The Marquess of Cake
““What girl, madam?” inquired bakery manager Ralph Popham, who was spending the day out front helping, since so many people were buying treats for holiday gatherings.
“That extremely orange-haired person.”
Alys saw Popham scratch the back of his head as she turned the corner with the rack. “I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific, madam. We have more than one orange-haired female working at Redcake’s.”
“You may call me ‘my lady,’ young man. I am the Marchioness of Hatbrook.”
“...Ah, my lady.”
Alys heard Popham clear his throat as she lifted a cake from the rack, neatly packaged into one of their distinctive pure-white boxes embossed in gold and tied with red ribbon.
“May I inquire as to where you encountered the orange-haired person?”
“At Viscount Manater’s daughter’s wedding,” she said.MoreLess
“That extremely orange-haired person.”
Alys saw Popham scratch the back of his head as she turned the corner with the rack. “I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific, madam. We have more than one orange-haired female working at Redcake’s.”
“You may call me ‘my lady,’ young man. I am the Marchioness of Hatbrook.”
“...Ah, my lady.”
Alys heard Popham clear his throat as she lifted a cake from the rack, neatly packaged into one of their distinctive pure-white boxes embossed in gold and tied with red ribbon.
“May I inquire as to where you encountered the orange-haired person?”
“At Viscount Manater’s daughter’s wedding,” she said.MoreLess
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