“Met them? You do recall the eldest Miss Rare-Foure and one of her sisters were at the Peabodys’ party, do you not?”
Madeleine looked perplexed. “Why on earth would a shopgirl be at a dinner party?”
He sighed. “Not a shopgirl. She is the chocolatier. She and her sister brought the chocolates and stayed as guests.” He could not imagine how could she have forgotten the unforgettable Rare-Foure sisters.
She blushed slightly. “I suppose I had eyes only for you, Your Grace.”
Henry chuckled slightly at her adept answer. “How kind of you to say.” It was the first time she’d made an effort to single him out as if he meant anything to her. Apparently, his suit was making progress. That should fill him with gladness. Why didn’t it?
“Beyond that,” Madeleine added, “the mind plays tricks when things are where they are not supposed to be. If I saw a warthog dressed up and astride a horse on Rotten Row, I probably wouldn’t think anything of it.”
Was she comparing Amity to a warthog?
As he tried to form a response, she shook her head in dismay. “That seems terribly untoward, even shady, for our hosts to inflict such low-class women upon us as invited guests. I hesitate to go to another event at Lord and Lady Peabody’s home. What next, sitting down at the table with the butcher or the lamp-lighter?”
He knew what the term to bristle meant but wasn’t sure he’d ever truly experienced the sensation until then. Now, he felt himself bristling at her mean-spirited remarks.
“That’s an unnecessary thing to say,” he told her quietly. “And it is unbecoming of a gracious lady.”
Her nostrils flared and her eyes widened at his rebuke, but then she lowered her gaze. After a long pause, she said, “I believe you are correct. It was wrong of me.”
Henry didn’t know her well enough to discern if she spoke from her heart or was telling him what she thought he wanted to hear. One thing was certain, if she were to be his duchess, he would instruct her to be kinder with those beneath her since nearly everyone in society would be.
He still hadn’t told her what was on his mind, his guarantee to Amity.
“I would very much appreciate, as a personal favor to me, if you let your spat with Rare Confectionery disappear like morning mist.”
She opened her mouth to protest, but he continued, “I very much enjoy their chocolates and will continue to patronize them. It would not do for me to support the shop while you shun it. That discord would reflect badly on at least one of us, don’t you agree? Especially if we are to continue to grow closer.”
Her answer might end their relationship that very evening.
Chapter Sixteen
Lady Madeleine paused before responding and even sent a sideways glance toward the chaperone, whose own gaze was fixed pointedly out the window.
“As long as I do not have to return to the shop — and I see no reason why I would — then I shall simply ignore its existence as well as the awful women who run it,” Madeleine said quietly.
“Thank you.” Henry was relieved for Amity. Also, he could continue in his pursuit of the earl’s daughter. Although why that hinged on whether she tried to destroy a confectionery, he could not say. Nothing seemed straightforward anymore since meeting the chocolatier.
“I suppose I must confess,” Madeleine continued, “since it seems important to you. I already spoke with one of the shopgirls, maybe from the party. I honestly cannot recall. I had words with her mother, too, because they both accosted me, if you must know, as I was passing by their shop. I said my piece to them, and I think they received my message.”
Her message? “Was there a public scene?” Not only would it be unbecoming a future duchess, the more public the quarrel, the worse for Rare Confectionery.
Madeleine sniffed. “Rather public, I’m afraid. All on their side, of course. Berating me on the pavement like common fishwives. What could I do?”
Henry didn’t like to think of the formidable Rare-Foure women ganging up on Madeleine. She might be a little narrow-minded and even arrogant, but she was also a mild-mannered female, harmless despite her frivolous threat regarding the confectionery. After all, she’d merely been sampling a chocolate when Amity’s sister lashed out at her. Now, it seemed she had innocently walked by the store and was set upon.
He felt his ire rise on her behalf. He had told Amity he would handle it, and she should have trusted him to do so, not taken matters into her own hands.
“I am sorry you had to go through that,” he told Madeleine, hoping to make amends and to reset his focus upon the one female who should matter to him. “By the way, have I told you how exquisite you look tonight? Every night, actually.”
She rewarded him with her perfect smile, and it shone from her eyes this time, too. They were definitely growing used to one another and becoming more friendly. Tonight, they would enjoy the opera and perhaps — if the stars aligned — he would finally enjoy a kiss.
The chaperone shifted in her seat, and Henry realized all the stars in the world weren’t going to make that happen. He might have to marry this female without ever tasting her lips.
WHEN THE SHOP BELL tinkled, the last person Amity expected to see was the Duke of Pelham striding in. She thought they would no longer be graced with His Grace, as it were, not since she’d created the Brayson to his satisfaction. Perhaps he wanted to try it again and be certain. However, since his party was in two nights, she could not imagine how she could start over.
Charlotte had run out on an errand, and thus Amity was alone. She could not go into the back room with him — nor should that have been the first thought in her head. What was wrong with her?
“Good day, my lord. How are you?”
“Well, thank you, Miss Rare-Foure, and yourself?”
The formality was all wrong, but they were in public and, despite being alone, acting any other way was impossible.
“Are you here to try the Brayson again?” she asked.
“I should, now that you mention it” he agreed. “If you have one on hand.”
“Yes, I do. I’ve made a few trays,” she told him and disappeared behind the curtain to retrieve a single precious Brayson. To her alarm, he followed her all the way to the cupboard on the back wall, making butterflies take flight in her stomach.
Wishing to return to the shop front as quickly as possible, Amity found the correct tray. She snatched up one chocolate with her bare hand and whirled around, nearly slapping the duke in the chest with it.
Startled by his closeness, and how his heavenly fragrance already tickled her nose, she dropped it.
“Rats!” she exclaimed at her clumsiness. She hated to waste anything so delightful as a chocolate.
Simultaneously, they bent to retrieve the wayward confection, their heads bumping together with a loud clunk, knocking the duke’s hat off and making Amity grab her forehead.
“Ow!” she said.
“So sorry,” he said.
Rising, the duke handed her the confection, which she tossed toward the rubbish bin in the corner. Too late, he removed his white glove, now smeared with chocolate.
“Let us try again,” she said, rubbing her temple. More slowly, with composure, she reached for the entire tray, turned with a steady hand, and let him take his own sweet.