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They bent over the dough. Daniel decided he’d make scalloped edges with a circle inscribed in the middle. He’d had some Shrewsbury cakes like that once. But the plan was more easily imagined than done. This wasn’t like drawing. The blade tended to drag the dough out of shape. His scallops were unsatisfactory. He glanced to the side. Young Kitty was frowning over more incomprehensible blobs. Miss Pendleton was cutting simple stars. Neat, straight lines were clearly a good idea, Daniel realized, as he watched her set her knife, cut, and then push sideways, easing the dough apart. He wished he’d thought of that. He noticed a smudge of flour on his coat sleeve.
Miss Pendleton glanced up, saw him looking, and smiled.
How many smiles did she have in her repertoire? This one was easy, mischievous, literally breathtaking. For a moment, Daniel’s chest locked.
“Hellish thing,” muttered Kitty. “That’s no manner of tail.”
A clatter from the hearth suggested that Mrs. Hart had dropped a sizable object.
Miss Pendleton’s dancing eyes invited him to share in her enjoyment. Daniel’s spirit expanded, and he smiled back wholeheartedly. Perfect understanding seemed to tremble between them, like a hovering kestrel ready to strike. Then she blinked, looked away, and turned back to her stars. Daniel’s hand was the slightest bit unsteady when he addressed his scallops of dough once more. Perhaps he’d call them waves, he decided—tossed by a turbulent sea.
When they finished, Miss Pendleton was unanimously judged the winner, though Kitty complained that she would have gotten her dogs’ ears right if she’d had more time. Daniel tried to see any trace of hound anatomy in her creations, and failed.
They put the baking in the oven. Daniel realized that he’d been at Rose Cottage far too long for a courtesy call. And he’d promised to ride out with Macklin and show him a scenic overlook. “I must go,” he said.
“You won’t wait to taste your creations?” asked Miss Pendleton.
“I fear I can’t. I have an appointment with Macklin.”
“Too bad. We’ll send your…waves up to Frithgerd. As a return for the cake.” Her eyes glinted.
“Will you bring them?”
The words came out urgent. She looked startled.
Daniel moderated his tone. “Aren’t you coming tomorrow to continue working in the estate office?”
“Yes.”
“Well then.” Daniel brushed at the flour on his sleeve as he walked around the kitchen table. Miss Pendleton followed him to the back door. “I’ll go out this way to get my horse,” he added.
“I suppose you took it to the barn when you arrived,” said his hostess. “I hope Foyle tended to it.”
“He said he would.”
“With poor grace, I suspect. What a ramshackle household I have.”
“I had a splendid time,” Daniel said. It was true. This was the most fun he’d had in months. Perhaps ever? “Far better than atonparty.”
Miss Pendleton raised her eyebrows, incredulous.
“I’m perfectly serious.”
“Then you are perfectly silly. You cannot comparethisto a brilliant drawing room and fashionable entertainments.” She gestured at the bits of dough and scattered kitchenware.
Standing in the doorway, Daniel surveyed the scene. Kitty, her apron festooned with swirls of brown and white, was grinning at them. Mrs. Hart had her back turned, but her stillness indicated a keen interest in their exchange. “Hostesses are always searching for ways to be original,” he said. “But it’s the quality of the conversation that distinguishes a society gathering, don’t you think?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never attended one.”
“I didn’t think you could have,” said Daniel.
She stiffened. “Am I so rag-mannered?”
He shook his head. “I would have remembered you if you’d had a season in London.” Satisfied with the effect of this remark, he bowed and went out.
Penelope watched the door close, hiding those intense brown eyes and the look in them that made her knees tremble. She turned to find Kitty gazing at her like an alley cat that had discovered a fish. Mrs. Hart, on the other hand, looked concerned. “We should tidy up,” Penelope said.
“I’ll do that, miss,” replied the cook.
