Amity glanced at Charlotte, and they rolled their eyes.
“Very well, Professor Bea,” Amity said. “The Duke of Pelham has set his sights upon one Lady Mad—”
“Madeleine Brayson? Again?” exclaimed Charlotte. “Well, that’s crabbed the morning.”
The three sisters laughed, and Beatrice agreed, “Simply open today’s newspaper and look at the society pages. I’m certain there will be plenty more news of Lady Madeleine dazzling the bon ton, enough to keep you in an ill humor all day. She is everywhere it seems, and on everyone’s tongue.”
“And soon, our sweets shall be on her tongue, too.” Amity wanted her creation to exceed the duke’s wildest expectations.
Beatrice cocked her head and considered. “A chocolate bonbon to win a lady? Good idea on the duke’s part. How will he present it to her?”
“At his home during a party,” Amity told them, trying not to feel a little let down. “In a fortnight.”
“Get invitations for all of us,” Charlotte said. “What’s wrong with that?” she exclaimed when her sisters stared at her. “Don’t you think, as the chocolatier making the magic happen, you should be there to witness what your creation does at the very moment it is unveiled?”
Amity wasn’t at all sure she wanted to do that, except for the mildest curiosity to see the stunning Lady Madeleine in person. What about her could put this woman above all others? Her face, figure, or personality? Why should she be praised more than Charlotte with her sweet temper and curvy figure, or Beatrice with her grace and intelligence, or herself, with her ... her uncanny ability to blend the perfect chocolate treat?
Amity drained her cup.
“Even if Amity were to go,” Beatrice began, “which, in truth, I think she should, why should you and I go?” she asked.
Charlotte shrugged. “To see inside the duke’s home, of course. I hear it is beyond luxurious.”
“Yes, I know that, but why would he invite us for such a purpose, two single women of modest means who’ve never had a Season or been introduced to society?” Beatrice asked, her voice growing softer with each rather sad word. “Besides, we would surely outshine the woman he means to make his duchess,” she finished, winking at Amity.
They all laughed again. The Rare-Foure sisters had no illusions about their status. Their father was a second son of a French baron. They were raised as he had been, with gentility and privilege, yet they were untitled and didn’t have the inheritance to snag a nobleman.
On the other hand, what they did have was a marvelous sweet shop on New Bond Street, nestled amongst the most luxurious stores in London. And they were having a truly wonderful life.
Amity rose to her feet, eager to get to her work area in the back of the shop and replenish any chocolates which they’d sold out of. With that accomplished, she would try her hand, or rather, try her palate, at creating the Brayson.
HENRY WAS AT SIXES and sevens. While he wanted to continue to court Madeleine, he didn’t want to let on his intent to ask her to marry him. He feared she would guess if he spent too much time with her between now and the party. She already knew she was the guest of honor, and that he’d invited her parents and brother, as well.
In point of fact, she probably already knew he was going to make a public proposal since she’d first protested the attendance of her parents with a frown upon her breathtaking face, and the words, “Whyever for? They can be such wet blankets who lay upon our glittering flames of fun and extinguish them.”
His mouth had opened, and he hadn’t known what to say. They were riding in Hyde Park along Rotten Row with her professional chaperone riding an appropriate distance behind. At first, he’d thought she was speaking in jest for it seemed a chilly thing to say about one’s parents.
After a pause, he’d said, “I think it would be appropriate to have them there. They will undoubtedly enjoy the evening and all its events. I know you will want them there, too.”
Lady Madeleine had looked wide-eyed at him, then a knowing smile had turned her face into that of a serene goddess. She’d acquiesced at once.
Today, he intended to drop in at Rare Confectionery and see what the chocolatier had come up with overnight. He supposed it was a bit premature, but he had ideas, and before Miss Rare-Foure got too far along in her creation, he thought she might like to hear about them.
After all, who knew Madeleine better than he? Many people, in fact. He laughed at his own joke. From the balls and dinner parties they’d attended, he knew she liked extremely sweet things, whether her tea or her sponge cake or even her lemonade. He also knew she liked to dance, the polka more than the waltz. And he knew she had a number of strong dislikes and an opinion on practically everything.
Unlike many women, she had not kept her thoughts to herself, even upon their first meeting. He supposed he should admire a female who didn’t hide her opinions behind her fan or the façade of polite indifference.
Occasionally, however, he wished she would retreat behind the façade if only for a few minutes. One didn’t need to proclaim about everything and often in a negative fashion. Still, he hoped it was an active mind that made her so ... assertive.
Henry left his home on St. James Place, got out of his coach precisely where Old Bond Street met New Bond Street, and took a deep breath of air. He coughed — for London was a tad smoky at the best of times. And he loved it anyway, while thoroughly appreciating a couple months, twice a year, at his country estate in Kent. There, he could take in the delightfully refreshing sea air. Why, he could practically see Calais from his third-floor chamber!
The confectionery door had an attached bell that tinkled in a pretty fashion as he entered, exactly as it had done the day before. He hoped today he didn’t have to chase the chocolatier down the street.
As he strode in, the aroma of chocolate swirled around him. After tasting Miss Rare-Foure’s confections in his carriage, he now knew how delectable chocolate could be, and the rich, decadent scent caused his tongue to twitch. Soon, he knew he would be enjoying the taste again.
His gaze swept the bright, tidy shop where everything was either white or the brilliant blue of the Rare Confectionery stamp that was on the tins and bags. To his left was a glass display case of shelves filled with paper-lined trays of sweets, and behind it was space for those who worked there. In front of him was another glass case of confectionery, and to his right, anchored to the wall was shelf upon shelf of attractive tins of various sizes. He assumed these all contained selected chocolates and toffee should one wish to purchase more than a small sackful.
Connected to the end of the first glass case was a marble counter at which one of the young women he’d encountered the day before was presently stationed. By a familial resemblance, Henry assumed she was related to the chocolatier, most likely a sister.
Looking up with a smile upon her face, her eyes widened with recognition. When she took a deep breath, drawing his gaze to her expansive bosom, he thought she was going to shriek. Happily, she released the breath and seemed to regain her sensibilities.
“My Grace,” she began, and her face turned red as a freshly boiled beet. “I mean Your Grace, my lord.”
“Just one of the two will do,” he said, approaching the counter. “Are you also a Miss Rare-Foure?”