Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 96695 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 483(@200wpm)___ 387(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96695 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 483(@200wpm)___ 387(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
Not long ago, they’d been a happy family of five. Their mother had run a small housecleaning service, thanks to her innate magical ability to control cleaning implements. For just one silver coin, she would have a modest two-bedroom home sparkling and smelling of pine in less than an hour. It took little more than a wave of her hand and occasionally a stern word for the mop.
But that business had lasted only until Hugo was born. By then, his father’s business had skyrocketed. Charles Baker’s magic had occupied the realm of baking. There wasn’t a confection in all the world he hadn’t been able to make. His pastries had been airy, delicate works of sweet art, his pies with the flakiest crust. He’d even made the wedding cake for Queen Lilianna and King Hubert.
After that momentous event, his bakery had sold out of all its creations before noon. Everyone in all the kingdom had demanded to have him cater their events. Money had poured into their home. Jessamine gave up her cleaning business and devoted herself to becoming a proper noblewoman, as she’d rubbed elbows with all the wealthy merchants and aristocracy.
Hugo and his brothers had grown up in a large, comfortable home in Frostbourne. They’d always had the best clothes, the best toys, and the best tutors. They hadn’t inherited their father’s magical skill with baking, but no one seemed to worry. With their father’s business, there had been no need to concern themselves with other magic.
At least, not until Charles died of an illness two years ago.
The bakery had attempted to limp along without him, but that had lasted only a year. Charles had been the magic of that shop, and if he wasn’t there to create the confections, there were plenty of other magical bakers willing to take his place.
After the closure of the bakery, the family had moved to the small house outside of Buckleford—a far less fashionable address than what they had enjoyed in Frostbourne. Not that Hugo minded. He preferred the quiet of Buckleford over the bustle and pretension of Frostbourne. Even though he did miss the amazing bootmaker he used to frequent in Frostbourne.
As far as Hugo could tell, his mother had burned through their savings and was now selling off bits and bobs around the house to help fund his Season. If he didn’t find a wealthy husband this Season, they would have to leave the lazy life of aristocrats and get jobs. He couldn’t see his mother returning to the life of a common charwoman. Not after all her fancy gowns and tea parties with baronesses and countesses.
A heavy sigh tumbled from Hugo’s lips, and he tore his gaze away from the threadbare carpet and discolored patch on the parlor wall where yet another painting had gone missing. He had no interest in marrying a wealthy husband—particularly a duke or a baron. His preference was for a nice country squire who had a little farm he could help with. They could spend a quiet life together away from the hustle and bustle of balls and extravagant dinners. A country squire was less likely to look down on his family’s humble roots.
Yet, he was willing to put himself out there for a member of the aristocracy because it would mean that his mother could live the rest of her life in comfort. His brothers would be able to marry for love rather than social standing and money.
“I take it the streets are still muddy, and I should wear my old boots into town,” Dorian drawled.
Hugo’s head snapped up to see his younger brother standing at the top of the stairs, an ever-present book clutched to his chest and a smirk on his pale-pink lips.
Hugo groaned. “It wasn’t my fault. A spell went wrong on a horseless carriage, and it went tearing through the streets. The damn thing nearly plowed into a young man. I only just managed to pull him to safety—”
“And the thing went through a mud puddle, splashing you from head to toe?”
“Yes,” Hugo growled, stomping up the stairs.
“Did the man get splashed as well?”
“Not a single drop.”
Dorian grinned, but there was warm sympathy in his chestnut brown eyes. “Sounds about right.”
Hugo sighed as he crossed to his bedroom on the left. Dorian trailed behind him and shut the door. Hugo paused, staring at his brother in question. He hadn’t expected Dorian to follow him. There wasn’t more to tell, and he still had to get cleaned up. Except maybe for the fact that he’d saved the world’s most dashing man, but he wasn’t ready to share those details yet. He wanted to spend some time daydreaming about the stranger’s eyes and almost-smile.
“I have good news. Well…” He made a face and shrugged. “Well, I have news at least. Good for us, but I doubt Mother will be pleased.”