“Thank you.” Papa smiled, full of sincerity.
Sophie requiredno input at all to carry on a conversation. She chattered happily as the three women strolled to the bakery. Eliza was thrilled to allow her to prattle.
As they approached the bay windows that distinguished the bakery from the other shops on the mercantile street, they paused to appreciate the display window overfilled with a veritable rainbow of macarons—Emma’s addition to the Hudson’s menu. Vanilla, pistachio, and lemon were usually available, and sometimes more sought-after flavors—pineapple, orange, and peach—made an appearance, though they tended to disappear quickly. Chocolate was an ever-popular choice. Emma’s macarons also came in more improbable combinations that were always a delight.
The other window featured one of the few tables for those who preferred to see and be seen. Eliza stepped inside with her mother and sister and joined the always lengthy queue, the usual scent of fresh berries mingling with the buttery and vanilla sweetness of pastries.
Today, however, the scent was oddly weaker, less potent, less tempting.
Normally, this close to the counter, Eliza’s mouth would begin to water at the delectable promises before her. Instead, she knew only a bland numbness.
When they reached Emma behind the counter, she was her usual poised, elegant, and lovely self—seeming only slightly harassed today. Patrons loved the offerings and could be demanding. A few strands of strawberry hair threatened to escape her simple knot, and her cheeks were flushed.
“Oh, thank goodness, someone who won’t shout at me,” she whispered in greeting.
“Who is shouting at you?” Sophie asked.
“Who hasn’t? The cocoa shipment never arrived.”
Eliza winced in sympathy. The various chocolate options were crowd favorites.
“Do you by chance have a few raspberry tarts left?” Mama asked.
“Of course. Mama saw you come in and is already packing them up in back. She pulled them fresh from the oven for Michael.”
“Miss Lizzie, Miss Wayland,” a masculine voice called from behind them. “This is a pleasant surprise.” Eliza turned, startled to find Leo behind her. “Are you taking your treats with you?”
“Lord Bellemere! We thought to enjoy the hustle and bustle,” Sophie said.
“I do not suppose you have room for one more?”
“Of course,” she replied.
“What are you having? I’ll bring it over if you are able to claim a table,” he offered.
Sophie requested her usual fairy cake, and their mother requested her own raspberry tart. Eliza usually preferred to sample Emma’s newest creations. “I’ve not decided yet. I’ll help you carry them,” she said.
Emma smiled, but it seemed a little forced. The shop was even busier than usual that morning. “If you could, I do need you to order before a riot breaks out.”
Eliza laughed, too bright and too false, sparing a quick glance for the irritated patrons lined up to the door. “Whichever is your favorite today, please.”
Emma plated the requested pastries, then added a yellow macaron with purple filling. “Lavender and lemon,” she explained. “With a hint of white chocolate.”
“I thought you said the cocoa shipment was delayed.”
“We use less of the cocoa butter in white chocolate—there was enough left.”
Eliza hummed in a vague approximation of interest as Leo set a few shillings on the counter.
“Oh, Waylands do not pay here,” Emma said. “It would be passing money around unnecessarily.”
Leo leaned forward, then waited until Emma did the same. “I’m trying to show a pretty girl a nice time, Em,” he whispered. “Let me pay. Besides, Father would never forgive me.”
Emma giggled, a touch uncomfortable as her gaze shifted to Eliza for a response.
As far as Eliza was concerned, Leo was welcome to spend his money as he liked. But she rather thought Sophie would be unimpressed with the gesture. Frowning, she offered Emma a shrug.
Finally, Emma settled on, “If you insist,” as she handed over the plates. Eliza reached for one but was foiled when Leo stacked them between his fingers.
