Snowflakes and Scandals

Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Beatrice never felt so humiliated in her life. She liked Noel Forrest. No, she more than liked him. She’d allowed him into her heart because he’d been interested and interesting, and had honey-gold eyes and he could kiss her hand while looking at her with those eyes.

He could have asked her for nearly anything in those moments, and she’d likely say yes to whatever it was. Because, for some reason, she trusted him.

Only to learn that he had another woman he’d loved for years, and that Beatrice was little more than a dalliance, a way to rekindle the man’s heat before he returned to the one he truly wanted.

And then he had to go and play a trick like that, asking for her by name. As if she were nothing more than a thing to be bought and sold. A flavor .

Ivy poked her head in the doorway. “Excuse me, miss, but there’s a gentleman to see you.”

“I’m not speaking to Mr Forrest!”

“Oh, I don’t think he’s back from his journey yet. It’s a different gentleman. He gives his name as Mr Darby and requests a few minutes of your time.”

“Very well.” Bea walked toward the door, but was stopped by Ivy, who made her change into a fresh apron, and then tided her hair.

“Much better,” Ivy whispered. “Go.”

Beatrice stepped through to the front of the shop, where a gray-haired man in black was standing in front of the case of pastries with the expression of one who has glimpsed heaven.

“Mr Darby, you asked for me?”

He turned and gave a polite bow. “Are thee Miss Holliday?”

“I am, sir.” She didn’t recognize the gentleman, but from his speech he was obviously a Quaker. “How may I help you today?”

“We have heard that thy business opted to avoid both sugar from the Indies and fruit from plantations.”

Beatrice took a steadying breath, not sure what was coming. “That is true, sir. I recently decided that I could not countenance supporting an institution I find immoral.”

He smiled at her, nodding. “I am glad to hear thee confirm it. I am on the committee of the Pennsylvania Society for Promoting the Abolition of Slavery. Our goal is to end the practice, and we hope to do this not just by electing leaders who will advocate for a change in law, but also by lessening the power of slaveowners by avoiding the products they sell through the efforts of the enslaved. The committee hopes thee will speak at an event we are holding soon, to help convince others that it is possible to thrive as a business while still following moral principles given by God.”

“I have only recently made the change,” Beatrice warned. “So I am not sure you wish to hold me up as any sort of authority. My morals are not perfect in any way. And I know my prices will increase, especially due to using more honey and less sugar. I may yet suffer if I cannot convince customers that the cost is worth it.”

“Allow us to temper thy fears.” He proceeded to place an order so large that Beatrice wouldn’t need to bake a thing until the last week in January.

“I marvel that you can afford this, sir.”

“We came to the New World to do good,” he acknowledged, “and in the course of that work, some of us have done very well. And it is a season of joy, is it not? Thy confections will bring joy to many.”

“I do hope so, sir.”

After the gentleman left, Bea tried to take heart. If she truly could prosper by cooking and baking with ingredients that didn’t use slave labor, she could continue to work in the city. As indeed she would have to, since it didn’t seem like she’d ever find love, let alone a man she’d trust enough to marry, giving him control over her whole life.

In the kitchen, she poked angrily at a bag of flour. She couldn’t bake anything in such a foul mood. Her emotions would surely sour the final product.

Ivy poked her head into the kitchen. “There’s no customers at the moment, so I could help out back here. Did you want to make the caramel this afternoon, miss?”

“No,” Beatrice muttered. She glared at the sugar on the counter. She still had plenty of sugar from her old suppliers. The slave sugar. It was stupid to waste the ingredient, but how was she supposed to make anything delicious with it when she knew how it was harvested?

And if Noel hadn’t asked her to cater his silly party, she never would have heard from Emmanuel and Ivy and Noel about the practice. She could have remained blissfully ignorant.

“Miss?” Ivy asked, concern in her dark brown eyes. “Is something wrong?”

“No.” Bea sighed. “I’m tired, is all. You stay out front and tend the counter. I’ll be all right.”

“Why not nip upstairs and take a nap?” her assistant suggested. “You don’t have to make any of your special treats for Mr Forrest anyway, since he’s traveling.”

“Thank you for the reminder,” Bea muttered.

The bell on the door jingled, forestalling any more heartfelt meddling.

It was Mr Marley, of course. He couldn’t seem to stay away from Ivy. At least someone had a loyal admirer.

Moments later, Ivy showed her face again. “Mr Marley has word from his employer. The item he requested from you…he wants to know if it can be ready on Christmas Eve.”

Bea shrugged. “Why not.”

Ivy gave her a strange look, but left the kitchen.

Beatrice managed to complete some of the most basic tasks she needed to do, but she was still so angry at Noel, it was hard to concentrate. If only she could tell him how she really felt.

Beatrice was about to walk into the front part of the shop when she heard Emmanuel Marley’s voice. He was still there! She stopped short, loath to interrupt what she guessed was a very personal conversation between him and Ivy.

“I hope to buy a plot of land in the Northern Liberties,” Marley was saying, almost bashfully. “I’ve saved as much as I could from my earnings since Mr Forrest hired me, and I believe that within a few years, I could afford the payment.”

“I have faith that you will achieve your aim, Mr Marley.”

“You look a little upset, Miss Shepherd. Do you not approve?”

“What? Oh, no! It’s a very wise investment. I was only thinking of my own dream, which is likely to stay a dream only.”

“What is your dream?”

Ivy raised her chin. “I want to open a bakery.”

“Like Miss Holliday’s?” he asked. “Why should you not? This is an ideal apprenticeship.”

“I’m learning a lot,” she agreed. “But I don’t want to sell fancy sweets. I love them, but what I really want to do is bake and sell bread . Excellent, healthy bread that people will want every day, and can afford to eat every day.”

“You wish to give people their daily bread,” he summarized with a smile. “Straight from the scriptures, Miss Shepherd.”

Ivy laughed. “Well, my father is a preacher.”

“Do you think I can ask him about marrying you yet?”

“Let’s wait till the new year,” Ivy said quickly. “I know my parents will love you, but everything is so hectic now. They will be more open to discussing my future when they’re warm by the fire at home. But I hope that by this time next year we’ll be thinking about our wedding!”

“And your bakery,” he added. “Wherever we live, it must accommodate a kitchen you can bake in.”

“Excuse me while I float off into your kingdom of dreams!” Ivy said, laughing. “We must be practical about all this.”

“I am being practical,” he returned. “People without dreams never go anywhere.”

Bea stepped back at that point, unwilling to eavesdrop any more. She knew Ivy was very fond of Emmanuel, and naturally the girl would not be her assistant forever. But to lose her so soon! And to Noel’s secretary, of all people!

Ever since Noel Forrester came into her life, Bea couldn’t trust anything to stay the same. Noel wreaked havoc with her heart and her body, then waltzed off to visit an old flame the moment her food made him well enough to do so. And his assistant stole her own assistant within a matter of weeks, and now Bea would be forced to work and live alone again.

And people wondered why she was bitter.

On her own in the kitchen, she suddenly stifled a laugh as a wild notion occurred to her. That’s it , she thought.

She’d make his damned cake. She’d deliver it personally. And she’d watch when he found out exactly what he asked for.

When she finished on Saturday, she had a small three-layer lemon cake with a thick sunshine-yellow fondant all round. It was gorgeous to behold, and would taste absolutely horrible.

“He can just try to have his cake and eat it too,” she muttered, anticipating her vengeance.