Scones and Sensibility (11 page)

Indeed, I needed to save her from herself.

I
awoke early the next morning to the glorious scents of freshly baked scones, muffins, tarts, and Danishes drifting into my bedroom. Mama or Papa must have arisen before Clementine to take over the baking this summer morn.

“Thank heavens,” I sighed, knowing that Edward would be arriving very soon. If he was met with blackened muffins it could not be assumed that he would return to court Clementine.

After slipping into a long light-blue dress and tying the ribbon around my waist, I walked down the stairs. “Mama?”

“She’s still asleep, Polly,” Clementine called from the kitchen. “Dad’s got some deliveries for you to make.”

Could it be?

I entered the kitchen to find my sister standing over a silver tray of chocolate chip muffins. I allowed a small smile to grace my face. The power of suggestion, of letting her know that a gentleman was interested in meeting her, had worked.

I walked past her, breathing deep the scent of sugar and chocolate that created an aura around her. “Edward will be most pleased, dearest Clementine.”

She sniffed. “Edward? Who’s that?”

“Why, the gentleman who will come to call on you this very morning. The one whose muffins those are.”

“Um … someone is ‘calling’ on me? Drop it, Polly. These are for Clint.” She placed the muffins haphazardly on a tray and plopped them onto the table.

This just would not do.

“But Clemmy! Edward is coming in a few minutes!” I whined, knowing this tone was necessary if she was to be persuaded.

At that moment, the door in the bakery tinkled. “That is surely him, for a gentleman is never late. Dearest Clementine, you must meet him, just this once,” I said, placing in her hand a small vial of lip gloss called Antique Pink. “You must. He is most anxious to meet you. And my dear, it will do no harm.”

I breezed through the kitchen door and found that indeed it was Edward. His eyes gazed into the glass case filled with pastries and he turned to me, offering a dashing smile.

I blushed. “Why Edward, it is so good of you to come.”

“Yeah, um … thanks, Polly. I have to get to work in a few minutes, so I’ll take—”

“Oh, I do understand. And fortunate for you, my beautiful sister Clementine has just pulled a most delectable tray of chocolate chip muffins from the oven. If you will just wait here in the foyer, I will ask for her assistance.”

He shrugged his shoulders.

“Come on, Clementine!” I whispered, pulling her by the sleeve in a most indelicate manner toward the door. I took up the serving tray from Mama’s tea set (the edges lined with a delicate trim of olive-green ivy) and arranged four of the plumpest and most delicious-looking muffins on top. I placed this in Clementine’s hand and shoved her through the door.

I followed after her but was stopped by a hand on my shoulder.

“Morning, Polly! Did you see the deliveries for today?”

I peeked my head through the door and saw the two in a locked gaze of love. I smiled and answered Papa’s inquiry, “Yes, Papa. If you will give me but a minute. I am in the midst of love in the making and mustn’t disturb its tender bud.”

Papa laughed and pulled me from the door, much to my dismay.

“But Dad!”

“I know, I know.” He placed the brown sacks in my hands. “But you have to get going. I will watch over—what did you call it?—the tender bud of love?”

I sighed and accepted my burden, though inwardly I was longing to see Clementine and Edward locked in true love’s embrace.

“Now go ahead before we start getting calls about where the food is.”

Indeed he was right. Their voices were much too low for me to be able to decipher what was being said. “Yes, I have other tasks to attend to,” I whispered. “Two other romances to see to.”

I set the delivery bag on the counter. Selecting the most attractive chocolate Danish, I placed it on a square piece of wax paper, folded the edges up neatly, and then fastened the bundle with a satin bow I had brought down from my dressing table.

Clementine was on the brink of a romantic relationship with the dashing Edward, and I was assured of an even more successful morning and afternoon.

Love was indeed thick in the air. And I would do my utmost to harness its power for Mr. Fisk and Mr. Nightquist.

Miss Wiskerton was once more upon her lawn chair, though I noticed her hair done in a very elegant style with a small lily tucked into her curls.

“Good morning, Miss Wiskerton. I hope you are well?”

She sat up straighter and smiled. “Hi, Polly. I’m … I’m good. And what are you doing riding around this early?” Though she tried to hide it, I witnessed her cheeks blush to a pinkish hue, which quite became her complexion. Jane Austen’s book
Persuasion
sat upon her lap, and her dainty hand rested upon the cover.

“Why, I am delivering pastries this morning. And once more I have heard from your admirer and am here to deliver a most delicious Danish to the object of his affection.”

“Oh, indeed?” she said.

“Yes, that is what he said. The gentleman owns the
kite shop on the boardwalk, I believe. He sounded very pleasant and kind. Just as Mr. Darcy himself might sound if he were a little bit older, and born in America, and owned a kite shop.”

“That would be Peter Nightquist.” She tapped a pink nail against her chin. “Hmmm. He and I never got along in high school. He married Miriam, and she was such a wonderful woman. You know, I did see him at the grocery store a month back and he said I looked very … healthy.”

I nodded. “You must be correct. And though I know nothing of any unfortunate past you may have with the gentleman, he did insist on having this pastry delivered to you.” I held out the pastry, proud of my handiwork and presentation. Indeed, it was quite beautiful.

She took the pastry and the corners of her mouth rose with a smile. “Ooh, I do love a good Danish now and then. You can tell him I said thank you.”

I started back to my bicycle, hardly able to contain the excitement that poured out of me. “Oh, dear Miss Wiskerton, you will have to thank him yourself. For I fear my day is completely occupied with these delectable deliveries. But Mr. Nightquist is employed all
day long at the kite shop, and I have the utmost confidence that he would be delighted to see your face and give you a tour of his most wondrous shop.”

“We’ll see,” she said, nibbling on the corner of the Danish. “Thank you, Polly. And make sure that sister of yours stays away from the oven. I don’t want to die in my bed some morning asphyxiated by toxic sugar fumes.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I called out to her, and then pedaled down the street.

I drank in deeply the warm salty air, letting it fill my lungs. The day was shaping up beautifully.

I had found my true life’s calling—to bring lovers together.

And though I knew much of my time would be devoted entirely to the task, it was a burden I was proud to bear.

“Hey, it’s Clemmy’s sister. How are you?” Clint’s voice from behind nearly knocked me off my bicycle, and I narrowly missed an oncoming elderly woman in a motorized wheelchair.

I came to an abrupt halt, dismounted, then smoothed out my rumpled dress before turning to face Clint. “Was your intent to knock me off my bicycle and
render me unconscious or to merely have me put the life of a distinguished elderly woman at risk?” I curled my upper lip to show my distaste for him.

He shrugged his bulky shoulders, reminding me of an oversized ox. “I just saw you coming down the street and thought—”

I lifted my delicate nose into the air, marking him with my distain. “Really, Clint, as if you and I have much to say to each other. I am like dear Elizabeth, and you, sir, have the romanticism of Mr. Collins, who I assure you was not well—”

He then very rudely interrupted my dialogue and laughed. “Mr. Collins? That’s not even my name. You’re too funny, Pol.”

Pol? Ugh, the name was as hideous said as it was spelled. Brad Baker had attempted to call me that in kindergarten and that had been the end of our brief romance.

I lifted my nose in the air and turned to go. “It would be well for you to know that my sister’s affections for you are waning. A handsome gentleman called upon her this very morning, and she was quite taken with his dashing looks and his gentle manner. Now, good day.”

His meaty hands reached out to stop me, but I
dodged his attempt. “Huh? You’re not serious, are you?”

I grabbed the handles of my bicycle and started down the sidewalk. “I most certainly am serious. Therefore, I think it wise for you to stop pursuing my sister further. She is done with you.”

“Come on, Polly. You’re kidding, right?”

I turned to look at him. And though my heart wrenched at the look of sadness that had fallen on his face, I remembered quickly the number of times that my dearest sister was burdened with hot tears. “Again, I say that I am not kidding. Now if you will excuse me, I must get going.”

Clint’s face had turned a shade of scarlet I had seen only as a lipstick in my mother’s boudoir. “If that guy thinks he can take away my girl, he’s got another thing coming.” And he stalked down the sidewalk—a scorned lover.

Oh, to be Clementine—that two gentlemen (or one, since I do not put Clint in that category) would duel for my love.

I continued on my way, imagining the scene in my head.

Two gentlemen, swords in hand, fighting for my honor and the love of my heart.

“I will fight to the death for her hand,” one would say. And the slashing of swords would commence. And when the slain suitor lay fallen on the ground I would run to him, and with his last breath he would look into my eyes and declare once more his love. Then I would give him my handkerchief, which he would clutch to his breast, and he would breathe no more.

I could hardly think of anything more romantic.

So engrossed in my imaginings was I that I passed the bank, which was to be my first delivery, and the real estate office, which was to be my second. Once I realized my mistake, I returned promptly to the bank and completed the delivery. But as I started for the door, I was met with the most elegant woman I had ever seen in my small ocean town.

She was tall, and thin, though not so thin as to appear frail and undernourished. A wide straw hat sat on a head that was covered in soft blonde curls that fell gently to her shoulders. Her dress was long, and fair, and on her feet were dainty white sandals. She smiled widely at me and nodded, as only a cultured woman would do. But what was better still was the accent with which she spoke. She could have been a descendant of Jane Austen herself.

“Hello, love,” she said softly to the receptionist. “Has Fredrick come in to work yet?”

The woman shook her head. “Nope, not yet, Lucy … I mean, Miss Penny. But I’ll let you know when he does.”

Lucy Penny?! Why, this was she, the one true love that would capture Mr. Fisk’s heart with one glance! I smiled and lingered by the receptionist, pretending to fiddle with my satin bow.

“Well, I’m off to run some errands, so could you just tell him I’ll be at the Corner Deli at twelve? Thanks!” And she whisked past me and out into the ocean breeze.

Lucy Penny, to be at the Corner Deli at twelve! Fate was on my side. I glanced at the small watch in my pocket and continued with my deliveries. I had but three hours to decide a course of action for dear Mr. Fisk.

Upon finishing the deliveries, I retired to Fran’s house in a flurry of excitement and anticipation. After leaning my bicycle against the elegant picket fence bordering her house, I hastily found my bosom friend and we retired to the backyard.

“I have found her, Fran,” I said, grasping her hands in mine.

We reclined on the hammock, the ocean breeze rocking us gently back and forth.

“Really? Who is she?”

“Her name”—I paused for dramatic effect—“her name is Lucy Penny. Is there a more elegant and lovely name than Lucy Penny?”

Fran shrugged her shoulders. “It’s pretty nice. Ruthie is nice, too, don’t you think?”

I crinkled my nose. “It suffices, though it’s not nearly as elegant as Lucy.”

“So, what does she look like?”

“Close your eyes,” I said, and I did as well, leaning my head back against the swing. “Imagine, Fran. You and your beloved father standing next to an Englishwoman. Her hair is golden as the sun’s rays, curls cascading down her shoulders in tiny ringlets, a hat of straw upon her dainty head. A wide smile spreading across a face as beautiful and noble as that of a goddess. Your father embraces her and they kiss, then envelope you, their darling daughter, and myself, your bosom friend. Can you imagine anything so perfect?”

She giggled. “Oh Polly, you’re so dramatic. But you’re right. It does sound good. Honestly, I wasn’t sure you’d find someone, but maybe you did.” She
twirled a loosened thread from her torn jean shorts. “Is she really that great?”

“Great is not a word to describe her. She is more so, my dear. More so!” I checked my watch again and stood. “And in but one hour, I will meet her and begin sowing the seed of love in her heart. By nightfall, her heart will be at the gracious mercy of your father.”