When the duke had kissed her, she hadn’t thought about his station in life or her own. She had thoroughly enjoyed every second. He had smelled like a god and tasted of her own confectionery. At the instant their mouths fused, they were not from different worlds. Class had meant nothing where, normally, it meant everything. They had been — dare she think it — equals! For he’d enjoyed the kiss equally as much as she had. Of that, she had no doubt.
On the other hand, she was under no illusion the duke had rushed off to tell Lady Madeleine he no longer wished to escort her around town. This was the type of thing the upper classes did and quickly forgot. By tomorrow, he would never again think of their kiss, and soon, with the help of Amity’s chocolates, he would be engaged to his lady.
On her part, she’d felt the pangs of guilt. After all, if she thought Jeremy was kissing another woman, she would end it with him at once. She gasped. Was she supposed to release him from their tentative agreement because of her small indiscretion?
When Amity finally strolled back into the shop, her youngest sister was impatiently drumming her fingers on the countertop.
“Thank goodness,” Charlotte said, removing her apron. “I thought you would never return.”
“Bea has arrived, hasn’t she?”
Charlotte scrunched up her face. “You know how she is with customers. I couldn’t leave her to make her toffee and come out here every time the bell rang. She would be annoyed with people for interrupting her, no matter they are the reason we do what we do.”
“Thank you for staying,” Amity told her. “Did you manage to get some of your own confections finished?”
That question made her youngest sister’s face brighten. Unlike Amity and Beatrice who both preferred the back room while they worked, Charlotte was pleased to remain behind the counter crafting her marzipan creations. She chatted with their customers while she shaped the almond paste like a sculptor with clay. In fact, some lingered to watch her artistry as she used edible dyes to paint the marzipan shapes or create small faux fruits, using cloves for stems to make them look real.
Charlotte had already cleaned up her workspace consisting of a marble slab, a glass jar of freshly made marzipan, a bottle of almond oil, and her sack of powdered sugar to keep the almond paste from sticking to her hands and the surface. On the top shelf of the display case was a new row of adorable marzipan pigs with a blush of pink to their almond paste skin and dark eyes.
Amity looked closer to see Charlotte had fashioned tiny marzipan tails that lay coiled upon the pigs’ rounded backsides.
“You have outdone yourself, sister. They are splendid.”
“They taste even better than they look. The pink blush is a hint of cherry juice. I’ve sold four already in the past hour.”
“Well, now you’re free to go home. You might want to remind Father that Mr. Cole is coming to dinner.”
Charlotte grimaced slightly, and a sliver of alarm sliced through Amity.
“Don’t you like him?” Had her sister seen some terrible flaw in Jeremy that Amity hadn’t noticed? Or perhaps, she knew about the kiss.
“Oh, I like him fine. Besides, it is you who must like him, tame as he is, not me. Anyway, it’s not that.” Charlotte sighed. “But after last night, when we were in the lap of luxury and refinement, it’s hard to go home and sit in our dreary dining room and hear Father and your Mr. Cole discuss boring business or law cases, or a trip to Scotland.” She finished with a roll of her pretty brown eyes.
Amity laughed. “If I’d known one night out would ruin you for our perfectly comfortable life, I would have taken Bea. And hearing about a journey can never be boring, can it? In any case, didn’t you find last night’s conversations a tad dull — except for the storytelling?”
“I suppose they were a little, but the man on my left, Lord Cameron, was nice. Far more pleasant than Lord Greenley with his bulging eyes.”
“They were bulging in but one direction,” Amity reminded her.
Charlotte shrugged. It wasn’t her fault she had a figure most women would shave their heads for.
After retrieving her coat from the back room and saying goodbye to Beatrice, Charlotte hugged Amity and strolled out, taking a box of the pigs with her. “Six for tonight.”
Amity peeked through the curtain to find Beatrice seated on her stool, her feet stretched out in front of her. She was wrapping toffee in paper squares and twisting the ends.
“Good afternoon,” she greeted. “Shall I put on the kettle?”
“Yes, please,” Beatrice replied. “What do you think about toffee with fruit in it?”
“Depends on the fruit, I suppose.” She lit the stove and set the kettle full of water atop it. “I think anything citrus would be rather nasty, but I can imagine a sultana or even a blackcurrant.”
Beatrice nodded in agreement, then yawned.
Amity crossed her arms and yawned, too. The late night at the Peabodys’ had taken its toll, but why did Bea look put out?
“Are you getting bored of being the most revered treacle toffee maker in London?”
Beatrice laughed. “Am I that?”
“Of course you are! Your tins of toffee fly off the shelves.”
“Even faster when we coat them with your chocolate.”
“True.” Amity scooped tea leaves into the pot and poured the boiling water over them. She would have preferred a cup of chocolate but decided to please Beatrice, who preferred tea. She was ever so grateful for the close relationships with her sisters, beyond pleased by how they each crafted confectionery that was wonderful alone and even better when combined.
“I’m trying a couple new items, too,” Beatrice added. “I’ve coated some toffee in a caramel sauce, but so far, it isn’t really working.” She held out a plate for Amity to see where the warm caramel sauce had softened the hard toffee pieces and the whole thing lost its shape to become partly gooey, partly stiff blobs.
“Hm,” Amity said, picking up a piece, getting it stuck all over her fingers. When she stuck it in her mouth, however, she couldn’t help but smile. “Delicious!” she said thickly, with her teeth nearly stuck together.
“Maybe if I lightly dip chunks of toffee, it might work, but I’m not sure I’ve gained anything with a slightly softer outer layer.”
“You said you’d tried two things?” Amity took a tin of Cadbury’s chocolate-covered biscuits from the shelf, perfect for dipping into her tea. She offered them to Beatrice, who took two.
“I’ll share the other one when it’s perfected. Meanwhile, I’ll stir in a few blackcurrants in the next batch of toffee and see if it helps or hinders.”
“Don’t forget, Mr. Cole is coming for dinner.”
Amazingly, Beatrice produced the identical grimace as Charlotte.
“Don’t tell me you don’t like him either.”
“Either?” asked Beatrice, sipping her tea. “Why? Who doesn’t like him?”
“Never you mind,” Amity said. “I guess we all do, but Charlotte said the dining room discussion will be boring.”
“Compared to your unexpected adventure last night, you mean?”
“Exactly. I told her she should not compare our dining room to Lord and Lady Peabody’s. I firmly prefer our own. It is relaxing and comfortable, and no snout-noses in sight.”