A smile stretched across George’s face as he turned down a street and headed towards the clothier’s shop. He knew he’d pissed her off, but by the time she’d blown past him for the market, the sadness in Nell’s eyes had evaporated. Granted, it had likely evaporated in the heat of her rage, but George would consider it a win. It had torn him up from within to see her hurting. And wasn’t that a new sensation?
He reached the clothier’s shop, but it wasn’t open for the day yet. Rocking back on his heels he blew out a breath as his gaze swept up and down the street. There was no telling how long he’d be waiting there. The shop owner, Lorna, would likely arrive soon, but Ambrose and Dom never hurried anywhere, and they were the ones he needed to speak with. He sighed just as his eyes landed on Mrs. Bentley’s bakery a few shops down, and his stomach chimed in to remind him that he hadn’t eaten yet that morning.
With a curt nod to no one in particular, George spun on his heel and bolted for the bakery.
Food then business. The proper order of things.
The bell above the door chimed as he entered, and the scent of tart sweetness assaulted him. His mind immediately spun back to Nell, and a smile tugged at his lips. She was the only person he’d ever known who actually preferred lemon cookies and didn’t just tolerate them if they were the last option on the tea tray.
“What manner of woman has that dreamy look on your face this morning, Lord George? Or is it simply the smell of my baking which inspires such a response from you?” Mrs. Bentley crowed from behind the counter, shaking George from his reverie. It took a moment for her words to register before he beamed at her.
“You well know that I could never entertain thoughts of any other woman inside these four walls, and I’m insulted that you would even consider it so.”
Mrs. Bentley barked a laugh as she pulled a tray of lemon buttercream cookies from the oven and set them on a cooling rack. “Flattery will get you nowhere in the way of free baked goods, my lord. It never does.”
George leaned over the counter and rested his chin on his palm with a pout. “Not even for your favorite, most handsome customer?”
She chuckled, wiping her hands on her apron. A few strands of her silver hair fluttered free from her bonnet. “Oh, I would for my favorite, most handsome customer, but Mr. Bentley hasn’t woken for the day yet, I’m afraid.”
George’s palm flew to his chest as if struck. “You wound me with such barbs, you wicked woman! And I only ever give your shop my faithful patronage.” He crossed his arms. “I will simply have to take my business elsewhere.”
She swatted at him with a towel. “We both know you’re too lazy to venture farther than the lower town for your indulgences, so spare me your theatrics.”
A smirk tipped his lips. “Now, that depends entirely on the type of indulgence.”
She rolled her eyes and turned to place another tray of cookies into the oven. “What’ll it be this morning for you, my lord?”
“Let’s do a half dozen of your magnificent vanilla crème cookies, please.”
The baker shook her head at him as she fished out six cookies from the display case by the counter. “I have sweet bread and rolls, you know. Much more suitable options for breakfast.”
George chuckled. “That you do, however, I don’t feel like being suitable this morning.”
“Of course, you don’t,” she replied with a smile, folding his cookies into a small cheese cloth. “Will that be all for you, then?” She placed the cookies on the counter as George pulled open his coin pouch. His eyes snagged on the tray of lemon cookies behind her.
“Actually, I’ll take a half dozen of lemon buttercream, too,” he replied, nodding toward the tray of cooling cookies.
Her eyes widened. “In all the years you’ve graced my bakery with your charming self you’ve never once asked for my lemon buttercreams.” She propped her hands on her hips. “I believe you once referred to them as, ‘the foulest excuse for a confection.”
George balked. “I would never speak of your baking as such. You are surely mistaken.”
She narrowed her eyes on him. “I’m never mistaken when it’s a vicious lie spoken against my baking.”
“Perhaps I’ve taken a shine to them.”
A small smile tugged at the side of her lips. “Or perhaps you are braving my foul cookies to impress the lady who put that dopey smile on your face when you first walked in.”
“I have never looked dopey a day in my life! You take that back right now!”
Her smile widened. “So, they are for a lady.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about. I blame it on the heavy scent of sugar that saturates the air in here.” He wafted his hand in front of his face. “It has clearly addled your mind. You must be better about opening windows to let in fresh air more often.”
Mrs. Bentley raised a brow. “Careful now, Lord George. Keep talking like that and I will send you from my shop cookie-less.”
George sucked in a dramatic gasp. “You wouldn’t.”
“Care to find out?”
“I do not.”
She tilted her head at him. “Then tell me all about the lady that has you tossing around insults in my shop while we wait for the cookies to cool, and I may consider letting you leave my shop un-shamed.”
George heaved a sigh and leaned over the counter again, a small smile tipping his lips as he told Mrs. Bentley about Nell.
“I’m pretty sure she can hardly stand me,” he finished, rubbing the back of his neck, “but I find myself so ensnared in her web that, if I can’t have her joy and smiles, I’ll take her ire and venom and still consider myself privileged.”
Mrs. Bentley gave a low whistle as she wrapped the lemon cookies in another small cheesecloth and slid them across the counter to him. “Never thought I’d see the day when Lord George would be so besotted by a woman that he’d crave her insults.”
George barked a laugh as he dropped two coins in her hand. “She doesn’t even know the half of it, either,” he said with a small smile before turning to leave.
“Lord George,” Mrs. Bentley called as he reached the door. He turned to face her, and she shook her finger at him. “Do not squander the absolute boon of an opportunity I have afforded you with those cookies.”
A grin split his face, and he nodded. “I wouldn’t dream of it.” He blew her a kiss then pushed through the door.
Once outside, he headed back toward the clothier, and the reality of his recent circumstances crashed over him. Not even the creamy sweetness of Mrs. Bentley’s cookies could quell the unease buzzing around his chest as a laundry list of tasks unfurled in his mind.
By the time he made it to the clothier’s shop, all six of his cookies were gone, and he still felt frazzled. Thankfully, the shop was open, so he didn’t have to sit and stew in his thoughts while he waited.
“Good morning, Lord George. Wasn’t expecting you in today,” Lorna said as she finished folding a set of tunics. “How can I help you?”
“I have a few requests this morning, actually. First being, have Dominicio and Ambrose made it in yet?”
With a dramatic flourish, Dom flung aside the curtain leading to a back room and sauntered into the front room, the obscenely large feather in his hat waving with the movement. Ambrose ambled out behind him, shaking his head.
“Someone rang for me?” Dom asked as he leaned in to kiss Lorna on the cheek. His eyes met George’s, and a grin broke across his face. “Well, well. Look who’s finally come to show his pretty face in our presence, Brosey. What? We’ve only been in town a month and not a word from this one!”
George rolled his eyes as Ambrose walked around and pulled George into a hug.
“Good to see you, kaerten,” Ambrose said, the endearment from his childhood falling from the merchant in easy Balmorean.
George returned his embrace and clapped him on the back. “You too,” he replied with a smile, truly meaning it. It had been half a year since he’d last seen his uncle, and the sight of him eased a bit of the buzzing in George’s chest.
“Have you been to visit mom?” George asked before Dom came up beside them and clapped George on the back.
“Naora’s been asking after you,” he cut in with a waggle of his eyebrows.
George grimaced, the sound of the familiar name not sparking the excitement it once did. His mind immediately shot to Nell, and just the thought of a night with Naora turned his stomach to knots. “Has she?” He shifted on his feet. “Well, I’ve been…around. You know, busy.”
Dom snorted. “We well know how busy you keep yourself, Georgie.” He tossed a wink his way.
“Right, well, send her my regards, would you?”
Dom and Ambrose’s brows both shot to their hairlines. George cleared his throat. “I actually need to speak with you both about something.”
The two merchants leaned in as George shot a glance over their shoulders at Lorna, who was watching on curiously. “Miss Lorna,” he called, stepping around Dom and Ambrose towards the shop keeper. “You still have my and Lord Barnham’s measurements, correct?”
Lorna straightened and nodded. “The same pattern from last time, too.”
“Wonderful. His lordship found himself in a bit of a spot the other day and is in need of a new tunic.” He gave a small smile, finding it more difficult than he expected to refer to the attack that Elliot and Ophelia survived without heaviness. “Would you be able to whip one up for me today?”
She nodded. “Of course. Any colors in particular?”
“Just black should be fine.”
She nodded then disappeared behind the curtain. George swung back to the merchants then launched into the cover story for Elliot and Ophelia that he’d thought up earlier in Ophelia’s chambers. “Might they travel with your group when you head back to Balmorea in the coming weeks?”
His uncle crossed his arms while Dom leaned against a table filled with reams of colorful fabric. “And you didn’t dissuade them from traveling to Balmorea given the current…state of things?”
He leveled his uncle with a look. “I did not, given my mention of the current state of things in Balmorea would likely raise more questions about why a noble, loyal, Marelian citizen like me knows so much about what’s going on in a, now, enemy country.”
Dom nodded. “That’s fair.”
“What are the odds of them snooping around or nosing into things they ought not nose into?” Ambrose asked.
George sighed. “They just want safe passage into Ravenhold. They aren’t looking to uncover grand secrets and embark on a wild adventure with your merry band of misfits.”
Dom chuckled but Ambrose was unphased. “And what of bandits? Does Mr. Collins have any skill with a blade?”
“Lord William,” George corrected, “has fought beside Lord Barnham and I in our service to the king. I am confident in his skills.”
Ambrose looked to Dom. “Then if we’re attacked, we would just need to hide the lady away.”
Dom smoothed his mustache as he nodded. “Having another sword in our company wouldn’t hurt.” He met George’s gaze. “Do they have their own horses, or will we need to procure more?”
“They have their own and are both proficient riders.”
Dom grunted with a nod. “As long as they can pay their way, not fall behind, and not get any of my people killed, they are welcome among our merry band of misfits.”
Relief lightened the weight George hadn’t realized rested on his chest, and he gave the two merchants a smile. “Great. Let me know what your fee will be, and I will have them bring it with them when they meet you. When do you all depart?”
“Three days’ time.”
George’s eyes widened. “So soon?” That wouldn’t give Elliot and Ophelia much time to prepare. Or Nell, if she was having trouble finding a solution to disguising Ophelia’s hair.
Ambrose scoffed. “Soon? It’s not as if we’re rushing away. We’ve been in town since before everything went to shit in the valley.” He poked George in the chest. “If you failed to visit your dear uncle and lover in the ample time you had, that is entirely your fault.”
Heat rushed up George’s neck. “That’s not—she’s not—” he spluttered. “You know I was called to arms in that conflict, right? I hardly had a chance to get away for a cordial visit!”
The two merchants chuckled. “Fret not, Georgie. We only jest. The earl and countess informed us of your circumstances,” Dom replied, clapping him on the shoulder. “Tell your friends to meet us at the central junction outside of town at sunup in three days.” He leveled him with a finger. “And make sure they come armed and with enough coin. I don’t allow freeloaders in my company.”
George nodded with a relieved huff of laughter. “I will. Thank you both,” he said, before giving Ambrose another hug. “Thank you, uncle.”
“Of course. Though don’t keep away so long next time,” Ambrose replied.
The three fell into easy conversation while they waited for Lorna to finish Elliot’s tunic, and George was glad for the time to catch up with them. Ambrose may have been his uncle by blood, but Dom was just as much family to him, and seeing both of them had soothed something in him that the past few days had made sharp and tense.
By midday, Lorna returned to the front with Elliot’s tunic and another that was similar in size to see if George might be interested in it. George paid the clothier for the tunics, said his goodbyes to Dom and Ambrose, then made to leave the shop.
“Don’t worry, Georgie,” Dom said before George stepped through the door, “we won’t tell Naora about the lady friend keeping you from visiting her.” He tossed in a wink, and George went wide-eyed. “Ha! I knew it, Brosey!” Dom cackled. “Didn’t I tell you there must have been a women keeping him away?!”
“That you did,” Ambrose chuckled as he followed George out of the shop.
George shook his head on a laugh as he turned to face his uncle. Ambrose smiled at him and shook his hand. “Don’t worry about it, kaerten. If there truly is a lady, I’m happy for you. Naora would be, too.”
George nodded. “Thank you, again, for your help.”
As Ambrose ducked back into the shop, George faced the bustling street. People milled about, running their errands. Food vendors shouted prices and specials, children ran and weaved through their parents’ legs as they shrieked with laughter. George’s thoughts drifted to Nell, and he wondered if she’d already returned to the castle when his eyes found her in the crowd a few stalls up the street. He couldn’t help the smile that stretched across his face. He made his way towards her, and she met him halfway, tucking a piece of parchment into her bag before meeting his gaze.
“Did you find what you were looking for?” he asked.
“I did,” she said, then nodded to the small sack he now carried. “It seems like you’ve come away with a bounty as well.”
They began to amble back toward the castle gate and he shrugged. “It’s not much—just some tunics to replace a few that were damaged recently,” he replied, then inwardly chided himself for so casually throwing out the reminder of Ophelia’s attack.
Nell paled and he rushed to salvage the situation, grasping at anything he could to lighten the subject.
The cookies.
“Ah, but…wait—” George said. He stopped in his tracks and quickly rummaged through his bag, desperate to find the sweet treats that would dig him out of this hole. His fingers found the small bundle, and he yanked it from his bag with a wide smile.
“Found it,” he said as he slung the bag under his arm and began untying the string that held the cheese cloth around the cookies.
“The clothier hadn’t opened yet when I arrived,” he explained, “so I popped into the bakery to kill some time.” Once the cheese cloth lay open in his palm, he held it out to her, but all she did was blink at it like she’d never seen a cookie before. A moment later her lips curled into a smile, and his heart leapt. She grabbed the cookie at the top of the stack.
“What are you, a child?” she asked with a laugh. “You went to the bakery first thing in the morning, and instead of getting something sensible like bread, you bought cookies?”
His smile widened. “Yes, I did.”
She chuckled before taking a bite of the cookie. Her eyes widened then flew to his. “You got lemon cookies?”
“Yes,” he said too quickly. To play off his eagerness he added, “Well, these weren’t the only ones I got, but I ate the other ones already.” He patted his stomach with his hand and immediately felt like an idiot.
Nell’s light chuckle floated in the space between them, and heat bloomed in his chest.
“I didn’t realize you liked lemon cookies. I thought I was the only person in all of Maraleon who favored them,” she said with a huff of laughter before taking another bite of her cookie. A few stubborn crumbs clung to her lips, and George fought the urge to find out how different lemon cookies might taste if he were to sample them from Nell’s pretty lips.
He tore his gaze away and fell into step beside her. “I don’t particularly care for them, but I know you do, and when I got to the bakery this morning, Mrs. Bentley had just taken a batch out of the oven. The whole shop smelled of lemon buttercream, and it reminded me of you, so I grabbed a half dozen to give to you later.”
Disbelief widened her eyes. “These are for me?” she asked, her voice so soft it almost brought him to his knees.
“Yes,” he replied, a flush running up his nape at the admission, like a boy asking a girl to dance at a ball for the first time. He scratched the back of his neck with his free hand as an unfamiliar nervousness tightened his chest. The same nervousness that was now, apparently, in complete control of his mouth.
“I was actually worried these might not hold up by the time I was able to get them to you,” he continued, “so it was lucky running into you on the way back to the castle.”
Nell stopped in her tracks and stared up at him, saying nothing as her eyes bounced between his. What she was searching for, he couldn’t be sure, but the longer she took to say something, the more his chest felt like it was caving in on itself. Fuck, when had he gotten so bad at this?
“No one ever touches the lemon cookies on the tea tray except you,” he babbled on. “And you never take any of the other cookies, only the lemon ones. Which is really a shame because the vanilla crème cookies are clearly the superior option.”
Her expression lightened, and a smile briefly pulled her lips up to one side—there one moment, replaced the next by her narrowed gaze. “Trying to get back into my good graces after being such an ass this morning, are we, Lord George?”
The tightness in his chest relented, and a chuckle slipped from him. “I behaved in no such way,” George replied as his mind circled back to their earlier conversation and the humor slipped from his face. “You were just so upset this morning. I didn’t think the cookies would take away all the worries plaguing your mind, but I did think they might brighten your day a bit?” He couldn’t help the hopeful lilt his voice held at the end as he said it, and he wrestled back a wince at how pathetic he sounded.
Nell dropped her eyes to the cookies stacked in his palm and gingerly reached for them. Her fingers brushed his skin, and he clenched his jaw against the sigh threatening to pull itself from his throat.
Her hold on the cookies faltered, and they tumbled over. George quickly brought his other hand up to catch them before they fell to the ground, his hand almost engulfing hers entirely.
“Earth and Sea, sorry about that,” she said, with a nervous laugh, and George noted the pretty shade of pink that colored her cheeks. “They did—I mean, thank you. For the cookies. That was kind of you,” Nell said as she scrambled to wrap the cookies back up in the cheesecloth.
Her gratitude shouldn’t have made him feel uncomfortable, but here he was, shifting on his feet because she liked his cookies. Earth and fucking Sea, what was this woman doing to him? He cleared his throat and tried to suffuse as much reassurance into his tone as he could. “Not at all, Lady Nell.”
Her hold on the cookies faltered again before she finished wrapping them up and tucking them into her bag. She quickly straightened then continued up the path, and George fell into step beside her.
Their interaction replayed in his mind, and it pulled a small smile across his face—this fiercely brave and loyal woman who took none of his shit and had a heart as wide as the sea had been dismantled by half a dozen lemon buttercream cookies.
George laughed to himself—he may have dismantled her with some cookies, but she could ruin him with far less, and he, without a doubt, would welcome it.
