Tempest in a Teapot, page 3
In unison they all reached for their cups. Then he began pouring, starting with Mary. Hot water poured into her cup, steam wafting off it. Mary frowned in confusion. Just as she opened her mouth to protest the water darkened and the citrus tang of an Earl Grey wafted off her cup. Her eyes widened in surprise. The butler moved on to Margaret, making his way around the table to end with Charlotte. She watched in wonder as the water in her cup darkened. She breathed in the smoky scent of Lapsang Souchong, the smell comforting her and reminding her of nights gathered around the fireplace with her family.
“Excuse me,” Elizabeth said, making a face at her tea. “But mine is nothing but hot water.”
The butler leaned over to peer into her cup. A few seconds later the cup remained nothing but hot water. “Ah, yes. You must prefer coffee.”
Elizabeth’s head lifted toward him in surprise. “I do.”
“How unfortunate,” he said as he reached for the pot of coffee sitting behind the teapot and poured her a mug of it.
Elizabeth spluttered in indignation, unable to get any words out before he walked away. “How rude!” she finally huffed.
“Did we all get a different tea?” Mary sniffed at Charlotte’s cup, her nose wrinkling. “Margaret, what did you get?”
“I don’t have any inkling.” Margaret took a sip, her face lighting up. “But it tastes heavenly. I would ask you what you got, Elizabeth, except you didn’t get any tea. And at a tea party no less!”
Elizabeth sneered. “I don’t care what you think about my beverage choices.” She lifted her mug of coffee to her lips.
Mary ignored her and took another sip of her tea. “I detect a hint of hazelnut in mine. I like it.”
Charlotte’s eyes followed Mr. Steepe as he roved about the greenhouse.
Elizabeth pointed an accusing finger at Charlotte. “Stop staring at Mr. Steepe! You don’t have a chance with this family. Everyone knows they are trying to marry into nobility.”
"If they go for a noble’s daughter, I’m certain they will go higher than the daughter of a baron who is up to his eyeballs in gambling debts.” Margaret smiled at a magician’s daughter who wandered past the table as though she weren’t in the middle of hurling insults across the table.
Elizabeth’s face reddened. She lowered her mug, her gaze catching on the tray of food. Then she dumped her coffee all over the top tray. The liquid trickled over the side and onto the sandwiches below. “Oops, how clumsy of me.” She lifted a hand to her heart, her mouth twitching as she suppressed her smile.
Mary gasped. Margaret pulled the bottom tray of pastries away from the stand before the coffee dripping over the sides of the top tray could reach it. “You ruined our food!”
The women at the next table over turned to stare. Charlotte squeezed her teacup. This was not how she wanted the party to go. Heat creeped up her neck as the women continued to watch their drama play out. This felt too much like the Hammond Luncheon, but without all the laughter aimed her way.
“Good day to you all.” Elizabeth stood, sticking her nose high in the air, and headed for the table of magicians. When one saw her coming, she tossed her shawl onto the free chair. Elizabeth made a sharp right turn and headed out of the garden. Their audience turned back to their food and drinks.
Mary patted Charlotte’s hand. “Don’t mind what she said. She always has a sharp tongue. She gets into arguments at every party she attends.”
“I wish she wouldn’t have ruined our food,” Margaret said.
“We can ask a maid or the butler for more.” Mary twisted this way and that, trying to find an available maid. The butler was busy refilling teacups and Laoise and the other maid were running this way and that taking care of requests for the first two tables.
“I-I’ll be back.” Charlotte shot out of her chair. She headed around the large fountain, just out of sight of the tables thanks to the large bushes blocking the view. She took several deep breaths to calm herself. There were no dogs, she reminded herself. She could survive a mere tea party, even if it was outside in February. The heat of the bakery’s kitchen would feel that much better when she returned home.
“You’d better not be hiding,” a voice hissed, making her jump. Laoise.
“It got scary. I needed to escape.”
“Scary? It’s a tea party.”
“A tea party full of women ready to tear each other apart for a piece of Mr. Steepe.”
“Find your confidence. Or fake it, but I can’t let you hide here when I got you an invitation. I might not be able to get you another. Don’t waste this one.”
She was right and Charlotte didn’t want to let her down. “How about this?” She wiped the terror off her face and threw her shoulders back.
“Your eyes are too wide, but close enough. Remember you are beautiful and make the best bread in the whole city. Anyone who doesn’t see how great you are is a fool. Now go!” Laoise pushed her back toward the tables. A noble rang for a maid and Laoise rushed off, leaving Charlotte wishing she’d thought to ask for fresh food. If she was going to fake confidence and stay, she’d rather do it on a full stomach.
Confidence, she reminded herself as she strolled up to the kitchen. It wasn’t far, but when she reached it she found it a whirlwind of chaos. The heat of the kitchen hit her like a wall, reminding her of the bakery. This was the kind of heat that made the winter cold harder to bear, but it kept the inside of the bakery cozy. A haze of steam and smoke hung in the air. No maid stopped long enough for her to get a word out as they rushed all about with trays and dishes. Someone shouted for more hot water. She spotted a maid rushing past with a tray of dirty teacups.
“Exc—” Charlotte stopped as the maid continued past, not sparing her a single glance. The maid set the tray down on a counter piled with dishes. Down the counter the butler stood with his back to her, pouring hot water into the teapot that had been used earlier to pour their tea. He murmured under his breath and she assumed he was speaking to the runes. She waited a minute until he stopped, squinting through the hazy air at him.
“Um, excuse me, but our food got coffee spilled on it. Can we get a new sandwich platter?” The heavenly smells of the kitchen made her stomach ache with hunger. Garlic and sage danced through the air. “The food looked good, but I don’t want to be a bother if there is nothing left.” Off by the stove something sizzled, the scent of beef joining the spices.
“Of course, miss. Which table?” He looked over his shoulder at her.
“The one closest to the side entrance to the garden, please.”
“I’ll have some sent out immediately.”
“Thank you very much. Excellent tea today,” she added, feeling like she should say more in thanks. A maid rushed by with the tea cart, missing Charlotte’s foot by a hand width. She backed out of the kitchen before someone else tried to run her foot over. Despite the danger, she’d done it. Maybe Laoise was right, a little more confidence went a long way. She stepped onto the main garden path leading back to the tables and found Mr. Steepe coming her way. She put on a smile, heart hammering in her chest.
“Mr. Steepe, lovely party.”
“My aunt spares no expense for her son,” he said, giving her his charming smile,
“Her son?” Her thoughts sputtered as she tried to make sense of the connection. “That is to say...not you?”
“Oh no, that would be my cousin, Martin. I’m Bertram Steepe. I know it can get confusing when everyone calls us both Mr. Steepe. People mix us up all the time.”
The handsome cousin. The one Laoise had far too many stories about. She really should have tried to remember more details from those stories. If this Mr. Steepe was the handsome cousin everyone wanted, then who was the Mr. Steepe looking for a bride?
He looked past her at the house. “I’m off to find him actually. Sometimes he gets caught up discussing magic with his butler.” A frown tugged on his lips.
“I don’t want to keep you then.” She smiled through her disappointment. She made for her table, telling herself it should have been obvious the handsomest man in Great Britain didn’t need a party to find a bride. A man like him would have plenty of choices.
“More food will be here soon,” she informed Mary and Margaret. Margaret snacked on one of the pastries she managed to save from Elizabeth’s wrath.
“Thank goodness,” Margaret said. She stared sullenly at the table of nobles. “Two of the women over there have already asked for at least three different cups of tea, unable to be satisfied with anything. The maids can’t escape.”
Laoise looked harried with hair beginning to fall from her bun as she set a fresh pot of tea onto the nobles’ table. One of the women snapped her fingers as if Laoise was a dog and it made Charlotte wish someone would spit in her drink. A minute later a maid appeared with a new tray of food. Margaret clapped her hands in delight at the sight, wasting no time on digging in.
“I want one of every flavor of cheese and sandwich,” she announced as she piled little sandwich triangles onto her plate. I’ve heard their cook is amazing.”
“There he is!” Mary said, fanning herself. Margaret continued digging into the food.
“Presenting Mr. Martin Steepe,” the butler called out.
Charlotte turned. Her stomach dropped, and she pressed a hand to her mouth to suppress the embarrassment and horror threatening to boil over at the sight of the man. He wasn’t as tall as his cousin, but his suit was just as fine and stylish. Unlike in the kitchen, he wore his top hat this time. She hadn’t asked the butler for food. No, she’d asked Mr. Martin Steepe. Worse he was heading for their table. Her face burned. “I-I need to go.”
“Charlotte!” Mary called as Charlotte dashed away from the table, her shawl falling off in her haste.
A few steps later she realized she’d lost the shawl. No, not her shawl, it was her mother’s. Her favorite one too. Guilt assailed her at the thought of returning without it. She turned and marched back to the table, hesitating when she saw Martin was already there. What must he think of her mistaking him for the butler? There was no good way to talk herself out of the situation. This could become worse than the Hammond Luncheon.
“I hope the food is satisfactory ladies,” he said to Mary and Margaret.
Mary giggled. “It is perfect, Mr. Steepe.”
He smiled, looking as though he didn’t fully hear her as his gaze roved over their empty teacups. “Whose cup is that?” he asked, pointing to Charlotte’s.
“It’s hers,” Margaret said as Charlotte grabbed her shawl off her chair.
“Wonderful party,” Charlotte said, her stomach clenching from nerves. “But I should be going. Good day.” She stepped back, turning to rush off and drown her woes in freshly baked bread at home.
“Wait!” Martin called, stepping around the table to intercept her.
“This is your cup, isn’t it?” He snatched it off the table and held it up, inspecting the empty cup. Good heavens had she ruined the cup or something? Charlotte's mind swam as there seemed to be no end to her embarassment. He set the cup down, his eyes wild as he leaned toward her. Her vision tunneled until she saw nothing but his face. Her palms sweat and her heart roared in her ears.
She realized he was talking, but she didn’t catch a single word. He had to be mad about being mistaken for his butler. What man wouldn’t be? He stared at her, waiting for a reply, eagerness in his expression. Mary and Margaret watched them, eyes wide as teacup saucers.
“Yes, I’m so sorry,” she blurted out.
He smiled, and she nodded, repeating herself, mortified of what he must think of her mistake.
“Marvelous! Please come with me.” He went back to the tea cart, ringing the bell on it. The loud ring from the little silver bell quieted everyone down. Confused faces turned their way, Martin’s mother and Bertram included. “Everyone, please allow me to introduce my new fiancée.”
One woman choked on her drink, coughing as tea sloshed out of her cup and all over her table.
“Her?” another called in disgust from the table of nobility.
Charlotte froze, refusing to believe she’d heard him correctly. She searched for a way out. All the stares made her feel faint. Ah-ha! That was it exactly, just like that one penny blood she read last month where the woman fainted at the announcement of her beau’s elopement to another woman.
And so Charlotte fainted to the tune of gasps, all too happy to put the uncomfortable stares out of sight.
Chapter 3
Or at least she tried to faint. Seeing as how she’d never fainted before, she could do nothing but put on her best performance and hope it worked. She pressed one hand to her forehead and moaned as she went down, mimicking the actress in the last play she saw. She lowered herself to the ground, first falling to her knees and then flopping over, afraid her dress would catch on the nearby bushes if she fell the wrong direction.
“Marty!” Mr. Steepe’s mother cried out in horror. “Do something!”
“Did she really just faint?” someone asked. Murmurs answered.
“Too much excitement, the poor thing,” Mary said, sympathy filling the words.
Charlotte squeezed her eyes shut, fighting the urge to open them and see what was happening. Even without seeing she could feel all the eyes boring into her. The faint didn’t feel like enough to make them stop. If anything it’d made the attention worse.
“Perhaps you should take her inside?” Bless Mary, she was the angel Charlotte needed. Inside would be the perfect escape from the stares.
“Yes, Marty, take her inside,” his mother urged.
“If you think that would be best,” Mr. Steepe replied.
Charlotte bit her tongue to hold in her yelp as someone suddenly lifted her off the ground. Mr. Steepe she assumed, but she didn’t dare peek to find out. The light citrus note wafting from him reminded her of Earl Grey tea.
“Not you! Let the butler carry her,” his mother fretted. “You’ll over tax yourself.”
“Nonsense, I haven’t been sick in years. I can handle carrying her inside.” He readjusted his grip, and it sent her stomach plummeting. She silently begged him to not drop her. He started walking and the bouncing made her stomach swoop. It would be a new record of family scandal disgracing herself with the Steepe family. She’d eclipse her uncle who fell in love with an actress who, unbeknownst to him, was already pregnant with another man’s child. She could write her downfall into a penny blood and let everyone laugh at her misfortune. In the novel version, he’d definitely drop her. Right into the fountain.
He laid her down on a chaise lounge with gentle care. Except her arm dangled over one edge, the uncomfortable position threatening to put her arm to sleep.
“Should we call a doctor?” he asked, concern ringing clear in his voice. “I do hope she didn’t hit her head.”
A doctor would know she was faking it. There’d no graceful way to admit the truth, but how to get out of this in a way that wasn’t suspicious? Would anyone think to pull out smelling salts first?
“Maybe you ought to try tickling her, Mr. Steepe.” Laoise. Damn her, Charlotte would kill her when all this was over. Laoise coughed, hiding a laugh.
“Is … is that what you are supposed to do when a lady faints?”
“Easier than getting a doctor.”
Heels tapped across the floor and Laoise went silent. “Has she not woken yet? Perhaps we should send for our doctor. Who is she, Marty?”
“She is my fiancée.”
A long, withering sigh came from his mother. “I meant her name. What is her name?”
“Oh, of course. She is Miss …” The silence stretched out. The muscle in Charlotte’s arm started to cramp. She gritted her teeth against the pain. “I’m afraid I forgot in my excitement.”
Had he asked? Charlotte couldn’t remember a word he’d said, and she doubted anyone would mistake “yes, I’m sorry” as a name.
“But she was the only one who chose Lapsang Souchong and that my spell deemed a good match.”
His mother let out a sigh that somehow managed to be even longer than the first. “You’d better find out her name if you plan on explaining this to your father when he gets back from his business trip. I’m going to go see to our guests. Call for the doctor if she doesn’t wake soon. We’ll discuss this later. In private.” She left, the tapping of her heels fading away.
A choking noise came from Laoise followed by a hiccup.
“Don’t cry!” Mr. Steepe said, panic finally entering his voice. “I’m sure the lady will be fine … Oh dear, if she isn’t do you think she’ll call off the engagement?”
Laoise wheezed in response.
A new tapping made its way across the floor, this one too quiet to be heels. A slimy tongue flicked across her chin and she squealed. She opened her eyes, finding a light brown dachshund staring back at her, his head cocked to the side. He went in for lick two, but she jerked up to get her face out of range.
“Oolong! No licking.” Martin picked up the dog, and it wiggled in excitement, giving Charlotte a look that made her think he would lick her again if given the chance.
“What is that?” Her voice came out shrill. She’d been so afraid of disgrace, she hadn’t realized the dachshunds weren’t finished with her.
“His name is Oolong.” Mr. Steepe held the dog out in front of him and Oolong wiggled again as he tried to throw himself onto Charlotte’s lap. Behind them Laoise’s shoulders shook as she pressed a hand to her mouth to keep her laughter quiet. “I’m glad you’re all right, miss.” He tried to bow, but Oolong got in the way, the dog’s head bumping into his chin. Mr. Steepe glanced around and spotted Laoise who stood by the wall. He shoved Oolong at her stomach, forcing her to take the dog. Oolong turned his tongue on her, catching her chin before she held him away.
“Martin Steepe at your service.” He managed an elegant bow this time.
