“Not exactly on bended knee with declarations of undying love,” she’d explained, “but a proposal, just the same.”
They’d been mightily impressed in any case, and, while understanding her reasons, they couldn’t believe she’d turned him down. Since then, they hugged her more and treated her ever so kindly. She hoped they didn’t feel a sense of burden from her choosing them and the confectionery over the duke.
In her heart, she wished she could have all three.
“If His Grace wants a chocolate, he can come here,” she said softly.
“Men have their pride,” Beatrice reminded her. “Besides, it wouldn’t change anything, would it?”
Sadly, she shook her head and felt tears prick her eyes. “I am afraid not. I cannot live without being a chocolatier and being with you.”
“Nonsense,” Beatrice said, as the bell tinkled at the front of the shop. Charlotte was at the counter, so they ignored it. “You are determined to remain here in this back room, day after day, year after year?”
Amity didn’t like the way her sister made it sound as if she’d been sentenced to Newgate gaol. Chocolate-making was a joyful affair. On the other hand, she’d felt anything but joy in recent weeks.
“Amity,” Charlotte called out, and she got to her feet, glad of the interruption since Beatrice was scowling and looked as if she had more unwelcome words to say on the matter.
Pushing aside the curtain, she entered the front of the shop to see the Dowager Duchess of Pelham and Henry’s sister, both of whom she’d met at the ill-fated proposal party.
For a moment, Amity wondered if Her Grace were there to reprimand her for causing trouble. Worse, what if the dowager knew her son wanted to marry a shopkeeper’s daughter and was enraged?
“Your Grace,” Amity said and curtsied before greeting the young lady with another curtsey, “My lady. How may I help you?”
“Your chocolates were such a success at our last party,” Henry’s mother said. “I want to order some for the next one.”
Amity could scarcely believe the dowager was making mention of the embarrassing disaster of a proposal party as if nothing had occurred out of the ordinary regarding Amity or her chocolates. How gracious of her!
“May I ask the occasion? I have some wonderful shapes, perfect for a St. Michaelmas party or a Christmas gathering.” Amity wondered if she should give the chocolates for free to make amends.
“An engagement party,” the dowager said, looking directly at Amity who, at those words, could barely breathe. “Or it will be by the evening’s end.”
“For the ... the Duke of Pelham?” she asked, mortified when her voice cracked with tension.
“Indubitably.” The dowager glanced at the display case to her left. “So many choices.” Then once more, she fixed Amity with the identical green eyes her son had inherited. “However, I believe you already know what my son likes.”
Amity swallowed. “Coffee?” she croaked.
The dowager and her daughter laughed. “How good of you to recall!” his mother said. “I believe he also likes chocolate with orange. He said he tasted such a confection here once.”
Amity nodded. “Yes, His Grace did, but what of the lady to whom he will become engaged? What does she like?”
The dowager shrugged as if that didn’t matter. “May I sample something?”
“My goodness, yes, Your Grace. My apologies.” She shot Charlotte a tight-lipped look for not already having put samples on a plate only to realize her youngest sister was holding one out to her. “This is Miss Charlotte,” Amity said belatedly.
“Yes, I remember from the party,” the dowager said evenly, while stripping off her right glove, without giving away whether Charlotte’s memorable presence was good or bad.
“Of course.” Amity hoped her sister hadn’t said anything in her defense that was too terribly rude in front of the duke’s family and all his guests.
Stepping forward, Charlotte seemed entirely at ease. “This one is a milk chocolate with nuts, and this one, also milk, has a soft center of raspberry essence. This one is a plain chocolate truffle with orange liqueur in the center. I believe it is the one the duke would have tasted. Is that right?” Charlotte looked at her.
“Yes, that is the one. Let me get another of each for Lady ... Lady....” Amity had forgotten Lady Penelope’s husband’s name and title. She felt her cheeks grow hot with mortification.
Before either the dowager or her daughter could respond, Charlotte said, “She remains Lady Penelope.”
Amity stared at her youngest sister in admiration. All the time she spent reading the gossip rags hadn’t been for nothing.
“Well done,” Lady Penelope said to Charlotte, then turned to Amity, “I married an earl’s younger son, you see,” as if that explained everything. “Don’t worry, it is nearly as confusing to me.” She, too, pulled off her glove so she could sample the chocolates.
Amity was glad Henry’s sister had not taken offense although the intricacies of her title were still as clear as mud. Using the tongs, she set another orange chocolate on the small white plate, as well as a second of each of the others. “That last one is also plain chocolate with ground dates.”
The two women tasted everything, and Amity found herself relaxing as they exclaimed with pleasure. Charlotte brought forth two glasses of water for them to sip between tastings.
“Which is your favorite?” the dowager duchess asked Amity.
Amity’s eyes widened. “Honestly, Your Grace, that is like asking me to pick from among my own children — or I imagine it would be.” But she reconsidered. “I do favor a confectionery created with both my sisters’ help.” She returned to the case and picked from the middle shelf, putting two on the plate.
The dowager duchess and her daughter regarded the rectangles covered in marzipan. “What are they?” Lady Penelope asked.
Amity smiled. This was her favorite part of making confectionery — having people taste for the first time and make a discovery. “Please try them and see if you can figure out what they are.”
The Pelham mother and daughter each picked up a square and, after the first careful taste, devoured them.
“Gracious,” the dowager said. “I could see myself eating an entire tin of those.” She looked to her daughter. “I think I know what is in them. Do you?”
“Well, the marzipan has been flavored with ... vanilla, I think, and it was most delicious. The chocolate was not too sweet but had a hint of some type of brandy. It was perfect. Inside were slivers of something buttery that melted on my tongue. I think it was toffee.”
“Treacle toffee,” came Beatrice’s voice from behind. “And the mysterious flavor in the chocolate is French brandy.”
Amity stepped back so her middle sister could come forward, curtsey to the dowager duchess and Lady Penelope, and be introduced. She hoped Beatrice remained on her best behavior, with no outbursts about class unfairness.
“That was utterly delicious.” The dowager offered Amity a smile. “Would you tell me why those are your favorites?”
“Because all three of us used our talents to make them. Miss Charlotte makes the marzipan, and it is the creamiest, most delicate ever created.” She looked at her youngest sister whose cheeks turned a pretty shade of rose.