Alexandra

Chapter Seventeen

SMALL LEMON CAKES

Take half a pint of milk and heat to boiling then pour over a like amount of bread crumbs and leave until heat has abated. Melt 8 spoons of butter and to this add grated rind of lemons, a fair measure of sugar and three eggs well beaten. Mix all together and pour into buttered cake-cups and bake until browned.

Medicine for the heart. These cakes will brighten the most melancholy of days.
—Belinda, Marchioness of Cainewood, 1811

Tristan's assessment of the drainage problem had proved in concert with Griffin's, and they were both relieved to find the foundry had saved the molds. If all went to plan, the pump would be installed by Thursday, and Tristan would be well gone before the first guests arrived for Friday evening's ball.

They rode home in high spirits, despite the gloomy gray skies. For once, everything seemed to be going right.

But no sooner had they passed beneath the barbican than Cainewood's big double doors opened to reveal an agitated Boniface, hailing them as he hurried across the quadrangle. "You've a caller, my lord. Lady Rachael Chase."

Griffin swung down from his mount. "She must have come to see my sisters. Have they not returned yet?"

"No, my lord, they've not. But she asked to see you. Something about an unanswered letter?" The stern frown didn't sit quite right on the butler's pretty face. "She's been waiting for well over an hour."

As Boniface returned to his post, Griffin swore under his breath. Tristan dismounted and followed him toward the doors. "You must have received Lady Rachael's letter a week ago or more. Did you never reply?"

"I wanted to make certain my solution would work before I explained it."

Tristan had to take the steps two at a time in order to keep up. "So you simply ignored her?"

"Her brother, the true owner of the affected land, is currently away in Lon—" Griffin stopped short as they stepped inside. "Good afternoon, my lady."

"Lord Cainewood?" Perched on one of the entrance hall's carved walnut chairs, Lady Rachael peered at Griffin with her mouth open in a little "o" of surprise, as though he were quite different from what she'd expected.

Or much better.

Intrigued, Tristan turned to peer at Griffin, too—attempting to appraise him from the female perspective. His dark-haired, green-eyed friend had never wanted for admirers, he recalled. And the fellow had grown a few inches and honed some muscles during his time in the military. Still, Tristan couldn't see what the girl found so shocking.

At last Rachael closed her mouth, then rose abruptly to her feet. "I trust you received my letter?" She licked her lower lip.

"I did, indeed." Griffin blinked at her, staring rather indecently himself. His reaction was no mystery. Though Lady Rachael wasn't Tristan's type, she was stunningly...well...

He'd never say it aloud, but the only word he could think of for her was sultry.

"Did Boniface not fetch you refreshment?" Griffin asked. He gave an elaborate sigh, as though the butler's neglect of their visitor far outweighed his own. "It's so difficult to get good help these days. Don't you agree, Tristan?"

"Mr. Nesbitt." Lady Rachael nodded graciously, though her eyes remained on Griffin. "It's a pleasure to see you again."

Tristan executed a small bow, hiding his amusement. "The pleasure is mine, my lady."