“They are exactly as ordered,” she said. “Half milk chocolate, half plain — all in the particular shape you requested with the sliver of candied pineapple on top.” She’d had to spend most of the profit buying the wretched prickly fruit, not to mention the trouble she’d had tracking one down on short notice.
“Wait till you see,” Lady Peabody said to the other ladies even though Amity couldn’t imagine why their hostess would think the shape so amusing.
When her maid entered, Lady Peabody gestured to the tins and gave her instructions. In a very short time, the girl returned with two large porcelain plates, the lighter chocolates on one, the darker on the other.
“Elephants!” Lady Madeleine was the first to remark. “So clever.”
Amity looked to Charlotte who blinked back at her. Neither had a clue why the elephant-shaped chocolates were considered ‘clever,’ but all the ladies murmured their agreement, and Lady Peabody beamed.
“Surely, it’s the taste you will enjoy most,” Amity said.
Some of the ladies laughed, and Amity closed her mouth, determined not to put her foot in it again that night. Instead, she sipped her port, took one of the milk chocolate elephants for the sheer comfort the taste provided, and hoped the men would return soon so the evening could draw to a close.
After about twenty minutes — with endless vapid talk of dress styles, the best new fragrances, or the perfect color silk for each shade of hair — the men rejoined them. Amity’s gaze instinctively sought out the duke, who seemed to be looking at her, too, until she realized she was standing in the way of his view of Lady Madeleine.
Quickly, stepping aside, she looked for Charlotte and found her conversing with another female and looking perfectly at ease. Even Lords Greenley and Ridley were keeping company on the other side of the room. Amity ended up standing alone by a potted palm, relieved to take a second glass of port as the servant came past. She watched from her vantage point as the male guests ate their share of her chocolates.
Hoping the evening was nearly at its end, she prayed Lady Peabody would not announce the onset of parlor games. Amity highly doubted it. These people seemed far too stuffy to play The Minister’s Cat or Snap-dragon.
While finishing her port, Amity allowed herself to bask in the accolades heaped upon her chocolates, although every single partygoer she overheard congratulated Lady Peabody and the “witty shape.” Except for one.
When the duke suddenly appeared beside her, she startled.
“The chocolates are delicious,” he praised, “and you created a perfect elephant. I take it they are from a tin mold.”
“They are, and yet I have no idea why the design is amusing everyone,” she confessed.
“Truly?” he asked, and she stood up a little straighter, feeling out of place again.
“I don’t believe it was because our hostess is simply fond of them,” she surmised.
“No,” the duke said. “It’s a jab at the queen. Some don’t like her declaring herself the Indian Empress. Just the same, there’s not a man here who wouldn’t lay down his life for Victoria.”
And not a lady there who wouldn’t give her eye teeth to become an empress, herself, Amity thought. Elephants, indeed!
When the duke finally escorted Lady Madeleine out the door, he did it with nary a backward glance. Even with her feelings hurt, Amity couldn’t blame him. They must all seem so dull in comparison to his lady friend.
At last, the rest of them were free to make their hasty goodbyes and disappear into the smoky, foggy London night.
HENRY THOUGHT HE OUGHT to be flogged. For most of the party, instead of being devoted to the woman he intended to marry, he had been watching another. Not as shamelessly as Greenley had ogled the younger Miss Rare-Foure’s breasts, but still, he’d done a great deal of staring. It was strange and wonderful to see the chocolatier out of her shop and in the midst of his world. Indisputably, she’d had one or two faux pas but finished the night having charmed their hosts and the other guests with her story and her chocolates.
Amity had caught him looking at her more than once.
Thoughts of her in the rich plum silk that complimented her dark hair and clung to her body had accompanied him to bed in the wee hours of the morning when he’d finally made it home.
Awakening to the mid-morning sun, his first notion was to go see her. Amidst the confectionery, he could relax and chat with her, enjoy her company, and dream of—
No, no, no, he admonished himself. His dreams must be about the most beautiful, coveted woman in London, perhaps in all the world. Lady Madeleine had expressed her liking for the chocolates, and because Lady Peabody had fastened upon the exact idea of presenting a tray of them at her party, it in no way invalidated his own upcoming surprise. After all, his chocolates would be extra special. Amity would see to that.
To that end, he had every right, almost a duty, to return to the confectionery and discuss his party with the chocolatier. He only hoped Lady Madeleine hadn’t noticed his wandering attention. He could hardly explain it to her since he couldn’t explain it to himself.
Jumping out of bed, Henry asked his valet to fetch him a cup of coffee and looked forward to going to Bond Street. Two hours later, he strolled into Rare Confectionery, feeling right at home. Waving to Charlotte and happy that the elder Mrs. Rare-Foure was not in evidence since he had an inkling he was being slightly improper, he parted the curtain to the back room.
There was his chocolatier — in the arms of another man.
Chapter Nine
Henry froze as the couple before him broke hastily apart.
Miss Rare-Foure’s cheeks turned scarlet, and her chocolate-smeared apron was creased from being held against the man’s body.
Wanting to rip the stranger limb from limb, luckily, Henry’s civility restrained him from doing anything rash. Miss Rare-Foure’s mouth was parted in surprise — or perhaps because she had been about to let herself be kissed — and since the young man was staring as if shocked out of his boots, Henry spoke first.
“My apology for barging in.” He didn’t say his sincere apology because he didn’t feel sincere at all. “I assumed you would be working on your chocolate creations, not ... that is, I shall return at another time.”
“No, please, my lord,” Miss Rare-Foure said, finding her voice and taking a step in his direction. “Let me introduce you to my ... my friend. This is Mr. Cole. He has recently returned from a trip to Scotland. Mr. Cole is a lawyer.”
She smiled, looking between him and the detestable lawyer, then added, “This is His Grace, the Duke of Pelham.”
The lawyer paled and stuck out his hand, bowing at the same time. It was most unfortunate and awkward. Henry nodded, yanked off his right glove, and took the man’s hand, despite feeling an instant aversion at having to look at the top of his head.
In that moment, he wanted to whisk Miss Rare-Foure away to his own townhouse and let her make her chocolates in his kitchen. And when she wasn’t making confections, he would dress her in the finest gowns and show her off all over Mayfair.
What could this lawyer offer her?
The man raised his head, and Henry let go of his hand.
“A pleasure to meet you, my lord,” the man said. “Amity told me about the special chocolate she is making for you.”