“Neither am I, and with any luck, Mother will be around for longer than the doctor predicts,” Fredrick said.
“I hope so.”
“Chin up, dear sister,” Fredrick encouraged. “Remember that today is a good day to be happy.”
Octavia sighed. “Mother has told me that she wants me to be happy, no matter what happens to her.”
“Then be happy, for Mother’s sake,” Fredrick said. “And stay away from Harred, for my sake.”
She laughed. “I will honor Mother’s request but not yours.”
“It was worth a try,” Fredrick said with a smirk.
Chapter Twelve
The late morning sun streamed through the windows, casting a warm, golden glow across Harred’s desk as he diligently reviewed the accounts. He had been working since the early hours of the morning and he was desperately in need of a break.
Mitchell had brought in his breakfast tray but it sat untouched on his desk. Perhaps he just needed to eat his breakfast before he continued his work.
His eyes strayed to Octavia’s painting that hung on the wall near his desk. It was the most prized painting that he owned because it would always remind him of Octavia.
A knock came at the door.
“Enter,” he ordered.
The door opened and Ruth stepped into the room with a plate of treats in her hand. “Good morning, Harred,” she greeted.
“Good morning,” he repeated.
She approached the desk and gave him a timid smile. “I made some Shrewsbury cakes and I was wondering if you would like one.”
“You made them?” he questioned.
Ruth nodded. “I enjoy cooking, much to my father’s chagrin. I love nothing more than creating new recipes with our cook. I would spend hours toiling in the kitchen every day.”
Knowing it would be rude to refuse her offering, he rose from his seat. “Then I must try one, especially since you made it yourself.”
She extended him the plate and said, “I hope you enjoy it.”
As he took a bite of the Shrewsbury cake, he immediately noticed how dry and flaky it was. He chewed it slowly, hoping his face didn’t show his displeasure. It tasted bland but he didn’t dare tell her how awful they were.
He swallowed the dry cake and he found himself coughing.
Ruth put down the plate and walked over to the drink cart. “Would you care for something to drink?” she asked as she picked up the decanter.
“No need,” he managed to say. He reached for his teacup on the tray and took a sip of the lukewarm tea.
Ruth glanced at the uneaten portion of his cake and asked, “Was something wrong with it?”
“No,” he lied.
With a look that implied she didn’t believe him, she walked over to the plate and picked up a Shrewsbury cake. She took a bite and made a face. “These are awful,” she said as she looked at the treat in disbelief. “I can’t imagine what went wrong. They are supposed to be soft and moist.”
“It is all right,” he encouraged.
Her shoulders slumped slightly. “Can I not do anything right?” she asked. “Cooking is the one thing I thought I excelled at, but I was wrong.”
“Things like this happen,” he responded.
