The Lady's Chocolatier: a Victorian-era romance novella

by Sandra Sookoo

  The Lady’s Chocolatier

  a Victorian-era novella

  Sandra Sookoo

  *****

  Kindle Edition

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  All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information retrieval and storage system without permission of the author.

  Ebooks are not transferrable, either in whole or in part. As the purchaser or otherwise lawful recipient of this ebook, you have the right to enjoy the novel on your own computer or other device. Further distribution, copying, sharing, gifting or uploading is illegal and violates United States Copyright laws.

  Pirating of ebooks is illegal. Criminal Copyright Infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, may be investigated by the Federal Bureau of Investigation and is punishable by up to five years in federal prison and a fine of up to $250,000.

  THE LADY’S CHOCOLATIER © 2018 by Sandra Sookoo

  Published by New Independence Books

  ISBN- 9781386579618

  Contact Information:

  sandrasookoo@yahoo.com

  newindependencebooks@gmail.com

  Visit me at www.sandrasookoo.com

  Edited by: Victoria Miller

  V.millerartist@gmail.com

  Book Cover Design by David Sookoo

  Couple: 2017-04-12_16.00.41-2 – Kay and Andrew | Period Images.com

  Background: Victorian Old Room | Deposit Photos.com

  Publishing History:

  First Print Edition, 2018

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  Dear Readers,

  What is better than enjoying the smooth, velvety, sinful darkness of melting chocolate? Reading about it, of course!

  I loved the idea of a chocolatier or a candy maker, and love once lost and rediscovered is always a great pull for me. Put the two together and you’ve got a decadent story than won’t add inches to your waistline!

  I hope you love this novella as much as I adored writing it. This was once a part of the Every Rogue’s Heart boxed set last year, but now it’s being released on its own.

  Enjoy!

  Sandra

  xoxo

  *****

  Dedication

  To my husband David. You are now, and forever will be, my hero.

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  Acknowledgement

  Sometimes, writing a book is a solitary task. Thanks to social media, help and brainstorming are never far off.

  Thanks especially to the following people for title help and chocolate choosing on this project.

  Nicole Michaele, Janis Susan May, Resa Haile, Angie Eads, Suzanne Ross Jones, Leah Cummins Guinn, Tana Hillman, Kristin Gearns Bane, Wanda Anderson, Liz Evans, Sutton Fox, Mary Kay Barrett, Juanita Decuir, Michelle Miles, Marianna de Ciutiis, Pamela Tyner, Judy Furry, Cocoa Butler, Brenda Hunt, Tabetha Waite, Robin Calkins, Betty Foye Mileti, Mary Dieterich, Janice Seagraves, Sue Brandes, Cindy Drennan von Hentschel, Betty Johnson, Crystal Marie, Karen Simpson

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  Blurb

  When old flames don’t die, sparks will fly.

  Mr. Jasper Winslow, the once meek and mild second son of a viscount, is a chocolatier who specializes in fine French chocolates, which helped him put the pain of his lost love behind him. He’d made peace with his life… until a chance meeting with the woman he would have wed reminds him that his heart hasn’t forgotten.

  Strong-willed and independent, Miss Evangeline Bradenwilde wants to be seen in Victorian-era ton society as more than the connections she can make through marriage. Though the trade she works selling underpinnings isn’t exactly the pinnacle of success she’d wished, she still has dreams… until those are shattered when she unexpectedly encounters the man she ran from on the eve of her engagement.

  Thrown together by a fierce rainstorm, Jasper and Evangeline are forced to confront their past and mend a broken relationship if they want to move forward. Exploring the people they’ve become is key, understanding hidden desires is paramount… and a little hanky panky involving chocolate and corsets won’t hurt either.

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  Chapter One

  London, England

  Late April, 1888

  Dash it all!

  Mr. Jasper Winslow briefly closed his eyes, but upon opening them once more, the view didn’t change, and it wasn’t a trick of his vision due to the pouring rain. He pulled up the collar of his overcoat to protect the back of his neck. It didn’t prevent water from dripping off the brim of his bowler hat and onto the tip of his nose. What was she doing here, in London’s Victoria Station, waiting on the very platform upon which he stood? The longer he stared, the hotter irritation swelled within his being.

  Good Gad, he hadn’t given thought to Miss Evangeline Bradenwilde for five years.

  And for good reason. She’d given him the mitten, which is to say declined to marry him. A man didn’t often reflect on the woman who’d fled from him just when he’d been about to propose, and in the garden of his father’s country estate, no less—with all of his family waiting inside for the expected announcement. Handed him some rubbish about wanting her freedom, regardless of the fact he’d given her everything a woman could want during their two-year courtship. As the second son of the Viscount Hedgebourne, he was afforded certain privileges. She would have wanted for nothing. Apparently, she took exception to all of it. After that, he’d spent the bulk of his time keeping busy and learning how to craft French chocolates so he wouldn’t have to think about her.

  Nevertheless, here she now was, thrown into his path by fate or chance. What to do about it?

  Nothing. I will do nothing, for she doesn’t deserve my regard.

  Words from his mother rang in his head, uttered some few months after Evangeline had run. Stop moping about that woman. She is not worthy of you or this family, no matter her pedigree. Obviously, she is not right in her mental faculties.

  Jasper shook his head. The failed relationship belonged in the past, and that’s where he would keep it. Still, he renewed the grip on the handle of his valise with one hand while he unfurled his plain black umbrella and contemplated this ripple in his previously smooth life. Since she was some way down the platform from his current location, he took refuge behind a stone support column as the train he’d stepped from pulled away in a puff of steam and squeal of steel against steel. At least this way he could spy without being seen.

  While lingering passengers, some with open umbrellas, some with hooded capes, made their way down the platform, he observed the woman he’d deeply cared about years ago. Her back was to him as she sat, prim and proper, spine ramrod straight, upon a battered, brown leather traveling trunk, a black umbrella doing a poor job of protecting her from the foul weather. At her feet rested a modest carpetbag that, the longer she sat in the rain, the wetter it became. Every so often she would heave a sigh, dig a gloved hand beneath her smart green velvet jacket and withdraw a timepiece attached to a gold chain. Then she would check the time, sigh again and return the bauble under her clothing.

  What the devil was she doing out here, in the dark and rain, without a companion or escort and no one to meet her?

  I don’t wish to know. He ducked around the pillar, preparing to go on his way and once more forget about her. His conscience got the better of him, and despite his silent vow, he turned back around and contemplated her once more. His breath fogged white in the declining temperatures. Spring rain aside, it felt more like late winter. Bloody fickle English weather.

  Jasper again adjusted his grip on his valise
handle. Her upswept strawberry-blonde hair, beneath the brim of a wide straw hat decorated with green ribbons and flowers, caught the light from a nearby lamp and gleamed a rich gold. His chest tightened in remembrance of the sweet honeysuckle scent her hair had possessed back then, at how silken those strands were on the few times he’d plucked the pins from the masses when he’d forgotten himself and all decorum, at how her eyelids would flutter closed when he lowered his lips to hers in a kiss, and always a chaste kiss at that, for there were rules of proper courtship, after all.

  Get hold of yourself, man. She means nothing to you now.

  His eyes narrowed as he stared. Though he was no longer bitter about her defection, neither could he forget the pain she’d caused. Still, he was raised a gentleman, and that meant he couldn’t leave her in the rain, alone.

  Yet did he really want to open that previously locked door to his past? Especially when, if he gave her an inch, all of those feelings he’d thought tucked away might come tumbling back to mock him?

  Wracked with indecision, he made his way over to the departing station master, who wore his cap low on his forehead, his shoulders hunched against the precipitation. “Excuse me, my good man,” he called to him. “Can you tell me how long that young woman has been sitting here in the rain?” He gestured with a thumb toward Evangeline’s position.

  The man looked around Jasper’s shoulder. “About an hour. Too bad, that. We ain’t exactly having the Queen’s weather, huh?” A shiver wracked the man’s thin frame. The rain, coupled with the cold, left a body frozen down to the bone.

  “No, we aren’t.” Popular gossip said that each time the queen appeared in public, she always had fair and sunny weather. No doubt she was in her private chambers this night.

  A tight smile stretched the man’s face. “She asked about a train to Brighton.” He shrugged. Water beaded on the navy wool of his uniform. “No more trains to anywhere tonight what with the storm building. Expected to batter most of England for a few days, they say. Deuced bad luck, that.”

  Indubitably. “She has no one to meet her?”

  “Evidently not. Wanted to go on to Brighton, but everyone had to disembark here due to the rain and the rotten state of the tracks.” His mutton chop mustache drooped. “Refused my offer to let her sit inside the station. Now I’ve locked up and she’s wet.” He shook his head. “I’ll never understand the womenfolk.”

  If that wasn’t God’s honest truth, Jasper didn’t know what was. “Yes, well, I’m certain she had her reasons.” Stubborn, most likely. Proud, definitely. At least he remembered that about her. Wouldn’t make a spontaneous decision about anything. She liked to weigh all options and ended up overthinking until she’d talked herself out of something.

  “Lord preserve us from strong-willed women, right, mate?” The other man rolled his eyes. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m off to get my supper. My rain-napper broke this morning, so I need to hurry. The damp’s not good for the health.”

  “Of course,” Jasper murmured. He stepped aside for the man to pass. “One more thing. Has she not made arrangements for a hack or cab?” One of the men working on or around the platform would have rendered assistance in securing such a vehicle.

  “Not that I’m aware. Said she was robbed shortly before she disembarked. Has no way to hire a carriage. The unknown person took her purse, and she couldn’t identify anyone while on the platform. The boys and I could give her no recourse.”

  But they could have extended a kindness, free of charge. “Ah. I see.” Jasper frowned. Why did she not call upon her family in London? “Thank you. Enjoy your evening.”

  The station master briefly lifted his cap. “You do the same, sir. Perhaps the wife will have a nice stew or broth on the boil.”

  Indeed, that did sound delightful, and his stomach grumbled in agreement. He hadn’t eaten since breakfast that morning. And now his attention kept drawing back to the woman on the trunk. Damn and blast. He wheeled about and once more gazed upon the sad figure she made as she shifted her stance. She was in some misery. Water dripped from her hat’s brim despite the umbrella. The hem of her sage green gown was wet six inches up the fabric. An hour she’d sat there, bearing erect and not speaking to anyone, as was her wont. She didn’t acknowledge the station master as he rushed past her. No doubt she considered herself quite capable of taking care of herself and wouldn’t lower herself to ask for help when she truly needed it. Had she always been so proud?

  He snorted. Of course she had. What had she done with her life in the five years since they’d been apart? Another swath of hot irritation cut through him. This time at himself. I don’t wish to know. He didn’t want to be the man who was rendered weak at the sight of the woman who’d yanked out his heart and smashed it beneath her heel, didn’t wish to play hero to her damsel in distress. Yet… He cursed under his breath. Manners were too far ingrained into him to walk by and leave her to fate. And he generally didn’t wish her ill. If she had found happiness away from him, good for her.

  I’m a bacon-brained idiot.

  Perhaps he would offer to share his carriage, at least let her find shelter from the weather, but that was all. As a nod to the two years they’d shared in the past.

  With trepidation dogging his steps, Jasper slowly traversed the platform. Soon it would empty of passengers and porters. Already the anemic crowds were thinning, hastened due to the weather and the late hour. Not once did she turn to see who approached. The closer he came to her location, the more his stomach muscles tightened. Then he stood at her shoulder, waiting, hoping she would acknowledge his presence so he wouldn’t have to introduce conversation.

  She continued to ignore him.

  Finally, he cleared his throat. “Horrible weather we’re having. Quite the detriment to enjoying oneself.” Could he appear any more of a rube than he did now? Who the deuce talked about the weather while one was experiencing it?

  The woman still didn’t acknowledge him. However, she did reply, “Life cannot always be beer and skittles every moment.” Her tone was clipped and the chill in it could turn the rain to snow if she continued speaking.

  Jasper’s jaw dropped. Of course life wasn’t a perpetual good time, but it went better for a person when they were looking on the bright side. Had she really just used slang? Despite their history, intrigue pushed through his reserves. “I beg your pardon—”

  “If you think to part me from my valuables, take yourself off, sir. I have already been robbed once this night.” Her stare remained focused ahead of her.

  Damn woman. “Miss Bradenwilde, perhaps you could enlighten me.” Her slight gasp rang over the sound of the rain. Would his use of her name finally bring her around? “Why do you persist in sitting in the dark and the rain, and from your own admission, without resources?”

  She tilted her umbrella and glanced over her shoulder. When she lifted her chin and swept her gaze over his person to alight on his face, her remarkable blue-green eyes widened. Her full lips slightly parted as surprise lined her round face. “Go toast your blooming eyebrows, Mr. Winslow. I have nothing to say to you.”

  If he was shocked at her first response, her second left him gawking like a boy at his first circus. She’d basically told him off in gutter speech he had no idea she’d known. Where the hell had she learned such vulgarity, and why did his pulse kick up along with his curiosity?

  What the devil else had she been educated in while they’d been apart?

  Then righteous indignation set in. His chest tightened with annoyance. Who was she to send him away when he was the injured party in their tiff? In a fit of pique, he tipped his umbrella so any accumulated water dumped upon her and dripped onto her shoulder. And he didn’t apologize. “You have nothing to say to me?” The incredulity in his tone rose above the rain drumming on the umbrellas and the platform itself. “In the event that you’ve suddenly forgotten what transpired between us, you ran out on me. You embarrassed me in front of my whole family.” His breath produced
white puffs into the chilly air. “From my estimation, you do not have the luxury of ordering me anywhere.” God, it felt good to get that off his chest.

  “You would bring that up at a time like this.” It wasn’t a question. Evangeline stood. She leaned slightly down, grabbed the handle of her carpetbag and then deposited it atop the trunk with a wet plop!

  “I would, especially since I wasn’t given a choice.”

  “It is not up for debate.” She glared and her eyes spit exasperation tinged with despair. “What I am doing here is none of your business.” The woman made a great show of glancing about the now-deserted platform—deserted except for one sleek black carriage that drew to a halt nearby. “I assume that’s your vehicle.” She gestured with her chin.

  “Yes.” Why did her assumption make him want to defend himself? It wasn’t his fault he’d had the foresight to telephone his shop assistant once he’d reached English soil and had instructed him to send a carriage, after giving over his train arrival time. “I’m anxious to return home.” Being in France for the past two weeks had been inspiring, but there was no place like jolly old England.

  “By all means, do not let me keep you.” She stood back and snapped her wet skirting away from him, as if he might brush by her should he pass. “No doubt you have important work to resume or people high on the instep to meet.”