His Wicked Smile Read online

  “Yes. I described your symptoms at the temple there and this is what they gave me. They guaranteed it would work. I wouldn’t have returned without it.” He seemed to run out of breath.

  “You wouldn’t have returned unless you needed money,” Gawain said, pulling the box toward him.

  Bliven’s mouth tightened.

  “How many pounds of tea, did you say?” Gawain asked, opening the box. He found a fine dark powder, coarsely ground. When he sniffed he didn’t recognize the main notes of the compound.

  “Four hundred pounds. One hundred of each.”

  Gawain stood and limped to a painting, then pulled it aside and opened the safe. He pulled out some money, relocked the safe and pushed the bills across the desk. “For the tea.”

  “You already paid for it.”

  Gawain sat down and picked up the box again. “Go, Bliven. I want to be alone with my nectar.”

  Bliven pulled a sheet of paper from his coat and pushed it over. “Do you read Hindustani? These are the directions for the medicine.”

  Gawain did not read Hindustani. He swore softly.

  “Want me to translate for you? I know it well enough.”

  Gawain fixed his gaze on Bliven. “Tell me.”

  Bliven smirked with more than a hint of his old bravado and pulled out another sheet of paper, this one written in English. “Here you go. I was going to charge you for this, but you’ve already paid me well. See? I’m an honest man.”

  “Get out,” Gawain said, turning away with the sheet of translation clutched in his fist. He closed his eyes until he heard footsteps moving away, then the door opening. When it closed, the only sound in the room was the fire’s crackle.

  Could Theodore Bliven really have found a cure for his damaged eye? What would his return mean for Matilda and Jacob?

  Chapter Six

  “Take this to my father in the bakery.” Betsy Popham showed Ann a large white Redcake’s box meant for holding two-tiered cakes. “Her ladyship will be in for it at any moment.”

  “A titled lady is going to pick up her own cake?” Ann asked, allowing Betsy to transfer the heavy box from her own plump arms to Ann’s.

  “I know, but Alys set the style for ladies to pick up their own cakes. I believe she is taking it to her daughter’s luncheon party or some such. You should take the elevator. It is safer.”

  Ann knew Alys was the Marchioness of Hatbrook. Betsy invoked her name often. Though the marchioness owned Redcake’s now, she had once worked in the Fancy with Betsy. Of course, Alys was also Noel’s aunt and Gawain’s sister.

  She went to the elevator with the cake box, but it was full of carts and irritated bakers.

  “Take the steps,” Alfred Melville, her supervisor, ordered.

  “Yes, sir.” Ann maneuvered down the hall and found the door to the stairs propped open. Thankfully, that did not spell disaster, as she was the only person on the staircase. It took some maneuvering to open the door at the top, and she could feel sweat on her forehead by the time she managed to turn the knob while still keeping the cake steady.

  She made her way down another hall, narrowly missing two cakies with empty trays as she turned the corner to the passage just behind the bakery proper. When she went through the bakery, her hip bumped a cakie’s and the box slipped in her hands. Her palms began to sweat, but she kept the box upright.

  The other girl apologized profusely. “Is that the luncheon cake? My goodness, but her ladyship is impatient. She’s only been here two minutes.”

  “We didn’t know she’d actually arrived.”

  “Get the cake in there.”

  Ann tried to hand it to her, but she demurred. “No, I’ve got cocoa on my hands. I must wash.”

  Ann knew she didn’t look her best, with her hair all frizzed from the heat downstairs and the stress of her trip up the stairs, but she straightened her spine and marched behind the long, tiled counter, which was covered by glass cases containing first-rate baked goods.

  Ralph Popham, Betsy’s father, frowned when he saw her and straightened the long graying hair plastered across the top of his head. She suspected that was a hint to tidy her hair, but the cake was much too heavy to manage one-handed. After making it to the counter without incident, she carefully set the cake down, then looked around for a likely candidate for her ladyship. When she saw a woman hovering by the éclairs, dressed a long maroon dress with velvet cuffs and collar, over an underskirt of embroidered white silk, she guessed she had found her aristocrat.

  “Your ladyship?” she called.

  The woman didn’t respond. Ann turned to Ralph Popham, who nodded encouragement.

  “Your ladyship,” he said, coming to stand next to Ann. “Your cake is ready.”

  The lady approached them and looked down her long skinny nose at the bakery manager. “You allowed a darkie to carry my cake in here?”

  Ann felt her spine lock into place but didn’t respond. She remembered similar scenes when Wells had first taken possession of the inn. People soon forgot the color of her skin and simply noticed her superior cooking.

  “S-she works downstairs,” Popham stammered. “No one else must have been available to bring the cake up.”

  “You’re sure she didn’t touch it?” her ladyship demanded.

  “It was already boxed when she came in,” Popham said.

  “Of course I touched it,” Ann said without thinking. “I made this beautiful cake, your ladyship. Then it was decorated by Betsy Popham.”

  “Take it away,” the woman said, staring at Popham. “I won’t have it.”

  “I make many of the cakes here. I’ve been cooking and baking for years. No one has ever become ill from my food,” Ann said.

  Finally the woman allowed her bug-eyed gaze to descend on Ann. She seemed to focus on her hands. “How can anyone tell if a darkie is clean?” Then she sniffed and turned away.

  “I’m cleaner than you,” Ann cried, outraged. “I can see a stain on your left glove.” She slapped her hands on the counter. “Look, perfectly clean.”

  “Mr. Popham,” the lady said over her shoulder. “I will never patronize your establishment again if this, er, person, continues to be employed. Do you understand me?”

  “Yes, my lady,” he said, giving her a brisk nod. “Ann, pack your things and go home.”

  “You aren’t my supervisor,” she said.

  “I will tell Melville that you shouted at a customer. Now, that will do. We’ll send on your wages.”

  He wouldn’t even look at her. No surprise, given his exaggeration of what she’d done. She folded her lips between her teeth, snatched up the heavy box, and ran through the passages until she reached the elevator. No one stopped her and the Fancy was empty when she pushed the door open.

  An hour later, she found herself at home, with a huge, heavy cake box, her coat and reticule, and no memory of anything that had transpired since Ralph Popham, that coward, had told her to go.

  Fern took one look at her face before her lips started to tremble. She closed the front door and took the box to the kitchen table.

  “They sacked me.” Ann’s eyes started to burn with humiliation, and they fell into each other’s arms, crying, like they hadn’t done since Wells died.

  Ann had somehow found calm by the time the landlady knocked on their door shortly before five PM. She had been going over her accounts with Noel in her lap. Without a position, they were going to have to return to Leeds. The reality was that life was easier here in London. If she went back to the inn, she’d have to resume all the cooking and take up with her patients again. She didn’t have the energy to work from before dawn to after dusk seven days a week as well as care for Noel. There would be no handy wet nurse at the inn either.

  Redcake’s, with its five-and-a-half-day work week and settled hours, not to mention the excellent pay, had been perfect for her. Fern could manage their small flat with ease after years of cleaning inn rooms. All she could do was scan the papers for anothe
r position, and this time, make sure she stayed hidden from paying customers.

  “How can I help you?” she asked the landlady, settling Noel’s head on her shoulder.

  “There’s a gentleman to see you. Same one as before.”

  Gawain. “Thank you. Please tell him to come up.” She knew he’d come a couple of days ago when she’d been at work, but hadn’t returned since.

  “I don’t like the idea of you having male callers.”

  “He’s a patient,” Ann said. “I’m a healer. Remember? I explained that.”

  The woman sniffed and walked away.

  While Ann hovered at the door, listening for him on the stairs, she heard the bells of a local church. Five PM. Gawain had waited until she was home from work before calling. He obviously didn’t know what had happened. At least he couldn’t be blamed for her misadventures.

  She saw a bowler hat at the top of the stairs, then he appeared, his strong warrior’s face focused, that broad body so powerful, even with its determined, limping gait. Her breath caught in her chest as her very flesh remembered the elemental attraction they shared.

  He nodded when he saw her and she inclined her head with a gracious ease that belied her fast pulse.

  “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?” she asked.

  “You know we have many things to discuss,” he said soberly, but then his face broke into an amazing grin that she’d never seen before. It made him look almost a boy, if it weren’t for the hawk’s nose that made him look so wicked.

  “What?” she said, with an answering smile. His grin was as contagious as it was unexpected.

  “I had the, well, someone I never wanted to see again came to the square with this.” He reached into his greatcoat pocket and pulled out a box. Then he dug under his coat and pulled out a sheet of paper, thrusting them both at her.

  “You had better come in.” She turned without taking either, since she had Noel. Fern came from the kitchen to take him. Gawain stopped her, and bent down to give the baby a kiss. Noel didn’t wake. Fern took him with a nod and went back into the kitchen.

  Gawain’s gaze took in the room. She wondered if he noticed there were no signs of packing, but he didn’t mention that. As soon as her arms were free he handed her his box and paper again.

  “Take a look,” he urged. “Have you heard of this?”

  “This what?” She stared at the square wood box.

  “Dhanvantari’s Nectar.”

  Medicine. “No. What are the ingredients? This isn’t a very large portion of whatever it is.”

  “I have twenty pounds of the stuff,” he assured her. “Back at the house. All direct from India, courtesy of Theodore Bliven.”

  “I’ve never heard the name,” she murmured, moving to the fireplace to peruse the paper.

  “You will learn all about him soon enough. He is the father of my nephew Jacob.”

  “That is one of the babies, correct?”

  “Yes, the oldest of Noel’s generation. He’s a year old, Matilda’s son.”

  “So this Bliven went to India.”

  “Yes, he travelled to Kerala at one point and met a family of physicians. When he described my eye damage, they gave him this.”

  “There are certainly legitimate physicians in Kerala, who have a special affinity for Dhanvantari,” she told him. “It appears that this is a raw compound. It needs to be boiled and strained, then used as an eyewash.” She opened the container and sniffed.

  “Do you recognize any of it?”

  “I believe it is based on the ingredients of maha triphala ghee. It needs to be prepared with ghee and milk, then left to sit overnight in water. The eyewash I’m familiar with has thirteen herbs but I expect this mixture has twenty or so. It is a complex procedure. First honey in the eye, then this mixture, then ghee. An hour of your day will need to be devoted to it.” She perused the sheet again. “I can finish the receipt for you, so you can complete the preparation. Do you have good honey and ghee, the clarified butter?”

  “Yes, that will not be a problem.”

  “Then come back tomorrow. I will have it prepared and dried for you. You’ll be able to start Wednesday morning.”

  He sat down in her single armchair as if suddenly deflating. “How long do you think it will take to have an effect?”

  “Your eyes will probably burn the first few days,” she warned.

  “That isn’t what I mean. How long before I know if it is helping?”

  “A month or two. You should discontinue the program if you don’t see any results after that.”

  His lips curved. “And how long should I continue my program with you?”

  “What do you mean?” She put her back to the fire and faced him.

  “How often should I ask you to marry me? How often should I demand you move to my family home? I have been looking for houses for us in Enfield.”

  “You haven’t asked me today.” She thought about the few pounds she had left, the need to eat good food so that she could feed Noel. Clothes for a growing baby. Coal for the fire. The censure she would face back in Leeds for having an illegitimate child.

  His gaze left the box she was holding and moved to her face. “You are correct. I have not been following my own program. Ann, will you marry me?”

  She shivered. Could she tolerate a loveless marriage? Or to phrase it better, could she bring a husband who didn’t love her to love? Gawain had not yet had a chance to love her, but at least he had come looking for her. He had come twice, to Leeds and then to London. He loved Noel already. Thankfully, he had no doubts there. She was lucky the baby took after the Redcakes and not her family.

  Going back to Leeds felt wrong. She had to move forward for Noel’s sake. Clasping her hands around her upper arms, she whispered, “Yes.”

  “Yes?” he said doubtfully.

  She swallowed hard and nodded. “Yes. It will be best for all of us. You caught me by surprise last week, but yes.”

  He moved his head back and forth as if beating time. “Would you like a civil or religious marriage? We can be married a bit sooner with a civil marriage.”

  The unromantic nature of the moment deflated her further. “Will you not kiss me to celebrate?” she asked. “And worry about details some other time?”

  He let his cane drop to the ground next to the armchair. With a wolfish grin, he reached for her arm and pulled her down to him. He sighed and set his head against her shoulder. “I should not remember the feel of you, Ann, but I do.”

  “My body is completely different since Noel. And I don’t even smell the same.”

  “You smell like cake and wind now,” he said. “It’s not a bad thing. But there is still a spicy under-layer that will never leave you.”

  She wriggled. “I am glad to hear it.” He held her firm. “Don’t do that, not with Fern here.”

  She allowed him to wrap his arms around her and kiss her neck. Closing her eyes, she wondered what he would think of her if he knew why she said yes.

  Gawain arrived at Ann’s flat the next evening, excited to pick up his Ayurvedic treatment. He’d done two of the three steps that morning, to practice using the ghee and honey in his eye. It had stung and been messy, no doubt about it. But, if he could reverse his sight loss it would be worth the trouble. Recently, his hip trouble had superseded his one-eye blindness, but no more. Ann had given him a massage the evening before with her infused sesame oil, and he already felt lighter on his feet. She had been the cool, assured woman of medicine with him, rather than the sensual lover, but he could see the idea of remarriage troubled her. As long as she married him, he would not question her moods.

  Fern opened the door to him and offered a small smile before holding out her hands to receive his outerwear. He gave her his cane as well, and tucked his fingers into his bright yellow waistcoat. Yes, he was feeling sunny. He’d written his family to announce his engagement. His child he would introduce in person. It wouldn’t take long for them to come rushing
into London full of questions. One look at Noel would answer all of those.

  “You look very pleased with yourself,” Ann said, stepping across the room with Noel in her arms.

  He plucked the child from her.

  “He needs burping,” she warned, smoothing a rag over his shoulder. “Here, let me show you what to do.”

  Gawain patted the baby’s back until the desired effect was achieved. “No mess,” he declared, pulling Noel away from his shoulder, his hand carefully guarding his neck.

  Fern put on a little hat and pointed to the door.

  “Wear your shawl, dear,” Ann said. “It is cold in the hallway.”

  The girl made a face but bundled herself up properly.

  “She has to have some fresh air,” Ann said.

  “It’s not very fresh out there,” Gawain said as Ann led him into the kitchen. “Tell me, she seems very intelligent. Has she always been mute?”

  “No, not at all.”

  “When did it begin? Did a doctor see her?”

  “No doctor necessary. I know the exact cause.” She spoke over her shoulder from the stove.

  “What is that?”

  “Trauma.”

  He could not help taking a close look at Ann’s loose housedress. It would be easy to remove, but how long would Fern be gone? “To her throat?”

  “No.” She set a steaming teapot down on the table. “Are you sure you want to know?”

  “Why wouldn’t I? She’s going to be part of my household, if not exactly a relative of mine.”

  “I won’t have her turned into a servant.”

  “Of course not,” Gawain said. “I have plenty of money for servants.”

  “That does not always stop people from taking advantage of young girls. I will return,” she said, moving swiftly out of the room.

  She must be going to get his medicine. He stretched out his legs, relieving pressure on his hip. Noel snuffled and turned his head. Gawain kissed the bit of his forehead that was visible beneath his tiny knitted cap. “Do you need anything for the baby? Anything I can purchase?”

  She walked back in, carrying a box. Not his rosewood box, but a larger one. When she set it on the table, she gave him a considering glance.