Candace Sweet’s Confectionery

by Dee, Bonnie

  “Breathe,” Will murmured. “Try to relax at least a little bit. After all, Alain Moreau is your friend, isn’t he? On that score alone he should be happy to see you.”

  She nodded without speaking, trying to believe friendship would be enough to save her dignity if he regarded her with utter shock and dismay.

  The driver stopped the cart on the graveled drive. Will climbed down to help Candace from the cart, and asked the driver to await their return. Together, they ascended the steps of the Moreau home.

  After one knock, a woman in black with white collar and cuffs answered the door. The housekeeper quizzically studied the unexpected pair and greeted them in French. “Good day. May I help you?”

  Candace replied fluently in the same language. “My name is Miss Sweet, and this is my escort, Mr. Carmody. I am Monsieur Moreau’s business colleague from England. I’ve come to pay a call.”

  “Ah. But Monsieur Moreau is not at home.”

  Of course he must be at the factory, but since they were here, she may as well press on. “When do you expect his return?”

  “Not for many days. He has gone to London.” The woman regarded her more intently. “To see you, Mademoiselle Sweet.”

  Rather than her pulse racing like a locomotive engine, Candace now felt as if she’d been hit by one. “London. To see me.” She echoed.

  “Oui.” The housekeeper opened the door wider. “Perhaps you should come in. Madame Bernard might better explain to you.”

  Candace nodded mutely as Will’s hand on her back propelled her into the house.

  *

  Alain disembarked the train at Charing Cross Station. On his first arrival there, concerns about his sales ability had troubled him. Now, something much more vital than business success was at stake. Out of the blue, without any guarantee that Miss Sweet had feelings for him, he was about to bare his heart to her. He hadn’t done anything so rash since marrying Geneviève at age eighteen, and look how well that had turned out.

  But Candace was not the same sort of person, and instinct told him he had not mistaken her signs of affection. If he could trust Vivienne’s opinion, it was definitely true. So he lifted his suitcase and hailed a cab to take him to Providence Street.

  The mahogany sign announcing Candace Sweet’s Confectionery was like a beacon in the chilly London fog. Entering the shop felt like coming home to a warm fire on the hearth. The advertising poster attached to the Moreau display gave Alain a great sense of pride and happiness. But when he looked around the store, the heart of the home was missing. Instead, a man stood behind the counter, scooping jelly beans into a paper cone while chatting with the children who had come to buy.

  “What’s your favorite color?” he asked a girl clinging to her nanny’s hand. “Pink, I’ll wager.”

  “No. Black! I like licorice.” Her lisp made the s sputter.

  “Ah, yes. Discerning taste just as I suspected.” The fellow continued to tease and entertain while Alain wondered why in hell a gentleman, for his clothing and speech marked him as such, was waiting on customers in Candace’s shop.

  “What about you ladies?” the man addressed the two nannies. “How about a free truffle each for raising the flowers of England?” He served them each a sweet. “If you like what you taste, do come again.”

  After the group left, the unconventional sales clerk was free to turn his attention to Alain. “May I help you, sir? Sweets for a sweetheart, perhaps?”

  Alain stepped close so no browsing patron might overhear. “I am looking for one Sweet in particular, the proprietress. Is she in the kitchen perhaps?”

  The dark-haired man studied him curiously. “No. I’m afraid Miss Sweet has gone on holiday for a short time. I am filling in as manager. Is there anything in particular I may do for you?”

  It felt as if the door to home had just been slammed in his face. In all his mental scenarios about the end of this journey, Candace not being there had not been one of them. He frowned. “No. That is… can you tell me when she is expected back? I am her new business partner and there are some… I have some important matters to discuss. Business matters.”

  The jovial fellow’s eyes opened wide. “Alain Moreau, I presume. What a conundrum. Or perhaps I mean a twist.”

  Alain was in no mood for riddles. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Where has Miss Sweet gone and when can I expect to see her?”

  “Well, if you turn right around and go back the way you came, catch a train, a ferry and another train or two, you shall probably find her on your doorstep. Miss Sweet has, in fact, gone to France to talk to you.” The man grinned widely, as gleeful as if this was good news and he was personally responsible for it. He stuck out his hand. “Mr. Guy Hardy. Pleased to meet you, Monsieur Moreau.”

  Alain placed the name. “You are the milliner’s intended. Why are you here?”

  “The ladies are otherwise occupied, and Mary is a bit green to operate the place all on her own. My time is free so I’m filling in. Do you know, I’ve learned chocolates are as unique as hats and flowers? Taste better too. And far more interesting to sell than something like, say, hardware.”

  Alain held up his hand to stop his nonsensical prattle. “Please explain, sir. I fear something has been lost in translation. What do you mean when you say Miss Sweet is in France?”

  “Precisely that. She wanted to speak with you in person so she has gone to Marcoussis. I imagine about now she and Will are as surprised as you are.”

  “Will?” He shook his head in consternation before he remembered. “Will Carmody, Miss Gardener’s lover. Why is he with Miss Sweet?”

  “It’s quite a journey for a woman to undertake alone, even if she is modern and capable. Will is her escort.” Hardy paused a moment before speaking again. “You appear gobsmacked. I believe you and I should have a pint and a conversation. Mary,” he called. “Will you watch the store while I step out for a bit?”

  *

  Candace had heard Madame Bernard’s name mentioned so often by Vivienne and Alain that she felt an immediate sense of familiarity when the woman entered the parlor where Candace and Will waited. Part of that familiar feeling may have been because the nanny looked very much like the housekeeper; two ladies of a comparable age wearing similar black dresses with starched white collar and cuffs. But Bernard’s face was somewhat softer and rounder and her expression was kind.

  “Miss Sweet, I am pleased to meet you at last.” The nanny’s English was only slightly accented, which would explain why Vivienne’s was so good.

  Candace and Will rose to introduce themselves.

  “Where is Vivienne today?” Candace asked.

  “Up in her room. I have not yet told her about your arrival. I wished to speak with you first. Please sit. Madame De Beque will bring tea shortly. You British must have your tea around this time of day, no?” Bernard sat across from them, gracefully arranging her skirts. “So, you have come all this way for Monsieur Moreau?”

  “I came to tour the factory, but it seems silly now to have come without forewarning,” Candace replied.

  “Tour the factory. I see.” Madame shrugged. “Perhaps Alain felt equally compelled to visit your shop, for he sent no word to you either. Young people. So impetuous. Là.” She waved an expressive hand, indicating the extreme foolishness of the young.

  Will cleared his throat. “I shall step outside so you ladies may speak in private.”

  Candace wanted to grab his hand and force him to stay with her, but she agreed it would probably be best.

  After he had gone, Madame Bernard continued. “So, you are the young lady Vivienne has fallen in love with. I have been very anxious to meet you and to ascertain for myself whether you are worthy of her affection.”

  Candace was taken aback. “I hope I am. I think she is a remarkable child and in a very short time I’ve become extremely fond of her.”

  Bernard considered a moment before nodding. “I believe that is true. Good. For it is one thing to love
a man, quite another to extend that love to a child who is not your own. With Geneviève out of his life at last—or nearly so, Alain is free to find a woman who will make him happy. But as much as I care for the man, it is my charge’s happiness which is of prime importance to me. I wanted to meet the woman who had won both their hearts, et voila, you have come here to me.”

  Apparently there was no point in keeping up the pretense of being in Marcoussis on business. Candace may as well have been meeting Alain’s mother, such was the importance of Madame Bernard in Alain’s and Vivienne’s lives. She had not realized she would have to pass muster with the nanny. If she were to be with Alain, she would become part of a family fully formed—including Nounou Bernard.

  The nanny’s words about Madame Moreau suddenly struck her. “Did you say Madame Moreau is gone?”

  “She is staying in Paris until the divorce is finalized, and then back to America and good riddance.” Bernard scowled. “Vivienne will not be visiting her for some time to come. I pray, never. The divorce is not yet official, but with Geneviève at last in agreement, it should be quickly completed. God willing, la chienne will not have a last-minute change of mind.”

  Candace was rather shocked at the slur, but also in agreement. Indeed, one could only pray a person as moody as Geneviève Moreau would not shift again on impulse.

  Then more of Madame Bernard’s words registered. I wanted to meet the woman who had won both their hearts.

  Alain had gone to London to see her, because she had won his heart. He cared for her enough to travel all that way to tell her so. A glow radiated from her heart throughout her being.

  “I came here and Alain went to me,” she murmured aloud.

  “Just so.” Bernard chuckled. “You appear to be a good woman, who lives up to her surname of Sweet. I think you are also passionate and hard-headed enough to pursue what you want. That can be a very good quality in a woman.”

  A child’s voice calling from down the hallway interrupted anything more she might have said. “Nounou, someone is here! There is a cart in the drive and a strange man walking around the gardens. Who is he? Have we visitors?”

  Vivienne appeared in the doorway, hair flat on one side as if she had just woken from a nap. Her eyes went round as proverbial saucers when she beheld Candace. “Miss Sweet! Are you really here?”

  “I am.” Candace smiled and held out her arms. “How are you, darling?”

  Vivienne flew into them, hitting against her body with a thud. “Wonderful now.” She hugged fiercely then pulled back to look Candace in the eyes. “But oh, is Papa going to be disappointed when he reaches London.”

  *

  Hardy set down his empty glass with a thump and gave a belch. “Think of it this way. One can have all the cake and eat it too, but if the cake isn’t happy it will give him indigestion. D’ you see?”

  “I don’t think I’m drunk enough,” Alain answered. “You don’t seem to be making sense.”

  “Then have another.” The man held up two fingers at a passing server.

  Alain and Hardy sat in a workingman’s pub surrounded by low-capped fellows with accents so thick Alain couldn’t decipher a word of their English. His clothing alone set Hardy apart from their ilk, yet none of the patrons spared the man a glance, which suggested his presence was familiar. In fact, Hardy had earned a few nods and grunts of greeting when he and Alain had entered. Now, three drinks in and a fourth on the way, the talkative fellow had learned all Alain was willing to tell about his friendship with Candace. Still, he continued to lecture at length about women.

  “Even living in the same city, location may be difficult. My Hattie spends many hours in her shop each day. For convenience’s sake, she would probably be quite content remaining in her flat above it. Yet my house is”—he waved a hand vaguely—“that way and is, of course, much nicer. She has agreed to reside there with me, so, I must be willing to make some changes in my life”—he slapped a hand to his chest—“to support her goals. I would never ask her to give up her shop to be only a wife and mother and manage my household. She wouldn’t be happy so I wouldn’t be happy.”

  “I understand,” Alain replied to keep him from belaboring the point. “You’re saying if I woo Candace, I must first consider such things as where we might live.” He took a drink of the fresh beer set down before him. “It is a problem. I must oversee the factory and uprooting Vivienne from her home would be unfair. Nor could I expect Candace to give up her life in England.”

  “Precisely!” His inebriated new friend clapped him on the shoulder hard. “If things progress the way you hope, you ought to have some plan in mind.”

  “Wise advice.” As if Alain had not considered the matter since his first glimmer of interest in Candace. Even if Geneviève had not been an obstacle, there would always be the matter of physical distance to consider.

  Hardy shook a finger to underline his point. “Our fathers never would have thought it an issue. They expected compliance in a wife. Women should produce heirs, keep the household account on budget, and organize their social life. Love!” He jabbed the air. “Love did not come into it. Duty was all that mattered. But no matter how complicated reconciling two peoples’ needs may be, it is a thousand times better to have a true partner in a marriage. Our fathers were selfish bastards.”

  “Yours and mine seem cut from the same cloth,” Alain agreed, then he confided, “As Candace is already my business partner, it seems it should be easy to become romantic partners as well. But we have not yet spoken of our feelings or shared even one kiss.”

  “No?” Hardy’s eyes went wide. “Are you sure you’re attracted to her?”

  “Quite sure. But I still have a wife who has only recently agreed to a divorce. I was not free to offer myself to Candace until now.”

  “Good lad. That’s proper. Glad to know you wouldn’t take advantage. The woman is like a sister to me, you know.”

  “You’ve mentioned that several times.” Alain stared at his empty glass, one more than he probably should have had. “I must find a hotel for the night. Tomorrow I’ll send a telegram and make certain Candace has arrived in Marcoussis. Then we may decide where to meet.”

  “Come home with me.” Hardy rose to his feet and cast money on the table to pay the bill. “No need to sleep in some bedbug-ridden hotel room. We’ll have a good dinner and perhaps open a bottle of brandy, eh?”

  Suddenly so exhausted he could scarcely stand, Alain nodded. It seemed he had made a new friend in this foreign city, and he was grateful for it. But honestly, he was tired of hearing the sound of Guy Hardy’s voice.

  He would retreat to his room, free at last to dwell on the astonishing news that Candace had traveled all the way to France to tell him how she felt. His heart bubbled over like fizzy champagne as he grasped the extent of her feelings. His own journey had not been in vain. Alain couldn’t wait to see her in person. Now there was no necessity to restrain their emotions, they could speak freely. And even, perhaps, share a kiss at last.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Now that she had what she wanted within her reach, Candace found herself suddenly awkward and shy. Alain stood before her, hat in hands as on the day they had met. His head inclined forward so dark locks fell over eyes, which seemed unable to meet her gaze. He turned the hat brim round and round and cleared his throat several times.

  “Well,” Candace interrupted the silence. “Here we are.”

  “Indeed.” He looked around the kitchen as if he had not seen it before. “An appropriate place, I think, since it was here I first knew I had found a like-minded soul.” His low tone, barely above a murmur, vibrated her body in intriguing ways.

  Why must they stand there and talk? She had been traveling the better part of three days, to France and immediately home again. She should have gotten some rest before having this important conversation. Her mind was too muddled to think clearly. But Alain had arrived at the shop only shortly after Will saw her home.

  “I�
�” Candace began.

  “If you—” Alain said.

  “After you.” They spoke simultaneously.

  “Oh merde! Oubliez ces absurdités.” He dropped his hat on the floor and lunged toward her.

  Candace squeaked in surprise when he caught her up in his arms and pressed his lips to hers. A kiss. Her first one. She did not have time to wonder if she was doing it right, for his groan of approval reassured her, and it felt absolutely right—two magnets clicking together.

  All thought deserted her brain as she registered minute details of the moment: the warmth of his lips pressed hard against hers, the rough wool of his coat scraping her palms, tendrils of soft hair tickling her hands as she curved them around the back of his neck. Their bodies pressed firmly from chest through thighs, heating her flesh through her gown.

  Alain’s arms, banded around her back, held her tight. For an instant, Candace recalled the strength of another man’s arms as he’d brought a cloth stinking of chloroform to her face. But the memory immediately vanished, for this was Alain kissing her, his lips teasing hers to part, his tongue intruding slightly into her mouth. Instinct took over as she followed his lead, sliding her tongue across his.

  She could scarcely believe this was real, that he was truly here with her at last. But his solid form in her embrace and his gasp for air when they paused their kissing convinced her. He slid a hand down to rest on the base of her spine, and then a little lower to settle on her rear.

  After several minutes of intense kissing and, oh God, rubbing their bodies together, she felt the hard length in his trousers. Her womanly bits unfurled like petals and wildfire blazed through her. She rocked against him, praying her would scoop her up and carry her upstairs. She would happily go.

  Alain abruptly released her and pushed her away. “Merde! Non, non. Non pas comme ça.”