“I’m going to try. It probably won’t be feasible, but at least it’s something to concentrate on while I try to find another editing job in Chicago.”

Roane frowned a little but nodded. “Good plan.”

Was it the mention of Chicago that made him frown?

It was making me frown too.

Two weeks would be up before I knew it, and I still hadn’t figured out what I wanted from my life.

But Caro didn’t need to know that. “It was really scary moving out on my own at first, but I love it now. The sense of freedom is amazing.”

This time Roane shot me a knowing, teasing look, but I ignored it. I was determined to plant as many seeds in Caro’s mind as possible about grabbing hold of the reins of her life from her controlling aunt.

We were eating the light-as-air Victoria sponge cake Caro had baked when Roane excused himself to use the restroom.

As soon as he was out of earshot, I turned to his cousin. “Your baking is off-the-charts delicious, and Roane says you’re good enough to bake professionally. Have you ever considered approaching the baker for a job?”

I’d met the baker when I’d gone there to buy lunch. His name was Antony Graham. I’d gotten his life story from him when I went in—early forties, divorced, had his kids every other weekend, and he’d run the bakery in Alnster for twenty years.

Caro shot a look at the door where Roane had disappeared out of, and then turned to me. Her dark eyes were bright with frustration. “I have. Two years ago I went to Tony with my baking. I was so nervous.”

“What happened?”

With a heavy sigh, she lowered her eyes to the table. “He said he thought I was a good baker but asked me if Aunt Helena knew I’d come to him about a job. When I said no”—she met my gaze again, anger mingling with the frustration—“he said he wouldn’t employ me, knowing it was going directly against the wishes of my aunt. I said, ‘But I’m twenty years old,’ and he said . . . ‘Everyone knows Helena’s in charge of your life, and I don’t want to deal with her wrath. Go home, little girl.’”

“He said what?”

I closed my eyes, wincing at the fury in Roane’s voice. When I opened them, Roane was rounding the table, indignation etched into every feature of his face. He placed his palms on the table and bent toward Caro, who was wide-eyed with concern.

“He really said that?” Roane asked, clearly forcing calm into his voice.

“Roane, it’s not worth getting upset over.”