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

by Sandra Sookoo

  Once he’d carried the tray to the table and set it down, he took the seat across from her, and in the small space between them, their knees knocked. A jolt akin to electricity zipped from the point of contact up through his groin. Briefly, he closed his eyes. He’d missed that feeling, that shot of excitement being around her caused. Jasper quickly rearranged his chair so accidental touching couldn’t reoccur. “Please, help yourself. You’ve made no secret how independent and capable you are. I’m sure something as trivial as tea shouldn’t be an issue.”

  Her eyes narrowed and he tamped down the urge to crow with victory. “Thank you for the reminder.” The words were clipped and as cold as the rain and the wind howling outside. While she poured out a cup, not bothering with sugar or milk, he leaned back in his chair. “So you decided to bury your angst in confections then?”

  “Right.” There was a story yet to tell. “I was conflicted in my mind, and since there was no danger of me needing to attend to the title—my brother is quite hale and hearty you see—my parents urged me to go out into the world and find my way. To make something of myself.”

  “How lovely to have such freedom.” Her hand shook as she raised her cup to her lips.

  “It is, rather.” Jasper prepared his own cup, adding milk and one cube of sugar. “I traveled through Europe for many months. Many of the grand places inspired me. All of the people I met added to the yearning of my soul.” He took a sip of his tea and savored the warmth as he swallowed. “In France, I discovered what it was I wanted above all else.”

  “And that was?” One of her eyebrows arched as if she found his recounting trite and insipid.

  “Chocolate making.” A grin tugged at his lips as he remembered the year he’d spent in Paris. At first, he’d visited every confectionary and patisserie he could find in the city, coming back again and again to his favorites. And then he took rooms in order to study his passion, but it wasn’t until a chocolatier caught him more or less deconstructing an assortment of confections that his destiny arrived. “I was invited to work under a famous chocolatier in Paris, which I gladly did, for little pay and long hours, just to be closer to the chocolates I’d fallen in love with.”

  “How nice that you found fulfillment.” Bitter annoyance rang through her words, but her expression remained impassive.

  He frowned. What had her life become that brought her to such aggravation? “I thought so. All those months, I lived and breathed the art. I ate more chocolate than real food. I learned so much that finally the chocolatier turned me out with his blessing, and hoped I didn’t practice my new vocation in Paris else I’d run him out of business.” His chuckle echoed in the empty shop. “Once I returned home to England, I was filled with a new purpose, a new life. I go back to Paris in the spring every year to keep current on my craft and to visit my friend Jacques, the man who taught me everything.” He spread wide his arms, regardless of the teacup still in his hand. “Now, here we are.”

  “You have done well for yourself.” She took another sip of tea and then set the cup down on its saucer as she contemplated the sweets and small cakes on the tray.

  “I have.” He swallowed down the remainder of his tea. “Please, try the bonbons. They’re a particular favorite with my customers.” Watching her, he set his cup into its saucer. What would she think of the flavors he’d put together? His stomach muscles clenched. Why did he care to hear her opinion?

  “What do you call them?” She peered at the four rounded confections, each one filled with a different sweet surprise.

  “They’re my broken heart collection and are quite the balm for customers who come in besieged with maudlin thoughts of romantic woes. You see, chocolate and sweets pair nicely with coffee or tea, as well as a listening ear.” He grinned when she sucked in a quick breath. “As I mentioned, inspired by you, Miss Bradenwilde. This collection was one of my first attempts for sale. I have yet to retire it.”

  She selected one, brought it to her mouth and bit into it, and then was obliged to catch the dribble of blueberry syrup off her chin with a finger. Would she taste the sweet fruit as it contrasted with the slight bitterness of the chocolate, perceive the faint floral of the syrup amidst the sugar? “This is lovely. What do you call it?”

  “Uh…” Fascinated when she licked the syrup from her finger, he cleared his throat. “Its name is Disappointment. It’s a nice, smooth milk chocolate with blueberry syrup.”

  “I see.” Evangeline snorted. She laid the uneaten portion of the bonbon on her plate. The dark indigo liquid oozed out onto the porcelain plate. “Blue for sadness.”

  “Yes. Broken hearts do that to a man, you know.”

  Her lips parted and her eyes widened. “I broke your heart?”

  Drat. Flew too close to the flame. “Not important.” He pointed to another bonbon. “The next is Rage, filled with a spiced chocolate cream.” He moved on to the next one. “Denial, which is filled with lemon marzipan, and finally Acceptance, and that is filled with vanilla buttercream.”

  “Clever. And exasperating.” One of her eyebrows quirked. “You were never that way before.”

  That was odd. “How was I before?”

  “Calm. Predictable. Almost conducting your life by rote.” She selected the last one and once she’d tried it, a tiny smile curved her mouth—those damn kissable lips that he should have sampled more than he had when he’d courted her. Why had he never made that effort? “This is wonderful.”

  “Thank you. I think so too.”

  She nibbled on all the bonbons and then chased the sweets down with sips of tea. Once she was finished, a wash of pink stained her cheeks. Never say she felt embarrassment for what she’d done to him? Good, at least it was more than she’d apparently held for him that fateful afternoon. Then, immediately contrite for his uncharitable thoughts, he dropped his gaze to the tea tray. What else was there to say to her now that they’d grown into strangers?

  “I am sorry you had a tough go of it after our relationship ended.” Her words, said in a near whisper, carried emotion behind them he couldn’t identify.

  “Think nothing of it. Unsavory things happen and one must trudge through. Stiff upper lip and all that.” What a stupid rejoinder that was. Have I forgotten how to converse with this woman? She’s merely someone I knew at one time. That was just the ticket. Jasper cleared his throat. What they’d shared belonged in the past. “I like to think such trials build character and change a man for good.” Perhaps she was correct and they hadn’t been right for each other back then. Now, they’d both matured into completely different people, so why was conversation so forced and deuced strained? “You look well. Obviously, independence and self-sufficiency have done wonders for you.”

  “Thank you.” She picked up her teacup and took another few sips. Once she’d returned the vessel to its saucer, she said, “Are you happy, Jasper? Do you enjoy the life you’ve carved out for yourself?” This time, the emotion clouding her eyes was sadness. For him or for what she’d thrown away?

  That was a dratted difficult topic, wasn’t it? He glanced at his teacup, the tray, her half-eaten bonbons, anywhere that would delay the necessity of meeting her gaze, but eventually he did so, and held it evenly. “Yes, I am happy. This business is everything I never knew I wanted, and it fulfills a deep-seated need within me to forge my own path. But content?” He shrugged. “That is infinitely harder to obtain, for that covers more aspects of life than making one’s way.”

  “Indeed, and so incredibly true.” She dropped her gaze to her lap where she twisted her fingers together. “Have you found love? That would go a long way in meeting contentment.”

  Another hard question. He rubbed a hand along his jaw and wished he’d never spied her upon that platform, abandoned, wet and in great need, still as enticing to him as she’d been all those years ago. “No, I have not, but Mother never ceases in her efforts at playing matchmaker.” And that was a nigh impossible task, for how could he ever come to care for another when hi
s heart wasn’t fully free from Evangeline’s hold? No matter how he’d tried over the years, he couldn’t forget her. Perhaps that was the greatest irony. Constantly thinking about a woman he couldn’t have, one who didn’t want him. How did a man shake off the residual feelings for the woman who’d shattered that organ? “Apparently, making one’s own path isn’t enough to satisfy one’s parents.”

  “I see.” She selected a vanilla scone and nibbled at one corner but said nothing else.

  He couldn’t summon the courage to ask if she’d embarked on a new romance. Would that be the final blow for his abused heart? Instead, he merely observed as she enjoyed the pastry. When a crumb clung to the corner of her full lips, he was gripped by an insane desire to vault over the table, take her into his arms and kiss away that bit of scone. Such foolishness. Perhaps I haven’t consigned her or my feelings as firmly to the past as I should have.

  She lifted her gaze to his, all trace of maudlin displays gone. “I am glad that your life is something to be proud of.”

  Why did her opinion on it infuse him with such hope? He shoved it away. No use going down that road. “Perhaps. Beyond the emporium, I invested in steel, rails and steam technology. Over the course of the years, I’ve a fortune in my own right.” He waved a hand to encompass the shop. It was important to impress upon her that he was a man of some consequence now, in the event that was the reason she’d left him. “I have the freedom to do what I please without depending on my family’s wealth. Perhaps, in the near future, I’ll do a bit of traveling.”

  Hurt sprang into her expression. Evangeline dropped the scone onto her plate. “How nice for you. But then, men in our society have always had such luxuries.” Frost had formed once more in her tone. “I should take my leave.” She rose to her feet with an air of expectation.

  Jasper stood as well. “It’s late and the rain hasn’t let up.” He glanced toward the plate glass windows at the front of the shop. “Stay here. I’ve an apartment upstairs. You can take my bed.” Gah! Where had that invitation come from?

  Her lips formed an “O” of shock, which matched her rounded eyes. “Where will you sleep?”

  At least she hadn’t outright refused. “There is a sofa in the small parlor across from my bedroom. I shall rouse early to open the shop anyway,” he rushed on when silence filled the space between them. “It is not an inconvenience, and I would rather see you safe tonight than chancing luck or fate out there.” He cleared his throat. “And I don’t wish for you to prostrate yourself before your family if that is a sacrifice you don’t need to make.”

  Evangeline looked at the windows. Even an idiot couldn’t ignore the slash of the wind-driven rain against the glass or fail to hear the howl as it whistled along the street. Finally, she nodded slightly. “Very well, but only for tonight. In the morning, I will go about my business.”

  Pleasure warmed the pit of his belly and he refused to analyze why. “Which would be what, Evangeline? For the rain isn’t expected to relent and the tracks won’t have been repaired.”

  She shook her head. “I will think of something.”

  It was pure madness to have her beneath the same roof as him, but what was done couldn’t be undone. And they’d yet to talk about why their relationship died.

  Perhaps they would still. The night wasn’t all that advanced, and suddenly his exhaustion had fled in the face of foolish anticipation.

  Chapter Four

  Evangeline stared up at the plastered ceiling and sighed for what had to be the tenth time since Jasper had shown her into his bedroom. Did an hour pass or had it been more time than that? She didn’t know, for her mind had continued to plague her with thoughts of what she should have said, done, responded.

  She turned onto her side, but that proved to be problematic, for his cedar and sage scent lingered on the pillow beneath her cheek. The whiff of that soap, with the faintest hint of lime, reminded her of spending time in his company years ago, of being so close to him that his smell intoxicated her to the point she’d waited for his kiss. In vain, of course, for when he had kissed her during their courtship, those pecks had been uninspired.

  Perhaps if she had known how things would have ended between them, of how lonely her life would have been in her pursuit of freedom, she would have taken the initiative and kissed him first. Would he have risen to the occasion and honed amorous skills, gone farther than removing the pins from her hair to see her tresses down? A thrill went through her core as she imagined such an embrace that would have started innocent enough but would have perhaps ended with each of them in some degree of undress and hands and lips exploring skin and limbs.

  With a sigh, she flopped onto her back and once more contemplated the shadow-shrouded ceiling. Since she’d neglected to close the drapes and there was no maid or servants of any sort in this strictly bachelor abode, the tracks of rain on the window pane made interesting patterns upon the wall and ceiling plaster that moved ever so slowly through the room.

  Much like her life. The going was difficult and slow, yet she didn’t have much to show for the struggle, had little to talk about, but she was compelled to tell him everything, even if it portrayed her in a poor light. He had shared so many aspects of his life, even down to the collection of bonbons he’d created after she’d left him with a broken heart.

  Guilt poked her gut like the insistent stab of a pin. Had he loved her back then? The thought brought heat into her cheeks. He must have, for why else would he have intended to offer her marriage? Yet his actions had never indicated such. Their courtship had been perfunctory at best. That didn’t win a girl’s heart. Or her respect.

  Had she loved him? Her throat constricted. She thought she had, or perhaps she had loved the idea of being in love, for the reality of that and the subsequent potential marriage had terrified her. What exactly was love then? Shouldn’t such an emotion have counteracted the fear? Perhaps I didn’t love him enough.

  She struggled upright, flung off the bedclothes and then swung her legs over the edge of the bed. I need to talk to him. Regardless of the time of night or that she was clad in a white cotton nightgown, she stood. The neck was high enough and the sleeves and skirt long enough that nothing shocking was displayed. And now was as good a time as any, for she’d let anger carry her away from him earlier that night before she’d had the chance to set the record straight.

  If they were to be parted in the morning, she wanted no more misunderstandings between them. She wanted free of the memories of him, and then perhaps her life would take on more success. No matter what, she couldn’t remain in his bed any longer, haunted by the scent of him, tortured with thoughts of what might have been between them, or dying a thousand deaths with the thought that he’d pleasured women on that very bed. Regardless of the fact that he’d admitted to not having a love interest, romance and coitus were not the same thing, and they weren’t mutually exclusive.

  Evangeline shook her head and forced those thoughts away. What Jasper did was no longer her concern. When dawn came, they would have nothing else to say to each other, and they would finally write “the end” to their history together.

  I will never see him again. The knowledge brought tears to her eyes, and with annoyance, she dashed them away. It was merely mourning the loss of a friendship, nothing more.

  She crossed the hardwood on silent, bare feet and when she cracked open the door, she paused to listen. Nothing stirred from the small parlor across the way except the ever-present sound of the beating rain and the loud pound of her heart. The second she pulled the panel wider, soft snoring issued from that location. Once more, she hesitated, this time just outside the bedroom. Jasper snored. What a wholly endearing discovery. It made him more human, more approachable, as if he weren’t the paragon of virtue, the product of a traditional ton family she’d made him out to be.

  Drat.

  Then she forced the thought away, locked it into the box in her mind where all thoughts of what might have been dwelled. It mattered
not. Her future did not include the chocolatier, no matter that his new personality intrigued her at every turn.

  Darkness and shadows shrouded the parlor. Furniture loomed as imposing sentinels and obstacles she navigated around on the hunt to locate him. She drew her fingertips along the back of a sofa featuring a high, scrolled woodworked back. Two matching chairs flanked it, and across a low table, another such piece rested. That was where Jasper lay, a plain woolen blanket covering his long frame, his stockinged feet sticking out from beneath the edge. As with the snoring, the socks gave him an approachable air and her heart squeezed. He looked so… domestic and dear.

  Perhaps I shouldn’t wake him.

  As she stood in indecision, his snoring ceased and he blinked open his eyes. Upon seeing her, they widened and he sat up. The blanket slid down his chest, revealing his gray-and-white striped woolen pajamas. “Oh!” Startled by his sudden movement that yanked her back to reality, one hand flew to her throat, the much-washed lace of her nightdress tickling her palm. “I apologize for waking you.”

  “Is there cause for alarm?” He rubbed his eyes. Part of his hair on one side stuck straight up from his head and her fingers itched to smooth it back down. “Are you in peril?”

  “No, no.” She held up her other hand in an effort to calm him. “Please, do not distress yourself. All is well.” When he narrowed his eyes and swept his gaze over her person, she became acutely aware of her lack of proper dress. Gooseflesh raced along her skin, and beneath the cotton of her gown, her nipples hardened into tight buds as his interest briefly lingered. Double drat. Scuttling around the table and taking refuge on the opposite sofa, she tucked her legs beneath her, making certain to hide her naked toes as well as to pull the fabric away from her body. “I thought to come out here and talk if you found yourself as restless and sleepless as I, but you are not.” Cheeky man.

  He snorted. “I am awake now, so let’s not waste it.”