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Wellington cocked an eyebrow. “I am surprised you have not puzzled it out yet. You are the only one who knows what the Third Man looks like. The only one he has met. Without you, we have to start again from scratch.”
Bertram grunted in understanding before cutting his eyes to the other Duke. “And how do you plan to remedy this?”
Wellington sighed, “It’s much too late to remedy it now,” he smiled. “We will just have to keep you alive.”
He took a bite of the bun and made an exclamation of surprise. “Oh my! What is this?” He stared at it with wide-eyed wonder.
Bertram grinned. “Ah, that is Miss Strange’s baking.”
Wellington hummed with appreciation as he took another bite. “I see why she’s a good spy. Does she simply offer one of these in exchange for information?”
Bertram threw back his head and laughed. “I don’t think so.Don’tgive her ideas. We are currently enjoying her culinary skills sans treason.”
“How very clever of you.” Wellington took another bite, clearly relishing the flavor. Bertram couldn’t help smiling as he watched, suddenly feeling quite confident in Letty’s ability to win over the Duke. He relaxed his shoulders and let out a breath.
“So, where would you like us to begin?”
* * *
The arrival of the Duke of Wellington put a damper not only on their conversation but also on Letty’s peace of mind. There was no way that the commander’s arrival could bode well for her.
Especially in light of the recent assassination attempts.
She very much doubted that the Duke of Wellington would be as willing as Bertram to believe that she had no prior knowledge of the attack. She stood up from the chair, staring down at the chess board for a moment before resolutely heading to the door. For the moment, she would be what she was, the household baker. If she was to be summoned or arrested, it could happen just as easily when she was working as if she was skulking about in the abandoned wing of the manor.
Besides, baking would take her mind off things and allow her to at least function.
She walked into the kitchen, tying her apron tighter and smiled at the bustle going on. She walked up to Mrs. Gendry. “What would you like me to prepare for this evening? Some pork pies, perhaps? Or maybe cake?”
Looking harried, Mrs. Gendry wiped some sweat off her brow. “Can you be making both?”
Letty smiled.
The more work, the better.
“Of course I can. I’ll get started right away.”
“Good girl. Lord, the master might have let us know we were to host such an important guest! Why, the guest chambers are barely dusted!”
Letty smiled, knowing how thorough Mrs. Gendry was. Even the unused South Wing was kept dust-free so she doubted that the guest chambers were in as bad a condition as Mrs. Gendry was claiming.
“Do you require some help with that?” she asked nevertheless.
Mrs. Gendry waved her away distractedly, “No, no. The gels are seeing to it. Make your cakes, please.”
Letty laughed, going back to her station and pulling the flour and sugar to her. “Yes, mistress,” she said mockingly.
As she kneaded and stirred, mixed in ingredients and prepared the baking dishes, Letty hummed softly under her breath while her mind ran a mile a minute.
The Earl of Perrin is a well-kept but old secret. Which means Lady Perrin is not really the Countess of Perrin.
She nodded to herself. That sounded as if it might be right.
If she’s not a Countess, that would explain why she is desperate to marry a title.
“But is it really that simple?” she murmured to herself.
“I beg yer pardon?” Alfreda asked, leaning towards her.
