Page 3 of On the Ropes of Scandal (With Love in Their Corner #3)

Bidwell’s Bakery

Cranleigh, Surrey

England

M iss Phoebe Bidwell happily placed an order of cinnamon scones into brown paper and tied the parcel with twine for one of the customers in the small bakery. The sugary spicy scent of them never failed to make her smile.

“Thank you for coming, Mrs. Peters. Enjoy the scones.” Then she handed the box to the last customer of the morning, and with a wave, saw the woman out of the small bakery.

“It’s glad I am that the customers have trickled off because we’re nearly out of most of the popular pastries,” her aunt Bess said, as she wiped her brow with a handkerchief.

Aunt Bess had been her anchor in what were oftentimes turbulent seas.

She was as short as Phoebe was, standing only a couple of inches over five feet, but where Phoebe possessed black, curly hair, her aunt’s locks were a mousy brown shade that had her forever lamenting.

Of course, these days, gray threads wove their way through the hair.

The other difference between them was that Aunt Bess’ figure was rather on the portly side, and Phoebe was only pleasantly plump.

Those curves vexed her to be sure, but there was nothing she could do about it, for she was indeed her father’s daughter.

“I agree. It has been exceptionally busy this morning.”

On a typical morning, Phoebe and her aunt came into the bakery around four o’clock in an effort to freshly bake the day’s pastries—scones, jam tarts, seed cakes, tea cakes, a couple of different varieties of savory and fruit-filled hand pies—and a few biscuits, as well as loaves of bread.

They had done the same for a few years and had the preparations down to a routine that didn’t require much thought, but it was easier with two people.

The good thing about that was working with her aunt brought her a feeling of fulfillment, for the good woman was the only family Phoebe had left, and most of the time, once two o’clock in the afternoon arrived, the shelves were nearly empty.

Which meant they could both go home and enjoy the remainder of the day.

“At least we know our baked goods are still popular.” When Aunt Bess smiled, her round face relaxed. The Bidwell blue eyes they both shared twinkled. “Go ahead and close up for the day. Then come into the back room with me and we’ll have tea.”

Phoebe’s stomach rumbled. “Good idea. I’ve been so busy wrapping up pastries and bread that I have had a moment to myself.

” As she wiped her hands on her pinafore apron, she moved over the worn hardwood floor to the door.

Then she turned the key in the lock and flipped a hand-painted sign that hung in the front window so that it reflected that the bakery was closed until the next morning.

As she glanced out the window, her gaze fell onto Mr. Hannerford.

He was a widower in his late thirties with two small children.

His wife had died a few years before of the same fever and sickness that had taken her mother and sister as it had swept through the village.

As of late, he had been trying to flirt with her, and she rather suspected he wanted her for his second wife to take care of his children.

“Ugh. Mr. Hannerford is in the square, no doubt waiting for me to lock up the bakery and walk home.” A few times a week, he tried to escort her there, so a few times a week, she had to steel herself to deflect his advances.

Aunt Bess chuckled. “He is quite determined to marry you.”

“He is, but not for romantic purposes, merely wishes for a mother to his children.” And from all she’d observed of the pair—one boy and one girl under the ages of eight—they were quite the handful.

“I am not interested in being an immediate mother after I wed someone,” she said as she went behind the bakery counter and then ducked into the back room with her aunt.

It served as a sitting room with a tiny kitchen on one side.

Though there were rooms upstairs of a cozy apartment with a small room that served as a drawing room, as well as two small bedchambers, she and her aunt lived in a cottage a mile’s walk from the bakery.

It wasn’t grand by any stretch of the imagination, but it was safe and had a homey feel that gave her security.

“In fact, I want a romance. I want to enjoy the time with anyone I marry.”

“Well, you should know about love and romance,” her aunt said with another chuckle as she moved to the small stove to set the kettle on to heat. “You’ve been engaged twice.”

“I know.” Phoebe removed her apron, hung it on a wooden peg set into the wall behind the door, then she moved further into the space and collapsed into a comfortable winged-back chair upholstered with faded damask silk of blue and gold.

No doubt it had been given to her by a well-to-do member of the community when they’d no longer wanted it. “It’s a horrible thing to remember.”

She was four and twenty, and she had already seen far too much death in that short lifetime.

Three years ago, her mother and younger sister had perished from a sickness that had swept through with virulent symptoms that affected the lungs.

The year before that, her second fiancé had been killed in the Napoleonic wars.

His parents were from a village across Surrey, and they hadn’t been forthcoming on the details, but they had told her that he’d been one of the deceased soldiers in the Peninsular War.

Before that , her father, brother, and her first fiancé had all been killed in the war, and the same battle for that matter.

All that death since she’d been a young woman of nineteen. It wasn’t right and it certainly wasn’t fair, but then, that was life at times.

“I agree with you on that count, dear.” Aunt Bess nodded as she puttered about, putting tea leaves into the bottom of the tea pot and then putting various dishes on a wooden tray.

“I thought losing my brother in that damned war was going to be in the end of me, but then losing everyone else too? Now I’m determined to live out of spite to fate. ”

“There are times when I feel that way too, but most days, I feel numb, or else I just have no interest in anything at all.” Except baking. There was something special regarding manipulating ingredients that made food stuffs people enjoyed.

“I wouldn’t fret, dear. Sooner or later, you will find a new man, and those feelings will return, then before you know it, you’ll find yourself married.”

“Hmm. That is asking much out of me and my heart. I’m not certain I’m strong enough to survive a loss again.” She frowned while her aunt brought over the tea service and rested it on a low table in front of both winged-back chairs. “The grief is overwhelming some days.”

And if she never allowed herself close to anyone again, that was one way to combat it.

“It is one reason I’ve never married myself.

” She poured out a cup and then offered it to Phoebe.

“I’ve always been of a mind that one person shouldn’t need to bear so much grief or heartache in a lifetime.

” She shrugged. “Of course, that could be the wrong way to think about things, for isn’t grief the price we pay for love? ”

“Folks say that, but is it one of those platitudes one says in lieu of something else? Or that they don’t know what to say?” Phoebe wrapped her hands around the porcelain cup. She was grateful for the warmth of the tea, for there was definitely a hint of autumn in the air.

“More often than not, I rather believe people don’t know what to say.” For a bit, the two enjoyed tea in silence, and of course the cakes on the tray had been made by her aunt. “You know, with your skill in baking, it should be a simple enough task for you nab a man if you wished.”

Phoebe rolled her eyes to the ceiling before focusing again on her aunt. “Surely all men don’t make decisions based on the fullness of their bellies.”

“No, of course not.” Her aunt shook her head.

“They made them based on the fullness of their members. From my experience, men are guided with their pricks, and by the time they come to their senses, it’s too late, and the scandal has already happened.

To be honest, far too many marriages occur because of scandal over love.

” When Phoebe’s cheeks heated, Aunt Bess laughed.

“Oh, come now, my girl. After two fiancés, surely you still don’t have maidenly shocks. ”

“Aunt Bess!” The heat intensified. “I did none of those things with either John or George.” More’s the pity, that, for had she known that she would still be unmatched at this age and after so much, she would have let those men do more with her than kissing.

She slid a glance to the older woman. “Never tell me that you aren’t a proper spinster. ”

“A lady never tells,” her aunt said with a chuckle.

“Except, you don’t carry that title, Auntie,” Phoebe quickly pointed out with a laugh of her own.

Though her father—Bess’ brother—had been a decent man, he certainly hadn’t been a lord, nor did he hold any other title.

She took a sip of her tea. “I aspire to be you, I think. You’ve kept these secrets for so many years and didn’t bat an eye about it.

” After another sip, she continued. “I am beginning to wonder if I will ever know about such things as what goes on between men and women.”

“A whole lot of nonsense, that’s what.” Her aunt sipped her tea. “And some men aren’t that skilled in pleasuring women, so it’s a huge waste of a tup.”

Dear heavens. She hadn’t known that about her aunt. “How do you, uh, know when a man is skilled in such things?”

“Well, for one, they aren’t going to look like Mr. Hannerford.” She winked as she drained her teacup. “Also, men who know a thing or two will be charming. They’ll be handsome—perhaps even dangerously so—and they’ll know exactly how to smile at you so that you’ll give them anything they want.”

“Men like that sound as if they’re criminals.”