Chapter Eighteen
“THE GOAL IS SIMPLE—TO create an edible cake. The team who creates the finest cake will have it set in the place of honor on the table as the centerpiece for the entirety of tonight’s evening meal and be the sole dessert for everyone,” Muriel explained as she strode about the great kitchen, her hands folded behind her apron strings. Rain had begun that morning and, as it was not letting up, Erik’s idea for boating was pushed to another day. Despite the necessity for another activity to fill their idle hours, the group of lords and ladies seemed quite unsure of this baking competition.
Erik stepped beside her. “And, to help you all get to know our party better, Miss Beau and I have divided the guests into partners.”
“I claim Miss Beau!” Lord Traneford called.
Muriel laughed along with the group. “I shall not be participating other than to demonstrate the task and answer your questions. But be aware that I will only answer three questions per team. After you use all three, you are on your own for the remainder of the game, so choose your questions wisely.”
“To see who is your partner, please see the list on the counter and find a baking station along the table. Miss Beau has already set out your ingredients,” Erik instructed.
Murmurs of excitement filled the kitchen as the guests split into their groups, Elena pausing to whisper to Muriel, “I’m paired with Lord Traneford … but I need to form a bond with Lord Sullivan—”
“Trust me. I know what I am about.” Muriel patted her arm. “Just be your most charming self with him and see what happens. I doubt you will be disappointed.”
Elena shrugged on an apron as Tess marched by. “Very well. I hope whatever you are planning is worth the effort of being my most charming self.”
Tess snorted and joined Lord Sullivan as Elena sent her a scowl.
Like Erik predicted, the lords and ladies found the task quite novel, and, as expected, Tess was all business while Lord Sullivan attempted to flirt with her. Muriel noticed Elena noticing, but Lord Traneford was keeping her well entertained. As she had hoped, Lord Traneford quite enjoyed Elena’s quick wit and charm. She wouldn’t be surprised if Elena decided to drop Sullivan in favor of a more devoted beau after seeing Sullivan blatantly flirt with Tess.
“Miss Beau, I find I have a question, and since I have no partner to assist me, I insist on having six questions,” Erik called from his station, flour already flecking his ivory waistcoat as he rolled up his linen sleeves.
“No fair!” Lord Traneford shouted, Elena giggling as his distraction caused his spoon to slip in the bowl and send a shower of flour up his nose.
Muriel joined Erik’s station, at once thrusting her hand before his mixture. “Consider this a hint. I wouldn’t add those eggs directly onto your freshly melted butter.”
“No?” He paused in the cracking of the shell, the egg white dripping onto the scarred wood table.
“The hot butter will cook the eggs, and you will be left with yellow flecks in your cake that are rubbery in nature.”
“That counts as a question,” Elena interjected.
“Huzzah!” Traneford seconded.
The rest of the afternoon passed quickly. While the cakes baked, the lords and ladies attempted to follow Muriel’s detailed instructions for making sugar flowers and icing, which led to even more laughter over their sad attempts to recreate Muriel’s simplest designs. Some were so distracted in making their sugar flowers that they forgot their cakes in the oven and overbaked them, while others underbaked them so much that when they went to flip their cooled creations, the cakes broke apart.
Lord Traneford crossed his arms over his chest, shaking his head over Elena’s attempts to salvage the ruined cake. “I must say, I have a newfound respect for bakers.” His eyes met Muriel’s for a moment before his attention returned to Elena.
Muriel’s cheeks tinted at his praise. She moved along the row of remaining bakers to Tess and Lord Sullivan, Lady Ingram and Widow Whelan, and Erik, whose cake was certainly the worst of the bunch. She giggled over the darlingness of Erik’s curl falling onto his flour-streaked forehead as he attempted to layer the cakes without waiting for them to cool properly.
“Miss Beau, the top cake appears to be gliding off the bottom one!” Erik cried, holding them together with both hands.
“I believe that is due to your missing a step. Never fear. If the cake itself tastes good, there is no reason it cannot yet win.” She scraped a piece of cake caught in the bottom of his tin and, sucking it off her finger, nodded. “Not too bad, sir. You are in the running yet.”
She moved toward Tess and Sullivan’s station and was astonished to find a nice little cake being iced by Tess.
“No need to tell us that we won because I know we did.” Lord Sullivan grinned, rubbing his hands together.
“Best not boast before she tastes it, Sullivan,” Tess grumbled and concentrated on a troubled area of the icing, attempting to cover it up with impressive chocolate curls.
Knowing it was best to leave Tess be when she was focusing on winning, Muriel approached Elena as Lord Traneford departed their station to fetch them refreshments from the table in the corner of the room that Erik had thoughtfully requested.
“I cannot believe it that not one, but two viscounts are vying for my hand, and I have you to thank for it. I hardly know which is more handsome.” Elena squealed, seizing Muriel’s hands. She pressed a kiss to Muriel’s cheek, drawing Tess’s and Vivienne’s wide-eyed alarm. “And I already have a thank-you planned that is worthy of your kindness.”
Oh dear.
It had been three days since the threat, and with Muriel safely seated at his breakfast table surrounded by guests whom he was beginning to consider friends, Erik allowed himself to relax over his last cup of coffee as the dishes were cleared away by the footmen.
“I believe it is time for the drawing, eh, Draycott?” Sir Alexander called out, the table cheering in anticipation of the day’s festivities.
“Fetch the bowl please, Cedric.” Erik nodded to the first footman, who departed and returned moments later with a crystal bowl containing the names of ladies on slips of paper. Each gentleman would draw the name of the lady who would join him for the curricle ride to the riverside picnic today. Erik reached into the bowl first, his fingers itching for the paper with Muriel’s name. He had instructed the staff to keep the slip of paper with her name in the ice box until the last possible moment in hopes that the chilled paper would find its way into his palm … but all the papers felt the same. He fought back a scowl. He unfolded the paper. “Miss Vivienne, it seems we are to be partners.” He inclined his head to her, even as his gaze flicked to Muriel, who was still enjoying a sticky bun.
Lord Sullivan drew next. “Ah, it seems my partner is the lovely Miss Beau.”
He watched as Elena’s ears burned. She kept her smile steady while Muriel choked on her bun, leaning into Tess’s patting her on the back. Erik did not know the viscount well, but when he saw Sullivan near Muriel yesterday, she seemed more than uncomfortable. He should have spoken up or rigged the drawing himself to ensure he had her name. Lord Traneford paired with Tess, who at once asked of his skill in driving, assuring him of her own. That left Elena and her mother without a gentleman free to escort them and having to join Sir Alexander and Lady Ingram in the barouche.
“Excuse me, my lord. We have another guest,” Trumbull called from the doorway, his shoulders stiff, as if warding off the uninvited person on the other side. “He says he is here at the behest of Miss Whelan.”
All cast curious glances at Miss Whelan, who merely grinned in expectation.
“Please, fetch him inside.” Erik rose along with the rest of the gentlemen in the party as the ladies eagerly craned their necks to see who would be joining them.
The butler gritted his teeth into the most pleasant expression he could apparently muster. “May I present Baron Deverell, Miss Whelan’s cousin.”
Erik’s jaw dropped, and if Muriel had been choking before, she was near death now, judging from the sounds of Tess’s whacking her on the back.
Baron Deverell strode into the room and bowed. “My lord, pardon my intrusion. I was coming to retrieve my cousin and aunt after your house party ended and made much better time than I had anticipated.”
“Yes, I’d say so, being days ahead of schedule.” Erik nodded to him, leaving his seat to offer Baron Deverell his hand. “If Miss Whelan is not keen to leave us just yet, did you make accommodations?”
“I’ve taken a room at the village inn but thought it would be offensive not to call to pay my respects.” Deverell smiled.
Erik motioned a footman forward to set another cup at the table. As much as he detested extending an invitation to the gentleman Muriel had once claimed to love, he was unwilling to ignore what polite society would dictate he do with so many eyes upon him. He cleared his throat. “Nonsense, Baron. You must stay on at the castle for the rest of the entertainment, including the ball tomorrow night.”