Chapter Five
“I need enough milk to make a stiff paste of the flour, butter, and sugar.” Felicity studied the calculation she had scribbled onto a note, frowning at her measurements. “The last batch was so very dry and bitter. Do you think too little milk was the problem, or not enough sugar?”
“Too little butter, and I think old Scratch bumped your elbow when you was measuring out that vanilla of yours.” Cook ambled over and peered over Felicity’s shoulder at the paper.
She tapped a calloused finger on the note.
“Did you steep them vanilla beans longer this time to make the extract? Mayhap the brandy you used last time was not the quality you needed.”
“Oh dear.”
The plump matriarch of the kitchen arched her graying brows nearly to the ruffle of her white cap. “Oh dear?”
“I used whisky to steep the vanilla beans last time, and it did smell rather…uhm…strong.”
Cook chuckled and shook her head. “When you use whisky for the vanilla beans, you have to take extra care to keep your oven from getting too hot and overcooking your biscuits on the bottom before the middle sets. That batch was a bit dark on the bottom.”
“You mean burnt.”
“They did take a bit of scraping.” Cook tapped Felicity’s recipe again. “Make a note about your temperature and try again. At least you learnt from it.”
A clock chimed in the distance, making the maids scurry out of the room for a last check of the parlors. Cook took inventory of the biscuits and cress sandwiches already prepared and waiting on the trays. “You best brush off now, my lady. ’Tis calling hour.”
Felicity’s stomach churned at the thought of sitting in the parlor, waiting for Lord Wakefield to arrive. “I cannot stop midway. It would be too wasteful.”
Cook trundled back to her side and eyed the bowl of partially mixed dough. She leaned over and sniffed. “No vanilla at all this time?”
Felicity shook her head. “Lemon in this batch. I used cocoa in the ones that are in the oven now.”
Walters appeared in the doorway and cleared his throat. “You have a caller, Lady Felicity. A Lord Wakefield.”
“Thank you, Walters,” she said to humor the dear old man.
Lord Wakefield surely hadn’t arrived as soon as the calling hour struck.
No man had ever been that eager to call on her.
In fact, no gentleman had ever called on her at all.
Poor, sweet Walters was probably confused because Merry had told him about their expected visitor.
“I shall be there shortly. Which parlor?”
The aged butler blinked his bleary eyes as though he had just awakened from a nap. Without a word, he turned and shuffled out of the kitchen.
Cook shook her head. “God bless him.”
“Yes,” Felicity agreed, laying odds that Lord Wakefield had not arrived at all. “God bless him, indeed.” She returned her attention to her bowl of dough. “Now, should I add more zest from the lemon or the juice, since it still has no scent?”
“More zest, but scrape it good and fine. No one wishes to bite into a chunk of lemon peel. That’ll turn bitter right quick, it will.”
Felicity set out to take Cook’s advice and finish up, since calling hours had just started, and Lord Wakefield couldn’t possibly be there.
After refining her notes, perfecting the dough, and cutting it into dainty squares and baking it, she smiled as she pulled that particular batch of biscuits from the oven.
“Oh, these look so much better and smell divine. I adore lemon.”
Cook nodded in agreement. “Those biscuits look quite nice, my lady.”
Fipps showed up in the kitchen doorway. “Lady Felicity—your caller is waiting.” He had a pained look, as if he feared he had gravely erred. “Walters assured me he told you. In fact, I overheard him before His Grace summoned me to the library. Do you wish us to send Lord Wakefield away?”
Felicity pressed her hands to her rapidly heating cheeks. “He is really here?”
Fipps remained as staid as ever. “Yes, my lady. Lord Wakefield awaits you in the front parlor.”
“Oh dear. I thought poor Walters was confused again.” Felicity pulled off her apron and turned to Cook. “Am I all right?”
Cook caught hold of her hands and brushed the flour from them, then wiped flour from her face as well. She nodded. “You are quite right now, my lady. No flour to be seen. Shall we send in a few trays and some tea? Or do you prefer lemonade?”
“Tea, please. And this newest batch of biscuits, since they are warm from the oven.”
“Right away, my lady.”
Fipps calmly waited at the doorway as if nothing was amiss. “Lady Merry is there also, my lady. Shall I fetch Lady Serendipity as well?”
“No, let us leave my eldest out of this for now.” Wishing she had donned her blue muslin with the delicate white lace rather than the much more relaxed, soft green creation she wore, Felicity shook the thought away.
It was too late now, and she had already kept the poor lord waiting entirely too long. She hurried down the hallway.
“Lord Wakefield,” she said as she breezed into the room. “Do forgive me for keeping you waiting.”
The smiling gentleman, even more handsome than he had been in Lady Atterley’s kitchen, jumped to his feet. “Think nothing of it, my lady. Your sisters kept me quite good company.”
Sisters? Felicity bit the inside of her cheek as she forced a smile at Merry and Serendipity. She should have known Serendipity would never allow Merry to remain in the parlor unaccompanied with a gentleman for very long.
“I would be lost without my sisters,” Felicity said, only partially meaning it.
As one of seven, sisters could be such a chore at times.
She seated herself, trying not to think about the state of the man’s manor and garden.
It wouldn’t do to bring up the subject in front of Serendipity.
“I fear when I work out new recipes with Cook that I lose track of time.”
“If this recipe is as sublime as those coddled eggs and soldiers you prepared, you are most assuredly forgiven.” He captivated her with another of his mesmerizing smiles. Dear heavens, the man was gorgeous, even more so because he didn’t seem to realize it.
Serendipity cut a sharp look Felicity’s way, narrowing her eyes as if homing in on a target.
“Lemon biscuits this time,” Felicity hurried to say before Serendipity could add to the conversation. “Cook and I worked out the perfect amount of zest to flavor the sugar.”
“Were those not lemon biscuits you prepared the day before last?” Merry asked with unmistakable leeriness.
“These are better,” Felicity said, willing her sister to be quiet.
“Cook and I refined the recipe.” She turned back to the earl, attempting to turn her nervous smile into a self-confident one.
“It is such a lovely day. Would you care to join us for tea in the garden? Cook is already gathering refreshments. Fipps could bring them right out.”
“The garden?” Merry started coughing as though choking.
“Merry? Do you need to excuse yourself?” Serendipity asked.
Patting her chest, Merry shook her head while flaring her eyes open wider at Felicity. “Forgive me. I do not know what came over me.”
Felicity knew exactly what came over her silly sister.
Merry was afraid that if they were in their garden, the topic of the earl’s sad state of affairs might come up and unleash a full-blown interrogation of the poor man from Serendipity.
While Felicity wanted to speak with Lord Wakefield in earnest, she did not wish to make him feel uncomfortable.
“I think the garden would be lovely,” she said, “and I would happily give Lord Wakefield a tour of the roses while you two ensure our tea is properly laid. Shall we?”
The handsome earl’s already pleasant demeanor turned into an even more stunning display of happiness. “I most certainly would enjoy a tour of the roses, Lady Felicity, although I doubt very much if they could ever compare to your loveliness.”
Felicity didn’t know whether to blush or groan.
She wasn’t accustomed to such overt compliments.
Lord Wakefield was trying too hard. It hurt her heart and her feelings.
The man was obviously desperate for her dowry.
“Thank you, my lord. I believe you will find our mother’s flowers quite lovely.
She tended them as carefully as she tended us. ”
Serendipity rose. “I shall inform Fipps and Cook while Merry accompanies the two of you to the garden.” She offered the earl a curtsy and hurried out of the parlor.
Now that they were all on their feet, Merry waved them forward. “Lead the way, Felli. I shall follow.”
Lord Wakefield offered Felicity his arm. “Felli?”
“A childhood pet name, my lord.” She tried not to tremble as she took his arm.
My goodness, how muscular. This was no soft lordling who lifted nothing heavier than a glass.
And the golden-brown hue of his skin made her wonder if he had taken up the chores that he could no longer afford to hire out to servants.
She clenched her teeth and tried to hold her smile.
“With eight of us so close in age, pet names were quick to spring up whenever we were at play.”
“Some pet names were nicer than others,” Merry said from behind them.
Lord Wakefield snorted a laugh but quickly recovered. “Ah…as an only child, I fear I have no experience with such things.”
“No cousins, either?” If Felicity could gently lead him to the topic of his uncle, perhaps she could discover what she hoped was his true motive—and not just the obvious one. She so needed him to like her for more than her money.
The earl shook his head as he held the door to the garden. “Father once spoke of some distant relatives in Wales, but I have never met them.”
“I shall wait here for Seri and the tea,” Merry said, waving them onward. “As soon as they arrive, I will call out.”