury to you, no matter how he might tease and act like a boy.” She let out a huff as she looked at Stephen. “I dislike him to gorge on sweets.”
“Then you’d best come with us, for it could be dangerous.” He winked at the boy. “Who knows what sort of trouble we might fall into with a basket of cakes?”
“Loads of it, I’m afraid,” John said. He darted his gaze between the basket and her. “Please, Mama? He paid for them.”
“Oh, you two will be the death of me.” Clearly annoyed, she removed the apron with efficient movements and hung it on a peg in the wall behind her. “Cook, will you take over for a bit until I can return?”
“Of course, dearie. Go enjoy yourself for once.” The older woman beamed. “It’s good for you and the boy, and Lord Tilbury is in a mood today.”
“That he is,” Lynette muttered.
They withdrew as far as the doorway before Stephen spoke again. “Ivy Castle is even now being decorated with all sorts of greenery.” He looked at the boy and slipped him one of the cakes. “I rather like seeing the halls adorned with fir boughs and ribbons. It’s quite festive.”
“Me too.” John nodded. “Grandmother says branches and berries are messy business. She doesn’t like having them inside.”
That woman’s foul reach was long. “That’s rather a lot of rubbish. Ivy Castle even has mistletoe. It looks very much like it did when I was your age.” He tossed a look to Lynette, who blushed. “Every house should have mistletoe this time of the year. Don’t you think?”
Before she could respond, John’s face brightened. “Oh, I drew some of that yesterday! Let me show you.” Without another word, he dashed out of the room, leaving them standing beneath the sprig of mistletoe she hadn’t yet noticed.
Despite the fact that Cook and the maids kept spearing curious glances their way, Stephen tried to draw Lynette out and see how she felt about him. “You used to enjoy the Christmastide holidays years ago. Do you remember?”
