Page 76 of A Foolish Flirtation

The wedding had been next, a rainy day in June, then had been the honeymoon in Italy. What a wretched business that had been. It did not bear thinking about. No, he was pretty sure that the last time he had seen Emmeline, until that fateful morning in Bath, had been the Hawfords’ ball. An event he had now promised never to mention again.

It seemed they were not to clear the air or even get things straight about what had happened between them during that strange period of his life when Jeremy had genuinely fallen in love for the first and only time. Of course, he had not realized that was what had happened, not until later. Not until Italy, in fact, when he had wandered into Saint Peter’s Basilica and felt an almost crushing sense of loss.

That night he had got disgustingly drunk and said rather a few things to his new bride that should have been left unspoken. Ah well, Amanda had come right back at him with a few unpalatable truths of her own. They had more than likely deserved one another by that point.

“Milord!” It was Masterman, hailing him and dragging him from his thoughts. “You’re just in time. We’re about to start exercising them now in the long paddock.”

Jeremy spent a productive morning at the stables, catching up on the progress of his current prospects. At midday he headed back up to the house to wash and brush up for luncheon. Colfax and Higgins were carrying a large box between them into the blue salon.

“If that’s books,” Jeremy said, one foot on the bottom step of the staircase, “carry them straight through to the library.”

“This one’s cake, milord,” Higgins said, looking around.

“Cake?” Jeremy repeated blankly, glancing at the large box.

“Wedding cake, milord.”

“Ah. Really?” He somehow had not realized it would follow them home.

“There were several packing cases of books, milord,” Colfax added as they paused in the doorway. “We haven’t brought them through yet. Also, a load of dresses have arrived from that fancy modiste in Bath.”

Jeremy’s expression brightened. “Excellent. Everything seems to have turned up at once.”

“Yes, including those two wagonfuls of furniture from Winkworth Street.”

Jeremy’s face fell. “Oh, that. Is there some kind of outhouse we could store it in?” he asked. “Until she decides where she’s going to put it.”

Colfax cleared his throat. “Miss Pinson did mention that Lady Faris intends to make a present of some of it to her. For her cottage.”

“Ah, capital idea!” Jeremy approved. “Can we have it directed straight there? Anything that does not fit can always come back here for storage.”

Colfax gave a small bow and he and Higgins shuffled off with the huge box of cake. Jeremy ran up the stairs, washed and changed and descended again, wondering where he would find everyone for lunch.

After glancing in a couple of likely rooms, he found his wife, Miss Pinson, and Teddy sat in the blue salon, surrounded by piles of small white boxes decorated with silver writing and ribbon. He made straight for Emmeline, kissing her cheek and asking, “What is all this?”

“Cake,” she answered promptly. “Only look at these cunning little boxes. They cut up our wedding cake and sectioned it into perfect squares to be mailed out to well-wishers. Isn’t it clever?”

He felt instantly relieved the monstrous fruit cake was already portioned and packaged up. “Just how many pieces are there?” he asked with some misgiving.

She consulted an invoice that lay in her lap. “Three hundred and fifty.”

“Good lord.”

“Three hundred and forty-nine,” Teddy corrected her through a mouthful of plum cake.

“We are about to have lunch, Teddy,” Jeremy reproved him.

“Pinky is helping me to compile a list of people to receive cake,” Emmeline said bravely, “but we only have eight people so far.”

“Let’s hear it,” Jeremy said, dropping down onto the sofa opposite them.

“Mr. Thomas Hardiman and Mrs. Hardiman, you may remember, he was my father’s most senior clerk. I have their home address for they always send me a card at Christmas.” Jeremy nodded. “Then we thought, perhaps we would send Florrie, our landlady’s maid from Winkworth Street, a piece. Miss Florence Pye.”

“That makes three,” Jeremy said, ticking them off on his fingers.

“None for the neighbors upstairs though,” Teddy said darkly. “The soap stealers.”

“Soap stealers?” Jeremy repeated.