Betty hesitated, choosing her words carefully. ‘Does it actually matter if my grandfather was once an earl? He chose love. He walked away from all that pomp and tradition because being with Beatrice meant more to him. Honestly, I still can’t getmy head around the sacrifices he made to be with her. It doesn’t sit right with me that they must have had an affair, but who am I to judge? They stayed together sixty years.’
‘That says a lot about the kind of man he was. A decent human being. Okay, it may have started when he was in another relationship, but can you imagine facing the Queen to tell her you were breaking it off with her daughter? That took courage and honour.’
‘I’d be petrified,’ said Betty. ‘What does it really change?’ she murmured. ‘Knowing it now? I’m still me. The café is still here. My life is exactly the same, except for the fact that I now know the truth.’
Clemmie studied her for a moment before softly saying, ‘Maybe it’s not about change. Maybe it’s about understanding.’
Betty nodded slightly. ‘Maybe.’
Clemmie took another sip of coffee before placing her cup down with a determined expression. ‘There’s something I need to tell you.’
Betty looked up, sensing the shift in her tone. ‘What is it?’
Clemmie glanced towards the window as if checking for unseen listeners. ‘After you left yesterday… Oliver turned up.’
Betty stilled, her hands folding in her lap. ‘Oliver?’
Clemmie nodded. ‘He was apologetic. Said he regretted writing that awful review. He explained why he did it, how he felt pressured, how he thought he was doing the right thing at the time.’
Betty’s expression remained unreadable. ‘And?’
‘I told him about the Earl.’
Betty’s eyes widened. ‘You did what?’
‘I know, it just seemed the right thing to do at the time.’ Clemmie sat forward, urgency in her voice. ‘He’s arranged a meeting with his grandmother. She has close connections withthe Royal Family. She might have heard things from the past, things that could help piece it all together.’
Betty rubbed a hand over her face, exhaling deeply. ‘Clemmie… I don’t think there is anything more to piece together. I think we know what happened.’
‘But do you not think this is an opportunity to find out more?’
There was a long pause before Betty asked, ‘What more could there be?’
‘There’s been something playing on my mind… Remember the number 1705? Maybe she could shed some light on it. It’s in the recipe book, sewn into Beatrice’s apron and etched into the wardrobe at Royalwood Cottage. I know the Earl and the chef had been there because their names were in the visitors’ book. It’s strange to now think I was standing somewhere my great-great-grandfather had visited.’ Clemmie hesitated. ‘Anyway, it could be a chance to finally make sense of it all. But if you’d rather me not go through with this, I’ll call it off.’
Betty considered it for a moment before shaking her head. ‘No. Go.’
‘Are you sure?’
Betty offered a small smile. ‘Yes. I’ll keep myself busy here.’
Clemmie smiled back, relieved. ‘I’d love for you to come with me.’
Betty shook her head, standing up. ‘I trust you. Besides, someone has to make sure the café doesn’t fall apart.’
Clemmie chuckled just as the front door swung open, the brass bell jingling overhead.
Amelia strode in, her face pale, her hands gripping a folded newspaper. Without a word, she dropped it onto the table in front of them.
Betty picked it up, smoothing out the front page. The bold headline screamed up at them all.
SCANDAL AT THE ROYAL BAKING COMPETITION
Clemmie felt a sudden churn in her stomach as her grandmother read aloud, ‘“It appears the winning contestant, Clemmie Rose, may not have submitted a recipe that was dear to her own heritage.”’
Clemmie’s eyes widened. ‘I don’t believe this.’
Betty continued, her voice growing sharp. ‘The article states that it was brought to light at the royal garden party that the torte you baked in the competition had been sampled by the royal household previously and has been baked in the royal kitchens dating back to the First World War.’
