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Michael Shield, Marquess of Hatbrook, breathed in the mouth-watering scent of pastries drifting through the open iron gates of the corner shop at Oxford and Regent Streets. The window display of scones and shortbreads, sponges and meringues, and wafers and biscuits, reminded him of all the exquisite flavors to be had within.
He paused for a moment to admire the arrangement. A young woman, who was sheltered head to toe by a dark cloak, jostled his arm. She smelled like cake.
“My apologies.” She glanced in his direction, so that he received an impression of fierce dark eyes, then turned her head to her companion. “I won’t be ordered into the country like I’m some sort of ornament for a hunting ball.”
“Too right, Alys,” agreed the shorter girl, striding briskly alongside. She, not as well dressed as the first girl, wore a shabby jacket and bonnet.
“I like my work too much to leave it,” said the cake-scented girl as the pair swept through the shop gates.
Cake. Redcake’s Tea Shop and Emporium was heaven right