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“Foyle is an old friend. And you are a new one. I’m happy to help.”
They agreed on various other details. Penelope ate her sumptuous cake, and they parted warmly, very much pleased with the arrangements they’d made. Foyle was a fortunate man, Penelope thought on the drive back. He’d found a congenial wife at a somewhat advanced age, and she had every hope that they would be compatible. She was so occupied thinking of them that she forgot all about the government men.
Penelope had barely taken off her hat when there was a knock on her chamber door. “Come in,” she called. A piquantly pointed face looked around the panels. “Kitty, hello.” The girl entered and dropped a curtsy. She looked older and more assured in the short time since they’d left Rose Cottage. It was odd. The young maid had been a constant presence in Penelope’s life for weeks, and now she barely saw her except when she went to the kitchen to confer with the cook.
“My lady,” she said. “I wanted to ask if I might bake the cake for Mr. Foyle’s wedding.”
“You’ve heard about that already?”
“Lots of people knew. Because of the banns. But Mr. Foyle wanted to tell you himself.”
“I see.” She wasn’t in touch with the servants’ gossip in her new household, Penelope thought. Back home in Lancashire, she would have picked up hints and drawn conclusions. That would come as she became better friends with the Frithgerd people, particularly Betty.
“I’ll make him a first-rate cake.”
Remembering some of Kitty’s mishaps in the kitchen, Penelope doubted that. “I’ll be making a plan with Cook,” she said.
“She’ll say I should do it.”
“And she did,” Penelope told Daniel that night as they lay in bed. They’d fallen into the habit of talking over their days in the glowing aftermath of passion. Each activity was as sweet as the other.
“Kitty’s Shrewsbury cakes were not a success,” Daniel pointed out. He toyed with a curl of Penelope’s pale hair.
“They were not. I hinted as much to Cook, and was given the impression that she thought herself a much better teacher than Mrs. Hart.”
“That sounds ominous. Do we have a feud?”
“More like a friendly rivalry, I think.” Penelope nestled closer. “Or perhaps the pride of a professional versus an amateur. There was passing mention of the bakery prize at an agricultural fair. And it’s partly because Mrs. Hart cooked for me at Rose Cottage.”
“And now you are here.”
“And so much grander,” said Penelope teasingly.
“As your food must also be.”
“Naturally.” Penelope rose on one elbow to drop a kiss on his lips. He responded in a similar vein, and conversation was extinguished for a time.
“Cook wouldn’t spoil the wedding?” Daniel asked a good bit later.
Penelope stretched like a cat. “On the contrary, I think it will belavish. Demonstrating every skill Cook possesses. Aggressively. And she assured me that Kitty can make a creditable cake. I expect she’ll see to it.”
“So all’s well then. The happy couple won’t be disappointed.”
“No. In fact, I began to wonder if Mrs. Hart knew exactly how this would unfold. And perhaps enjoyed the idea of Cook exerting herself to create a memorable wedding feast.”
“You think the future Mrs. Foyle is so devious?”
“Mrs. Foyle,” Penelope repeated. “How odd that sounds. For all my life Foyle has been—”
“The resident gargoyle?”
She hit his shoulder playfully. “A steady,solitarypresence. I never felt he wanted any family other than ours, which is vastly selfish of me, I know.”
Daniel shrugged, his shoulder moving against the side of Penelope’s face. “I don’t know him well enough to say. But perhaps he feels his work is done.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re the last of the family, and you’re settled here. With me.” Smug satisfaction tinged his voice. His arm drew her closer.
