The Wedding Cake (The Wedding Series) (5 page)

“He may be managing Murphy Import and Export.”

“I realize this is difficult to understand, given that your father seems to regard him as a social equal. However, I must look out for what is best. You can’t imagine what a strain it is on my nerves having five daughters.

“I worry all the time that we will be unable to provide suitable matches for all of you. Eugenia is no problem, of course. She couldn’t have found a more delightful husband. And you, Cinnamon.” Her mother stepped forward in a flutter of silk, taking Cinnamon’s hands in her own. “A duke! Well, I simply couldn’t be more pleased.”

“I’m glad, Mama.”

“Of course you are, dear.” Another sigh. “But there are your sisters to worry about. Cornelia is not as... well, as attractive as she might be. Oh, I don’t for one minute mean she’s not perfectly lovely. But... Well, finding her a husband as suitable as yours and Eugenia’s may prove a challenge.”

“Mother, I’m certain Cornelia... She has the most beguiling smile.”

“Yes, yes, of course.” Her mother turned away. “Then there’s Lucretia.”

“What about Lucretia? No one can deny her beauty.”

“That is exactly the problem.” Her mother looked back at Cinnamon over her shoulder. “Because she is so beautiful, she is vulnerable to the wrong sort of man.”

“You mean Captain McGregger.”

Relief seemed to wash over her mother as she sank onto the window seat. “Exactly. I knew you would understand why we cannot have men like him accepted into our social circle.”

“Mama.” Cinnamon took a step forward. “It appeared to me that it was Lucretia who... Well, Lucretia seemed quite taken with the captain.” A turn of events that Cinnamon didn’t mind in the least. At least she’d been telling herself that for two days. “I didn’t note any untoward behavior from Captain McGregger.”

“But then being only twenty, you are not entirely wise in the ways of worldly men, are you?” A touch of steel had crept into her mother’s tone. “Lucretia did nothing but respond in a pleasant way to that man’s advances.”

“If you say so, Mama,” she agreed for the sake of family harmony. But she had eyes in her head and she’d seen the way Lucretia had nearly tossed herself at the captain. She’d also noticed a measure of restraint on his part. But all that made no difference in the long run, for her mother demanded that she not invite the captain again, and she could do nothing but comply.

~ ~ ~

“Your fiancé’s simply the most delightful man, is that not true, Cinnamon?”

She rested her fork across her dinner plate before answering, partly because she couldn’t think of another way to respond other than she already had—numerous times. The entire evening was a series of her mother’s flowery descriptions about a man she’d never even met.

Her mother had discussed Lord Alfred Westfield’s wealth in great detail, and his family history to such a degree that if Cinnamon didn’t know better she’d think him next in line for the throne. Mama had complimented his appearance, making him seem nearly as handsome as, well, as Captain McGregger. And now she strove to make him out to be the most charming of men.

As much an exaggeration as all the rest, Cinnamon admitted to herself, though to the company she agreed with her mother.

“Well, I must say you seem less than enthusiastic about the man you will wed in less than two months, Cinnamon. I was under the impression when you returned from England that you were madly in love,” her mother finished petulantly.

Cinnamon felt the captain’s gaze and couldn’t help her own eyes being drawn to his. He stared at her with an emotion she couldn’t fathom.

“Mrs. Murphy, I dare say, our Cinnamon grows tired of discussing Lord Westfield. Perhaps we should—”

“Nonsense, Mr. Murphy. How could she not wish to speak of her beloved?” Her mother puffed herself up, her ample breast expanding above the décolletage of her mauve gown. “Isn’t that correct, Cinnamon? Cinnamon?”

“What? Oh.” She tore her gaze away from the captain’s blue-eyed stare. “Yes, of course,” she agreed, though for the life of her she couldn’t recall what had been said. But it hardly mattered, for the last course was being cleared and a manservant was bringing in the cake she had baked that afternoon.

Much of the icing had run down the sides, pooling on the crystal platter, but she decided that was just a minor drawback. For very soon Captain McGregger would take his first bite of her delicious concoction. Then he’d be forced to admit... She wasn’t certain what he’d admit. But he’d know she’d done it—baked the perfect cake.

A maid sliced pieces while her father, sisters, and Captain McGregger admired her handiwork. She could hardly contain herself. She thought the portions a bit small, especially the captain’s, but decided it would be worth it when he begged for a second piece.

All assembled waited until the dessert plates were positioned and Mrs. Murphy lifted her silver fork. Anticipation made Cinnamon slow to place her own bite on her tongue. She was too interested in the captain’s reaction. It came about the time her own lips closed over the morsel of wedding cake.

H
e swallowed the bite, and that was to his credit, Cinnamon thought, because that was not an easy feat. “My heavens,” she managed to croak as she grabbed for her water glass.

“What’s wrong with this? Mama, it tastes awful.”

“There, there, Philomela, it isn’t all that... What is in this cake, Cinnamon? I hope you don’t plan to serve this to the duke.”

“Of course not, Mama,” she answered, after draining the water from her glass. Though she didn’t know why the duke’s taste buds were any more precious than hers, or Philomela’s, or even Captain McGregger’s. He sat across the table from her trying to hide his grin. She would have tossed the contents of her glass at him had there been a single drop of water left. She couldn’t remember ever being so thirsty—or embarrassed.

“Well, what happened?” her mother demanded.

“I’m not certain. No, Papa, don’t eat it. Really, it’s awful.”

“Cinnamon, dear, it couldn’t be as bad as all that.”

“Yes, Papa, it is.”

But it was too late. He was already closing his lips over the fork tines. She watched until his eyes began to water, then balled up her napkin, plopped it on her plate, and mumbled a request to be excused. She made it out of the dining room and to the first step of the stairs before she heard her name.

“Miss Murphy.”

She paused, her hand upon the newel and shut her eyes. Why did he, of all people, follow her? “If you’ll excuse me, Captain McGregger, I really must—” Must what? She sighed as she turned to face him.

Standing as she was on the step, she was nearly level with him, could stare him straight in his mirth-filled eyes. “What is it you wish? I believe I gave everyone, including you, sufficient time to make light of my cake.”

“Even me?” His dark eyebrow lifted. “Did I say anything about your cake, then?”

No, he hadn’t, but he’d been thinking it. She was certain of that. Still, she tried to modulate her tone. She didn’t want him knowing how upset she was. “How may I help you, Captain?”

“I wish to seek yer advice.”

That was hardly what she’d been expecting. “My advice?”

“Aye. Do ye suppose we could speak privately? Could I perhaps call on ye tomorrow, or whenever ’tis convenient?”

“Well, yes, tomorrow would be fine. In the afternoon or morning.” She had thought he planned to criticize her baking abilities, of which he knew better than her family, but instead he appeared perfectly serious about discussing something with her. What it was, she didn’t know, for at that moment, when she would have asked, her mother appeared in the dining room doorway.

“Cinnamon?” She marched forward like a general preparing for battle. “Whatever are you doing standing in the hallway like this?”

“I was—”

“
I
was explaining to Miss Murphy what might be the problem with her cake. ’Tis a simple enough mistake really. One I’ve managed myself a time or two.”

“You are a cook?” Her mother said it as if the words left as bad a taste in her mouth as this evening’s dessert.

Strange as it seemed, Cinnamon had the strongest desire to come to the captain’s defense. He didn’t stand a chance against her mother. No one, not even her own father, did.

However, Captain McGregger didn’t seem to realize the peril he was in. He simply smiled that smile Cinnamon was beginning to realize made her stomach feel fluttery whenever she saw it. “Not anymore, but I cooked my share when I was younger. On your husband’s ships,” he added.

With a “humph” her mother hustled the captain back into the dining room. Then she accompanied Cinnamon up the wide stairs to her room.

“I don’t know what you were thinking, Cinnamon. Meeting with that man, unchaperoned.”

“Captain McGregger was simply—” Telling her what the problem was with her cake. Cinnamon thought she had that figured out. One taste, one salty taste, had been enough.

“And that’s another thing. This silly notion about baking your own wedding cake—”

“Only as a test. The actual cake itself will be—”

“I really don’t care. The entire scheme is ridiculous. The very idea of you in the kitchen, beating and mixing, and... and... Well, I should think you can see now how very foolish it is.”

“Foolish to mistake salt for sugar, perhaps.”

“What?”

Cinnamon whirled to face her mother. “That’s all I did, simply mistook one for the other. Everything else worked out. No fire, nothing.”

“Fire?” Her mother settled down onto the dressing-table bench. “Whatever are you talking about?”

“Nothing, Mama, really. It’s just that next time I shall bake it perfectly.”

“Next time?” Her mother was on her feet. “Do you mean to say you plan to continue this debacle?”

“If you mean, am I going to bake this cake, the answer is of course I am. I said I would. I always do what I say I will. Would you have me fail at this?”

“Ohhh. Whatever am I to do with you? You are such a vexing child.” She crossed her arms, then took a deep breath. “I told your father naming you Cinnamon was a mistake. I wanted Theodora, but, no, he insisted you should bear the name of a spice. A spice.” She sighed. “And see, I was right.”

“Mama, I hardly think my name has anything to do with... well, with anything.”

“Humph, I should think it does. The very idea. I can’t believe I allowed him to have his way.”

Cinnamon couldn’t believe it, either, knowing her mother as she did. Kathleen Murphy had a way of wearing a person down. But Cinnamon was exceedingly glad Papa had stood his ground with her name. She didn’t feel like a Theodora at all.

“Well, I suppose it isn’t too bad. Lord Westfield didn’t find fault with your name. Didn’t you tell me that?”

“Yes, Mama,” she answered through clenched teeth. She should hope he had no objections, with a name like Alfred Henry Charles Augustus Westfield.

“Then I suppose all is not lost,” her mother said, assuming her lecture pose, her chin high, her eyes leveled on her prey. “However,” she began, and Cinnamon realized she knew there would be a ‘however.’ “You must stop this foolishness with the cake. And Captain McGregger....” She shook her head as if she couldn’t think of enough terrible things to say about him...

Then she marched toward the door, her bustle swaying in time to her steps. “Take a moment to compose yourself, then please join us in the parlor. I believe Philomela has a surprise planned for us on the piano.”

That hardly induced Cinnamon to hurry. Yet she found herself, before too many minutes passed, descending the stairs, her cheeks freshly pinched, her coiffure patted into place.

But he was gone.

Not that Captain McGregger was the reason she’d hurried last night, Cinnamon assured herself the next morning, She’d simply wished a word with him concerning when she could expect his visit. She hoped it would be in the afternoon while her mother was visiting, then spent the morning fretting about why he didn’t appear. He hardly seemed the lay-abed type. She could imagine him aboard ship, rising with the sun, facing the east and the new day with...

“Oh, drat, what do I care how he faces anything,” she muttered as she read a row of figures. Each time, she got a different sum, which wasn’t like her at all.

She despaired of ever reaching the correct answer when there came a polite tapping at the door.

“Captain Ian McGregger to see you, miss. Should I show him to the parlor?”

“Yes.” Her hands automatically flew to her hair. “No, wait, James. Show the captain in here.” Yes, the library would be infinitely better. Less likely her mother would chance upon them there. And though Cinnamon had learned years ago the best way to ensure family harmony was to do as her mother said, she also knew a thing or two about
appearing
to do as Mama said.

Cinnamon remained seated behind her father’s desk, a fact that she thought brought a smile to the captain’s face when he entered. Or perhaps he simply smiled at her.

“Thank ye for seeing me today, Miss Murphy.”

“Of course, Captain McGregger. Please be seated.”

They both acted so politely distant, it was difficult for Cinnamon to recall they’d shared a passionate kiss—until she looked at his mouth. He did have an extraordinarily fine mouth, firm lips with brackets on either side that gave him character and... “Oh, I beg your pardon.”