Instead of returning to the drawing room, with Madeleine on his arm, he led them across the hall to the other side of the mansion where the doors now stood open to a ballroom. Musicians were already playing softly at one end, and the room was lit with at least a hundred candles. It was gorgeous and romantic.
Every woman entering sighed as Amity did. Charlotte came up beside her and took her hand.
“Only think how your chocolates will be featured.”
Amity couldn’t stop the small chuckle escaping her. “I believe it is not the Brayson confection that shall be featured but the lady herself.”
“Still, it’s rather exciting to have your chocolates here, almost like an art exhibit at a gallery.”
Amity squeezed her sister’s hand as they moved forward with the other guests. In the center of the room was a table draped in blush pink silk and lined with glasses of freshly poured champagne.
The duke waited until they had all gathered around, with his family and close friends nearest to the table and the rest pushing closer to get a look. Then he looked over to the stringed quartet, and they stopped playing.
“I am so very glad to have you all here,” he began, as the servants started distributing the champagne. “As most of you know, I have inherited the title sooner than I would have liked and am honored to walk in my father’s footsteps, even if I cannot hope to fill his shoes.”
“Well said,” someone called out in support.
“I have reached a time in my life when I require a help-mate, someone to fill my home with her beauty and grace, and hopefully fill our nursery, too.”
A few people laughed, while Lord and Lady Brayson looked a little scandalized, perhaps at such a bald reference to their daughter giving birth.
“Where are the chocolates?” Charlotte hissed in Amity’s ear.
“Just wait.”
Someone near them frowned at their talking during the duke’s speech, and Amity squeezed her sister’s hand again to silence her. He continued to praise Lady Madeleine’s beauty while having very little else to say about her. Thus, the speech was rather short before he asked, “Does everyone have a glass?”
They all held up their champagne.
“Good. I plan to ask the lady a very important question in front of all of you tonight. But first, I thought it best to ply her with something as sweet as she is. Something so impossibly delicious, if I promise to provide them to her for a lifetime, she can hardly refuse my request.”
Again, people laughed. By this time, the guests all realized they were there to witness an engagement. They also knew it was basically a grand stunt, for no woman on earth would deny the hand of a duke even if he proposed over a piece of overcooked mutton with a glass of water.
Suddenly, two servants entered, and those behind Amity parted to let them pass. Right between her and Charlotte went two maids carrying trays of chocolates, which they set upon the table now nearly devoid of champagne glasses. As they set the silver trays down, Amity wished she’d remembered in her nervousness upon arrival to suggest porcelain.
Standing on tiptoe, she looked at the confectionery, blinked, and looked again. Horror of horrors, she realized a terrible error had been made.
Chapter Eighteen
Gasping, Amity drew the attention of those around her and even the duke a few feet away, who turned in her direction and gave her his familiar smile.
“What’s the matter?” Charlotte asked softly.
“They’ve put out all the chocolates, including those meant for His Grace alone.”
“I didn’t know about—” her sister started, but the duke began speaking again.
“There she is.” He gestured toward Amity and every head turned toward her. “The chocolatier, herself. If you haven’t been introduced to her as yet, my friends, this is Miss Rare-Foure of Rare Confectionery on New Bond Street, and her sister, Miss Charlotte.”
Amity’s hands were clenched, wondering if she should speak up and tell the duke. How humiliating it would be, having to go in front of everyone and pick through the trays to separate the round cocoa-dusted balls she’d made for him from the flower-shaped Braysons. Regardless, the duke wouldn’t want her to be at the table, next to Lady Madeleine. This was their special moment, and Amity’s presence would ruin it!
Meanwhile, her sister gave a little wave of acknowledgment, looking happy.
“I make marzipan confectionery,” Charlotte told the crowd proudly before offering her sweet smile.
Someone nearby snickered. Amity’s head whipped around to locate the offending person, outraged on her sister’s behalf. Most of the people around them, however, murmured kind words or said nothing, waiting for the duke to continue.
Relinquishing her anger as she had other problems to worry about, Amity looked back at him, realizing he was waiting for a response from her.
“Thank you for the kind acknowledgment, my lord.”
Someone snickered again, and Amity looked around, ready to wallop the rude guest over the head.
“You are most welcome, Miss Rare-Foure. Thank you for coming to share this occasion.”
Instead of looking away, somehow, their gazes locked. Amity felt a tremor of realization rock through her — she loved this man. His devilish smile, his green eyes, his infectious laughter, his quick mind, his sensual kiss. She knew she would love the rest of him, too, if she had ever had the chance to know him better.
His expression changed subtly, and Amity wondered if anyone else noticed. His attractive mouth opened slightly as if he might say more.
Then into the long pause, Lady Madeleine asked, “Are we going to try them, Your Grace? Or let them melt away in the candlelight? Our guests are waiting.”
Our guests? Already, the lady assumed they were a couple jointly hosting the party. It shouldn’t bother Amity, as that was the irrevocable outcome after tonight, but it made her thoroughly heartsick, just the same.
HENRY TURNED TO THE ravishing lady beside him and felt ... nothing. He hadn’t managed to kiss Madeleine, and he no longer cared if he ever did. When he looked out over friends and family, he realized he felt more strongly for most of the people in the room than he did for the earl’s daughter.
Particularly for Amity, whose glistening, chocolate-brown eyes seemed to capture him whenever he looked into their lively, intelligent depths.
Nevertheless, he had to be sensible. Madeleine was bred to be a duchess. Naturally, she looked the part in her golden gown, but — he glanced at Amity again — his chocolatier looked infinitely more enchanting in her green silk, like a fairy creature.
Or at least, for some reason, she was the only female in the room who did absolutely enchant him. But could she truly be accepted as his duchess?
Madeleine didn’t make any faux pas when it came to addressing nobility, nor did she gasp loudly in public or spill her wine. Neither did she kiss passionately enough to make his hair curl — or at least, he hadn’t discovered whether she did or not. What’s more, he realized he no longer cared to find out. With Amity, he knew exactly how spectacular her kisses could be and how wonderful the woman who bestowed them.
“The chocolates,” Madeleine said again, more insistently.
Henry blinked. Hardly a few seconds had passed, but it felt as if he’d stood there for hours, silently thinking of Amity and how unfavorably Madeleine compared to his chocolatier’s humor, warmth, sense of adventure, and companionable nature.