The Sugar Queen Read online

  “If I were never to be kissed again, I’d die happy, knowing I was kissed by you.”

  He tightened his grip around my waist, drawing me close. The muscles in his chest and arms made my petite frame seem even smaller. “You will be kissed again. Hopefully by me and only me.” To prove himself, he kissed me again, this time teasing me with his tongue.

  A soft moan came from deep inside me. I pressed my chest against him, wishing there were fewer clothes between us. I wanted to see all of him, touch all of him. “I’ve…I’ve never felt anything like this,” I said, breathless.

  “You have no idea of the delights to come,” he whispered in my ear. “Now off you go before I kiss you again.”

  “I’ll see you later.” I pecked him on the cheek, then slipped from the room and took the stairs two at a time to the third floor with my pounding heart and dampened skin. I shut the door and stood against it, reliving every moment. Pure joy flooded me. I twirled in a circle and wanted to sing and dance and tell my mother and sister and anyone who would listen. I’m in love with Alexander Barnes. And he loves me.

  Chapter 22

  Alexander

  * * *

  Still stirred from the taste of Quinn’s kisses, I headed downstairs to talk with Lizzie. The moment I entered the kitchen, a glorious scent of yeast and butter assaulted my senses. Lizzie kneaded dough at the kitchen island, humming to herself. Steam from a large pot on the stove fogged up the windows. Such a contrast to the hovel I’d seen earlier.

  “Lizzie, may I have a word?”

  She whirled around, still holding the lump of dough in her floury hands. “Lord Barnes, you scared me to death. What are you doing down here?”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you,” I said as I came to stand at the island. “I have a favor.”

  “You know I’d do anything for you.”

  “This is a rather large favor.” I laid out the situation with the Wus. By the end, Lizzie’s eyes were practically bugging out of their sockets.

  “Am I hearing you correctly? You invited them to live with us?”

  “Yes. Or, rather, work for us. For you, that is,” I said.

  “But I don’t need any help. And what about the baby? I already have little Fiona. Who will look after them?”

  I scratched my head. I hadn’t actually thought that part through.

  “Just like a man, Lord Barnes. Not looking at all the angles.” She punched her dough one last time, then put the mass in a buttered bowl. “I don’t want some old lady in my kitchen. What we should do is have her look after the little ones while the rest of them are at school. We’re short a nanny, after all.”

  “Lizzie, you’re so smart.”

  “I have my moments.”

  “Will you mind if they’re in the spare room down here?” I asked.

  “It’ll be tight, but I can manage.” She spread a cloth over her bread bowl and placed it nearer the stove. “Speaking of which, I have a favor to ask you.”

  “Ask away.”

  “I’d like to have my own cottage on the property.”

  “You would?” I was amazed by this request. When I’d offered before, she always said she would be too scared to live alone. She liked the main house and her cozy kitchen and bedroom.

  “Yes. I’d like to get married and have a few children of my own,” she said. “I’d like to do so in my own home. Nothing fancy. A cottage will do, like the one Harley and Poppy have.”

  “Do you have your eye on a fellow?”

  “I did. For too long I’ve had my eye on the wrong one. I’m off that now. Do you have any suggestions?”

  “The Higgins brothers are single. Nice-looking, too.” My suggestion was evil, but this was a dire circumstance. Jasper was going to lose his chance.

  “A cook marrying a butcher. How perfect,” she said, laughing.

  “Well, you work on finding the right husband and the moment the winter’s over, we’ll start building.”

  “With my luck, the cottage will be quicker than the husband.”

  I sat on a stool and rested my elbows on the wood-block island. “Lizzie, what do you think of Miss Quinn?”

  “It doesn’t matter too much what I think, given the way you two were kissing earlier.”

  I covered my eyes with my hand and looked at her through my fingers. “You saw us?”

  “I’d come up to bring tea but decided you two were otherwise occupied.” Lizzie disappeared in the pantry for a moment and came back with a bowl of raw potatoes.

  “I hope the children didn’t see us,” I said, worried.

  “No, they were all downstairs in the kitchen at the time.” She wagged a finger at me. “You two should be more discreet unless you want them to think you’re getting married. They adore her.”

  “Do you know what they said when I told them Quinn was going to be their nanny?”

  “That she couldn’t be the nanny because she was supposed to be your wife?” Lizzie sliced a potato into perfect rounds.

  “How did you know?” I asked.

  “Lord Barnes, the person who spends the most time in the kitchen of any house knows more about the people in it than anyone else. Everything’s discussed in a kitchen.”

  “I see.”

  “And you are going to marry the lovely Miss Cooper, are you not?”

  “If she’ll have me, yes.”

  “It would be splendid to have a mother for the band of rascals. I’d like to see you happy.”

  “I’d like to see you happy, Lizzie. You’re right to give up on Jasper.”

  Her mouth puckered as if she’d tasted a lemon. “You knew about that?”

  “Lizzie, Jasper and I have been together a long time. There are no secrets between us.” I lowered my voice. “Not that I’m the expert when it comes to matters of the heart, but I have advice for you. Let one of the Higgins brothers or anyone respectable in town take you out for a drive or skating. I think that might just knock some sense into him.”

  “That’s not right to do to the man who takes me out, though.”

  “What if he’s in on it? Clive and Wayne are good people. They’d be willing pawns in our jealousy game.”

  She stopped slicing and looked over at me while shaking her head. “I had no idea you were so devious.”

  “Wear your Christmas dress. The blue one you had on last year at Christmas dinner. I’ll have Clive call on you here at the house.”

  “I’m seeing a new side of you,” Lizzie said, laughing. “A clever, wicked side.”

  “In the name of love, anything’s possible.” I straightened, wiping a dusting of flour from my elbows. “Now, I have one last request. Would you feed the children down here tonight? Miss Quinn and I have a dinner date upstairs.”

  “Consider it done. And when will Mrs. Wu arrive?”

  “Harley’s picking them up on Saturday. He’ll help them get settled.”

  “There are three narrow beds in that room,” Lizzie said. “I hope they’re not the type to toss and turn at night, or they’ll fall right out of the bed.”

  “You should see what they’re sleeping on now,” I said.

  “Lord Barnes, you’re a fine man,” Lizzie said. “Don’t ever forget that.”

  “Thank you, Lizzie.” Touched, I ducked out of the room before she could say anything further.

  The Johnsons’ dry goods store smelled of sugar, wool, and leather. Shelves held copious items, including shoes, work boots, overalls, stationery, soaps, polish, and home items such as kitchenware and lanterns. Wooden barrels were filled with taffy, salt crackers, rice, and anything else one could need. In the corner nearest the counter, a shiny black Singer sewing machine was on display.

  Mrs. Johnson was with a customer, so I occupied myself by scanning the rolls of fabric on the shelf behind her. There were several different heavy wools: a forest green, dark blue, charcoal gray, and black.

  After the man left, Mrs. Johnson gave me one of her sweet smiles and asked what she
could do for me.

  “I’d like to purchase some wool for a woman’s coat,” I said. “But I don’t know what color.” The state of Quinn’s coat and boots had been weighing on me for weeks. She wouldn’t get through the rest of the winter with those boots. Her threadbare coat was simply not warm enough for our winters.

  “What colors does she like?” she asked. “Who is it for?”

  I laughed under my breath. If I told Mrs. Johnson who it was for, the news would have reached the entire town by nightfall. “My sister back home in England,” I said. Strange how easily that lie rolled from my tongue.

  “And what’s her coloring?”

  “She’s fair with blond hair and brown eyes.” I reached into a bowl on the counter containing buttons and picked up a brown button. “This color.”

  “Interesting,” Mrs. Johnson said. “She must look a lot like Miss Cooper.”

  I laughed. That didn’t take long. “Mrs. Johnson, what a strange thing for you to say.”

  Her amber eyes sparkled at me. “I would suggest the dark green. It’ll contrast nicely with her skin.” She moved the ladder stored behind the counter over to the spot where the green wool was stacked on a top shelf. “She’ll need a liner, though. Otherwise the wool will scratch.”

  “Fine, whatever you think is best,” I said as I wandered over to a glass shelf displaying various styles of gloves.

  Martha came in from the back room. “Mother, do you need help?”

  Mrs. Johnson said yes, and would she please measure out five yards of the green wool as well as the liner fabric.

  “I’ll take a pair of these as well.” I tapped the glass shelf displaying a pair of long white gloves. “And do you have any wool stockings?”

  “It must be very cold in England,” Mrs. Johnson said from behind me.

  “Frigid. Like this,” I said.

  “I’d always heard England was rainy but mild.” Mrs. Johnson opened the display case for the gloves.

  “Can be,” I said.

  With a knowing smile planted on her face, she pulled out a pad and started to write up a receipt for my items. Next to her, Martha had measured and cut the wool and was now rolling it into a cylinder.

  “Don’t go to too much trouble,” I said to Martha. “I’m taking it straight over to the tailor’s shop.”

  “He’s having a coat made for his sister,” Mrs. Johnson said. “Isn’t that sweet?”

  Martha clearly wasn’t as savvy as her mother when it came to matters of the heart. She simply gave me the bland, benign smile young people gave their elders and went back to measuring the lining.

  “Martha and Elsa are skating this afternoon,” Mrs. Johnson said.

  “Will Josephine and Poppy be able to come?” Martha asked.

  Over the last few years, skating parties on Saturday afternoons had become a tradition. If the weather permitted, families and young people alike came out to skate. The town’s fiddler provided music, and Mrs. Johnson made and sold popcorn for a penny a bag.

  “I’ll bring them all in later,” I said.

  Mrs. Johnson pointed to a shelf where shiny new Barney & Berry clamp-on skates were displayed. “It would be a shame if our new teacher had to watch while the rest of you skate.”

  I chuckled. She was right. We couldn’t leave Quinn out of the fun. “I’m not sure she knows how.”

  “She’ll have to learn then,” Martha said. “Skating parties are the best part of winter, other than Christmas.”

  “I don’t know her size, though.”

  Mrs. Johnson came out from behind her counter to join me. She picked a pair from the middle of the shelf. “I’d say these should do.”

  “How do you know?” I asked.

  “We sell a lot of boots and shoes,” Mrs. Johnson said. “I can judge the size in my sleep.”

  Mrs. Johnson, with her uncanny sales ability, must have sensed my next request. “Does your sister need a pair of boots?” she asked.

  “Mrs. Johnson, it’s no wonder your husband’s such a successful businessman.”

  Her expression remained merry. She wasn’t serious like her daughter Martha, who appeared to take after the stoic Mr. Johnson. “I have no idea what you mean, Lord Barnes.”

  “I’ll take a pair in the same size as the skates. My sister and Miss Cooper have a lot in common.”

  “Indeed.” Mrs. Johnson’s skirts made a swishing sound as she crossed over to the boot shelf. “We’ve just gotten these in from back east. Practical yet pretty.”

  The boots were black patent leather with dainty buttons up the side. I held one in my hand, inspecting the quality of the leather and sturdiness of the one-inch heel. We couldn’t have Miss Cooper slipping and hurting herself.

  “They’ll withstand our winters,” Mrs. Johnson said. “Or the English one, that is.”

  “I’ll take them, please. And throw in a pound of candies for our skating party, Miss Martha.”

  “Yes, Lord Barnes.” Martha smiled politely before scurrying over to the candy bin.

  When everything was packaged up, I bade them good day and walked over to the Olofssons’ tailor shop. I removed my hat while stomping the snow from my boots onto the small rug they kept at the entrance so as not to track any mud or water into the tidy, dry shop.

  Near the front window, Mr. Olofsson hunched over his sewing machine working on a pair of trousers. The top of his balding head shone in the sunlight that filtered through the glass. Mrs. Olofsson cut a piece of fabric behind the counter.

  I said hello as they looked up from their work. “Good morning,” Mr. Olofsson said in this thick Swedish accent. He was a slight man with sleepy blue eyes and a gentle smile, and his profession had given him stooped shoulders.

  “Have you been busy?” I asked.

  “Yes, yes.” Mrs. Olofsson placed her hands over her plump pink cheeks. “We are happy.” She was as round as her husband was thin. They shared the same thick accent and sweet disposition.

  “I’d like you to make a woman’s coat,” I said. “But I don’t have the measurements because it’s a surprise.”

  “Who is it for?” Mr. Olofsson asked. “If I know them, I can figure size.”

  “Miss Cooper,” I said, mumbling.

  “Did you say Miss Cooper? The teacher?’ Mrs. Olofsson asked.

  “Yes. Her coat’s too thin and worn for this climate,” I said as my neck went hot.

  “Say no more,” Mrs. Olofsson said with a knowing wink.

  This would be out by lunchtime. Lord Barnes was ordering a coat for the lovely Miss Cooper. Did you know she’s living at the house?

  “Give me a few days,” Mr. Olofsson said. “I’ll make it beautiful for our pretty teacher.”

  I escaped finally to the crisp, cold afternoon with the distinct feeling that the whole town would know my heart by nightfall.

  When I walked in the house, it was quiet. Too quiet. I wondered what everyone was up to and hoped they hadn’t caused Miss Cooper too much trouble. To my surprise, they were all in the library. Miss Cooper sat on one end of the couch reading out loud from a novel. Josephine was in her favorite chair knitting something out of a bright blue yarn. Cymbeline and Flynn were sprawled out on the floor in front of the fireplace playing checkers. Theo and Fiona snuggled in my leather chair. I paused in the doorway, taking in the scene. How could one man be so blessed?

  I set my packages on one of the tables. Fiona caught sight of me and wriggled off the chair to hurl herself into my arms. Miss Cooper ceased reading and set the book aside as the other children called out to me.

  “What did you bring, Papa?” Cymbeline asked. “Is it for me?”

  “No, you wicked girl,” I said. “They’re for Miss Quinn.”

  “For me?” she asked. “What have I done to deserve gifts?”

  I set the two boxes containing the skates, boots, gloves, and stockings expertly tied with bows by Mrs. Johnson into Fiona’s arms. “Take them to Miss Quinn, please.”

  “Yes, Papa
. I love packages.” Fiona walked with the boxes held out in front of her as if presenting the crown to the king of England, then placed them on Miss Cooper’s lap.

  “Open them, open them, Miss Quinn,” Cymbeline said as she rose from the floor to go sit next to her on the couch.

  Miss Cooper untied the string of the box containing the new boots, gloves, and stockings. She gasped as she lifted the lid. “What have you done? These are too much.”

  “You’ll need sturdier boots for the rest of this winter. The almanac says we’re in for more blizzards.”

  “These are so pretty, though. I won’t be able to wear them for fear of ruining them.”

  “You’ll wear them,” I said. “Or risk my wrath.”

  “I wouldn’t want your wrath.” Her brown eyes were as shiny and happy as a child’s at Christmas. She fingered the stockings, then rubbed the gloves against her cheek. “I’ve never felt anything so soft before.”

  “Open the other one,” Fiona shouted as she jumped up and down.

  “Inside voice, please,” Quinn said.

  “Yes, Miss Quinn,” Fiona said. “I forgot.”

  “It’s all right. Would you like to pull the string?” she asked.

  “Yes, please.” Fiona’s chubby fingers untied the bow. Quinn lifted the lid of the box. “Skates?”

  “Yes, skates. Now that you’re a resident of Emerson Pass, you must have skates,” I said. “There’s a skating party this afternoon. Shall we all go?”

  The children all shouted enthusiastic agreements with this idea. I turned back to Quinn. To my alarm, tears had formed in her pretty eyes.

  “What is it?” I asked, coming closer. “Do you not like skating?”

  “I’ve never skated before,” Quinn said.

  “We can teach you,” Flynn said. “There’s nothing to it.”

  Quinn wiped her eyes. “That’s not it. I’m embarrassed to admit how much I longed for a pair when I was a child. In Boston, skating is quite popular. I was never able to join any of my friends.”

  “Even though you wanted to?” Cymbeline asked.

  “That’s right. I asked Santa for skates every year for a long time,” Quinn said.