Tempest in a Teapot, page 20
Charlotte smiled. “I’m glad he’s finally recognized your hard work.”
“Apparently Bertram is not taking well to his exile in the countryside, but it is better than him remaining in jail. Still a bit harsh I think, but when it's finally over, I’m sure we can all agree it was nothing but a tempest in a teapot," Charlotte couldn't agree, thinking how Bertram deserved to rot away in a cold dark cell. And yet for all the trouble he'd caused, he'd really only ended up hurting his own business interests. The stolen treasures were quietly returned, and Martin's father had managed to keep the scandal out of the public eye, so even the family's reputation hadn't suffered. Perhaps Martin was right after all.
"And that reminds me, the paperwork on Hawke has gone through. Mary is now the official owner.”
Her heart leaped. Twilight at Hallow Manor continued to grow in popularity. Now Mary could grow Hawke too.
“Oh, but I did promise to not talk business while we’re here. We’ll save Hawke for when we return home.” He gave her an apologetic smile and shoved the mail aside.
The kettle whistled. “Have a seat. I have a surprise for you for our afternoon tea.” She dashed back off to the kitchen. It took her a moment to find the right tea. She’d made sure to slip it into his pile of tins for just such an occasion.
She met him out on the deck with the tea tray. The deck had become a favorite spot for both of them since arriving the day before. The early October weather made the air too cold for her to want to dip her toes into the sea, but walking up and down the beach proved peaceful.
“Are you enjoying the cottage?” he asked as she set the tray down on the little table between them.
“Yes. We should come back here in the spring when the weather warms.”
“Would you like me to buy it? Then you can come as often as you please. You could use it as a writing retreat.” He started to stand up, and she set a hand on his arm, unable to fight her amused smile. “No business talk, remember?”
“Right, sorry. Not another word until we’re home,” he promised. “Once Bertram returns, I will show you the family’s country retreat.” His smile fell, the side of his mouth twitching.
“No more Bertram talk either. It makes you sad. We are here to be happy.” She scooped out a slice of the tart and set the plate in front of him. “An orange chocolate bakewell tart. The tea will be ready soon.” She scooped her own serving.
Martin took a bite, making a small pleased moan as he ate. “I could eat your baking every day, but you don’t need to work so hard when we are here to relax.”
“I thought it would help me think. Mary loved my meat pie recipe, but agrees that I need to write something that won’t be compared to The String of Pearls.”
“Then why not write about something else you know? Like The Great Exhibition. Or tea.” He scooped up a large bite of tart
“Hmm.” The short mystery they’d followed had been exciting. “A mystery penny blood, then. I’ll have to find a way to work my recipe in.” That’d been her favorite part about her last story. She poured the tea, mulling over her experience chasing down Bertram’s trail. A detective story. Or maybe a rivalry between businesses. No, no, an evil, scheming cousin. The tension would be great for a penny blood serial.
“This tart would pair perfectly with Charlotte’s tea.”
“That is precisely what I originally had in mind, but I made you something else instead.”
Intrigued, Martin sniffed at his tea. “A black tea.” He took a small sip, his eyebrows rising. “Is this Golden Monkey?”
“Yes. You once told me what it is good for, and I thought it would be perfect for this evening.” After all, there was nowhere they needed to be tomorrow. No reason to rush out of bed in the morning like the day after their wedding to make it to the seaside.
“Oh Lottie,” he purred. He caressed the side of her jaw with his thumb. “That is a hint I understand.”
Epilogue
Dear Mary,
Now that you know the story behind my inspiration for Charlotte’s Tart, here is the recipe you wanted. Don’t forget to drink it alongside Charlotte’s Tea! Martin can’t get enough of this pairing.
Frangipane:
1 cup orange marmalade
6 tablespoons unsalted butter
1/2 cup sugar
3/4 cup almond flour
2 tablespoons flour
1 large egg
1 large egg white
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
2 teaspoon almond extract
Pinch of salt
Chocolate Ganache:
1/2 cup heavy whipping cream
1 bar semi-sweet baker’s chocolate
Instructions:
Line a tart pan with pastry dough. Blind bake the crust at 350 degrees for 10 minutes. Use pie weights to keep the crust from bubbling.
To make the frangipane layer, beat together the butter, sugar, and salt until fluffy. Stir in the flours, whole egg, egg white, and extracts.
Once the crust has cooled, spread an even layer of your favorite orange marmalade across the tart. Spoon the almond mixture over the marmalade, spreading it to the edges of the tart. Bake for another 25 minutes.
Once the tart has baked, make the chocolate ganache by pouring simmering cream over the chocolate. You can break the chocolate into small pieces to help it melt. Top the tart with the ganache. For decoration you can top the tart with candied orange slices before serving.
The End
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Read the Leaves Sneak Peek
Not for the first time in her life Mary wished she wasn’t the responsible older sister. Then she could sneak right out of Roquefort’s party just like she was certain Margaret already had. By now Margaret was probably exploring the grounds instead of gossiping. Or she’d managed to corner Elizabeth somewhere to pick another fight with her.
Mary didn’t find the party boring per se, but watching her papa pretend everything was normal with Hawke House was far too painful. She couldn’t stand to let him out of her sight lest something happen while she was gone. Being the responsible one meant it was up to her to save him when he found himself in a tight spot.
“Erm, our new stories for next year?” her father answered the two men beside him. He couldn’t act to save his life and his sweating brow and distracted mind would raise questions sooner rather than later. They wouldn’t be able to delay the news of their dire situation from getting out much longer.
“Papa, have you seen Margaret?” Mary asked as she slid up beside him, giving him a look of wide-eyed worry. “I meant to take her a cookie and she has already slipped away.” This was the third time she’d stepped in to save him, and her excuses were getting progressively lazier. Soon she’d have to make up some sort of cataclysm to get him to leave altogether. Ever since her uncle ran off with Hawke’s money, they were floundering. They’d already cut back on new stories to save costs. Without more investors they wouldn’t stay afloat, but if word got out about what deep water Hawke House was in, it would be even harder to find support.
“Oh dear,” he said, relief in his eyes from her interruption. “Shall I to go look for her?”
“If it isn’t too much trouble. I’m worried.”
“You go visit with your friends. I’ll check on your sister.” He wished the men next to him farewell.
“Thank you, Papa.” She beamed at him. They split ways. She made her way across the room to the drinks, pausing to look about every few steps. As she’d already expected, there was no sign of Margaret. While their father struggled to hold the business together, Mary struggled to hold the family together. Margaret spent her nights sneaking out and refusing to say where she went. One of these days her trouble making would catch up to her.
She reached the table of drinks, ignoring the giggling women beside her when a man approached them for a dance. She didn’t bother to look up, knowing he wasn’t there for her. Only writers ever asked Mary for a dance as they tried to worm themselves into Hawke’s good graces. Her gaze jumped across the label on the wine bottles without reading them. She grabbed a small pastry and nibbled on it. It wasn’t as good as Clarke’s bakery pastries, but few were.
What she wouldn’t give for a night to forget the specter hanging over her family. Each day it looked less and less likely Hawke Publishing could survive, and once it failed so too would her family. They could lose their house next. If she was lucky another press would pick up Twilight at Hallow Manor, but that alone wouldn’t be enough to support her father and sister. Sometimes she considered begging Charlotte to do something, but she knew that wasn’t fair. Mr. Martin Steepe investing in Hawke would only be a short-term solution, another way to stall the inevitable. Plus Charlotte still had her hands full with Martin’s cousin trying to ruin their engagement.
She needed more ideas for her story, she thought as her gaze searched the crowd for inspiration. More material would help convince a new publisher to take the story on once she no longer had Hawke. She watched the flirtations between young couples. The glares between two of the maids. Off to her left Mr. Steepe’s talking teapot wouldn’t quit rambling. And its stories? Too dry and overly detailed, and with such dreadful pacing. Lu Yu may have been skilled with enchantments, but he clearly hadn’t been a writer.
She grabbed some wine and took it to an empty table against the wall. There she glowered at the dancers. She’d rather be out there dancing like Charlotte. But she didn’t know any of the gentlemen well enough to feel comfortable marching up to them and asking to dance like the Roquefort sisters liked to do. Maybe in a disguise, but not as herself. She was far too aware of her family’s reputation following her, now more than ever with Hawke House in trouble. Not that it ever stopped any of Margaret’s antics. But her parents had long given up on getting Margaret to behave.
“I wish someone would ask me to dance.” She sighed, and from her right a meow answered her complaint. She startled. Then looked down, finding a black cat sitting on the chair beside her, tail swishing as it watched her.
“Oh, um, hello there.”
The cat meowed again, it’s gaze tracking her silver bracelet. Her father had given it to her several years ago. After watching her mother’s charm bracelet grow over the years and hearing about Queen Victoria’s bracelet, Mary had wanted one for herself. Her father gave it to her with the bracelet’s first charm, a simple silver circle with her name engraved on it. Since then she’d added a quill, a book, and a hawk. She’d been considering adding something else to signify Twilight at Hallow Manor, but hadn’t found the right charm yet. As it turned out, the jewelry stores in the city didn’t find it worthwhile to stock vampire charms.
“Are you supposed to be in here?”
“Meow.” The cat batted at her bracelet. She jerked her arm away to avoid the claws.
“None of that,” she scolded. A cool breeze blew over her from the open doors nearby. A group of well-dressed magicians stood on the patio. One of them blew cigar smoke into the shape of a curvy woman while the others hooted and laughed. She rolled her eyes. What a waste of magic. “Did you wander in from outside?”
“Meow.”
“Is that so?” she said, taking the meow as an affirmative. She sipped at her drink, wondering what to do about the furry visitor. The cat looked clean and well fed. Was it Roquefort’s pet? “Do you live here?”
The cat didn’t answer this time. It watched her bracelet, body tense. She reached over to rub its head. The cat launched itself at her arm. She yelped in surprise and jerked away from the table, almost dropping her drink from the attack. The cat jumped down to hide beneath the table in a blur of black fur. A stinging in her arm made her wince. A pink scratch marred her arm, but at least it wasn’t deep enough to bleed. More importantly, her wrist was bare. Her heart jumped into her throat.
She patted the table top, her chair, and then looked under the table. Nothing. No, no, she couldn’t lose the bracelet. If the business failed, she already stood to lose far too much. She patted down her dress one more time, her hands growing more frantic by the second.
Movement out of the corner of her eye caught her attention as the cat crept out from under the table. The little devil headed toward the hallway, its prize dangling from its mouth. The charms swayed as the cat walked. “You little…” The cat’s head swiveled to glance back at her. She shot away from the table and the cat ran for it.
The cat darted between a man’s legs and she dodged around the man. “Excuse me, sorry,” Mary mumbled as she crept around a large group of women next. They paid her no mind as they continued gossiping.
“Lord Holiday dead, and so suddenly. How tragic for the family.”
“Doesn’t that mean the son will be looking for a wife now that he is lord?”
“We can only hope he’ll be in a hurry to get settled,” a woman in a green dress said.
Mary paused, searching for any sign of the cat. Then a black tail swished out from beneath a lavender dress.
The woman in the green dress continued. “I’ll send him an invitation to dinner. My Elizabeth would be a good match for him.” The cat’s tail swished again, harder this time. The woman squealed, jumping. She crashed into the woman to her right, sending her squealing too.
“Something touched my leg!” the woman cried.
The cat bounded away, making for the doorway. Mary followed it, unable to catch up, but she kept the creature in her sights.
“There’s nothing there,” another woman said from the group. “Is one of the magicians up to something? You can never trust them. I should have listened to my instincts and refused the invitation.”
Mary didn’t catch the rest of the conversation as she stepped into the hall. The cat meandered toward the back of the manor where the party goers faded away. It entered the last room at the end of the hallway, squeezing into the crack left by the partially opened door. Its hips caught and the cat wiggled. Just as Mary reached for the cat, thinking it stuck, it pulled itself free.
She peered inside. The library. A large fire in the hearth gave the room a warm glow. A few men sat in the armchairs placed in a half circle around the fireplace, discussing the latest horse races and their predictions for the next one. A half-empty bottle of brandy sat on the nearest table. Mary opened the door wider and slipped inside without the men noticing her. Her pulse picked up. She felt like a detective. Or a spy.
A black tail swished around a corner of a bookshelf and she padded after it deeper into the library. She rounded the corner just as the cat slipped between a set of shelves with no back and the wall. She bent down, finding the cat staring out at her, green eyes shining in the darkness. Her bracelet still dangled from its mouth. The creature looked far too pleased with itself.
“Please give that back.” Mary reached for her bracelet. The cat backed up another few steps, staying well out of her reach. She slid in as far between the wall and shelf as she could manage, but the cat was still a hand’s width out of reach. A shelf crushed her bosom, making it difficult to breathe in the tight space. The cat laid down as it watched her. “Come on.” She pressed against the bookshelf, but it was far too heavy for her to budge it.
The cat backed up, escaping through a gap between the books on the bottom shelf. With a mumbled curse she tried to slide out, but found herself stuck. The shelves assailed her hip next, digging into her skin.
“Oh dear,” she whispered. There was no way she was going to let herself be found this way. Her embarrassing situation would be gossip fodder for months. “Poor Mary Hawke,” they’d say. “Her father lost the business and now she’s gone funny.”
Another tug and the bookshelf dug deeper. Her skirts rattled several books on the shelf. She twisted this way and that until she finally freed herself, sending her stumbling forward as the shelf spat her out right into a man’s waiting arms.
Or rather not as waiting as she’d hoped. The man jerked back in surprise, but caught her by the arms, keeping her from falling on her face. As soon as he righted her, he let go. She paused, confusion falling over her as she stared at a man’s chest dressed in an impeccable tailcoat. She swallowed as she searched for her voice and gathered herself. “Sorry, sir. I didn’t see you there.”
The man was tall. His top hat only accentuated his height. Pale and dressed in all black with piercing green eyes, he looked almost exactly like Lord Hallow, the vampire from Twilight at Hallow Manor. His appearance sucked the breath right out of her. Although the man’s clothes were far more stylish than the outdated wardrobe of Lord Hallow, and his dark hair shorter, looking into his eyes was just like looking at the grisly character as depicted on the cover of her serial. Everything about this man screamed fashionable from his top hat right down to his gleaming boots. His black clothes highlighted the pink of his lips and the green of his eyes. If he’d been short, she might have suspected Margaret of playing a prank on her in disguise.
She pinched her arm to make sure she was awake. His image blurred from her watering eyes. He raised his eyebrows at her and she couldn’t help but to find the movement elegant. Everything about this man screamed elegant. Her bracelet dangled from his right hand, all the charms right where they belonged.
“My bracelet,” she blurted out. “The cat stole it.” She looked down but saw no sign of the troublemaker. “I’ve been looking for it, but the cat seems to have gotten away.”
“Miss Hawke,” he said, holding out her bracelet. A light accent tinged his words, but she couldn’t place it.
She gaped at him. “How do you know my name?” This had better not be one of Margret’s pranks. She would kill her. Margaret liked to tease her about Lord Hallow’s popularity, but enchanting a man to look like him was too much.
