My Lady Marzipan (Rare Confectionery Book 3)

by Sydney Jane Baily

But it was Waverly who barked out a laugh. “That ship has sailed. She’s been taken!”

  “What do you mean?” Suddenly, Charles wondered if they were aware of Miss Rare-Foure’s having already entered into an arrangement of which he hadn’t heard.

  “Well, she married that American in case you missed it.”

  “No,” Pelham said. “I believe he means my other sister-in-law.”

  “Oh,” Waverly said. Then he grinned. “The buxom one?”

  Charles wanted to wipe the smile off his friend’s face, but there was no denying Charlotte was well-endowed. He nodded.

  “Isn’t she a bit young?” Pelham asked.

  “I don’t think so.” Charles frowned. “You do know she’s about to turn twenty.”

  The duke’s visage brightened. “Is she? Good lord, I thought her to be about sixteen. Well, that’s all right, then. Otherwise, I was going to have to step in on behalf of her absent father.”

  Waverly continued smiling. “How long has your flame been burning for our saucy shopgirl?”

  Charles shrugged, ignoring the ridiculous moniker. “I’ve admired her appearance since the first time we met, I suppose. That must have been a couple years ago, you know, at Pelham’s party. But lately, I have come to appreciate her many fine qualities.”

  Waverly laughed. “At least a couple of them.”

  “Here now!” Pelham warned him. “She’s my family now.”

  Charles knew there was no point in trying to tame their rakish friend, so he ignored him. “Miss Rare-Foure is friendly,” he began. “You can tell how she likes people by the way she treats the customers. Not a sharp barb to her tongue.” Except for that day when he’d witnessed her unusual behavior, not her normal self at all. Even then her tone had been more listless than harsh. “And she seems to have a way about her. You should have seen how she tamed my father’s irascibility—”

  “Your father?” Pelham interrupted. “How did she run into your father?”

  Charles had no intention of damaging her reputation. “Father and I were walking along Bond Street. Anyway, it’s no matter.”

  “Go on about her many fine qualities,” Waverly prodded. “After that baronet’s sister, I can easily understand why you want a smooth tongue to your woman.”

  Charles rolled his eyes. Waverly could turn the most benign remark into a sinful insinuation. Pelham glared at him, still playing the protective brother-in-law.

  “Miss Rare-Foure is extraordinarily loyal to her family, which I greatly appreciate, and she runs the confectionery mostly by herself at present, so she’s intelligent,” Charles continued. “And I admire her aplomb.”

  Waverly grinned. “I think you admire her—”

  “Waverly!” Pelham warned.

  Their friend sighed. “I shall stop. So you fancy this young woman, and then what? Are you seriously considering her for your wife?”

  Why did he make it sound like a frivolous idea? Charles shrugged again.

  “Why not?” Pelham asked. “Mr. Foure and Mrs. Rare-Foure raised three splendid daughters. It’s a shame you missed out on the middle one,” he said to Waverly.

  “I missed out on nothing. She is more like Jeffcoat’s baronet’s sister, I think.” Then he smiled at Charles. “I suppose I could turn my attention to the youngest daughter if she’s the paragon you make her out to be. We could compete for her attention.”

  Charles knew his feelings for Charlotte were genuine and deeper than he’d suspected when Waverly’s proposal lanced him with jealousy. He wondered whether to protest, which might make his friend even more intent on pursuing Charlotte for sport, or if he should feign indifference to put him off.

  In the end, Pelham said, “We’re friends first, aren’t we Waverly? When we both had our eye on Lady Madeleine a few years back, you abandoned the field of battle.”

  Waverly’s expression tightened. “Because all other things being equal, you are a duke, and I am not. Thus, I knew which way the earl’s daughter would run.”

  “But we are both viscounts,” Charles said, “so will you trounce upon our friendship and go after a female in whom I’ve expressed interest? Would prefer to win — or in this case, lose — rather than maintain our bond?”

  Waverly tried to stare him down, then he rolled his dark eyes, and finally, a smile appeared. “Of course not, Jeffcoat. You are like a brother to me, and I wouldn’t endanger that for any haybag, no matter how curvy.”

  “Haybag! I say—”

  Waverly held up his hands. “I mean for any woman whomsoever. If you like her, not only will she become instantly like a sister to me, but I shall assist you in any way possible, as I did for Pelham here, both when he pursued Lady Madeleine and his current duchess.”

  “Was he helpful?” Charles asked the duke.

  Pelham shrugged. “Moderately. At least, he didn’t get in the way.”

  Waverly folded his arms across his chest and cocked his head at the duke.

  “All right,” Pelham conceded. “He actually gave me some sound advice on more than one occasion. How he can see clearly about anything to do with women when he’s such a confirmed bachelor, I’ll never understand.”

  “Let’s drink to that,” Waverly said.

  They all lifted their wine glasses. “To what?” Charles asked. “To your being a bachelor for the rest of your life or for your offering me some sound advice if needed?”

  “Either, both. It’s no matter,” Waverly said and drained his wine glass.

  Charles couldn’t imagine asking or needing either of his friends for help, but he was relieved neither of them had tried to dissuade him from his pursuit, if that was what it was. If either had heard anything about her being flighty or fickle, knowing his distaste for females who were unfaithful, they would have told him.

  “I have been out on the town with her once and I have invited her to go out again. To a concert.”

  He wondered if he should tell the duke about Charlotte’s intent to expand the shop, seeing as the duchess might have a strong opinion, but that seemed to be breaking a confidence so he held his tongue.

  Instead, he let Waverly expound on the most romantic venues in London and kept his thoughts to himself.

  CHARLOTTE HAD TASTED so many sweets by the time Edward returned from deliveries, she had to let him watch the front so she could go have a cup of fortifying tea. Not everything was wrong, but some of the confectionery was “off.” Some of the chocolates had a strange herbal flavor she couldn’t put her finger on, the toffee as already discovered had been cooked too long, and a few of Amity’s bonbons seemed to be filled with brick instead of smooth, creamy fondant. The worst part was, she couldn’t tell what was good by looking at it.

  One thing she knew for certain, she had sold that smartly dressed saucebox some bad tasting confectionery. She wouldn’t be surprised if the woman returned to rage about it.

  Sipping the tea, feeling a little sick to her stomach, Charlotte wondered whether to close the shop until she could sort the mess out when she heard the bell. Feeling heartsick, not to mention weary from poor sleep, she nearly stayed where she was and let Edward handle it alone. However hearing him ask if he could help the customer, his young voice sounding as much like a girl as a boy, she rose to her feet.

  “Two pounds of toffee,” was the reply as Charlotte pushed open the curtain. “One plain, one smothered in chocolate.”

  Oh, sweet mother! It was a footman from the palace, wearing the royal livery. It happened only a couple of times a year that the queen sent someone. The other times, they received a notice asking for confectionery to be delivered. She must want to eat some immediately if she’d sent a servant.

  Now Charlotte really did think she was going to be ill.

  “Good day,” she began, watching Edward start to open the display. She ought to have pulled out every last piece of toffee and dumped it into the rubbish, but the task had seemed monumental, not to mention wasteful. Still, she was in charge and ought to have been deci
sive.

  “You’re from the palace, aren’t you?” she asked.

  “Yes, miss,” replied the footman.

  “I assume, then, that this toffee is for Her Majesty?”

  “Yes, miss, and the queen’s guests.”

  Edward promptly dropped the tongs he’d been using, luckily onto the counter and not the floor.

  “Does she need the toffee this very moment?” Charlotte persisted, trying not to become flustered at the notion of sending the servant on his way with two pounds of inedible toffee.

  “I beg your pardon, miss, but she did send me so she would have it today.”

  Where was Beatrice? That question popped into her mind first. Followed by a rash hope that the chocolate smothered toffee was perfectly fine.

  “Would you care for a sample?” Then she frowned. Maybe having the footman try it wasn’t the best course of action, but she and Edward couldn’t start munching on it as if unsure of its quality. Besides, footman or not, he would know good toffee.

  “I beg your pardon, miss,” he said again, “but I am not sure I am allowed.”

  “Everyone who comes in gets a sample,” said Edward. “Even I did.”

  The liveried servant looked bemused. “But you work here,” he pointed out.

  “I didn’t at the time. Go on. What would you like to try? Miss Charlotte’s marzipan is ever so good.”

  “No,” Charlotte interrupted, practically with a yell. She already knew there was nothing wrong with her own confectionery, but the rest was dodgy at best.

  “I mean, I hope you will try the same as you are taking to Her Majesty. Please, have a chocolate-smothered toffee.”

  She looked at Edward, who picked up the tongs and blew on them. Charlotte made a mental note to tell him later that wasn’t the way to clean a utensil in front of a customer. Then he put a piece of the toffee on a plate and handed it to the footman.

  With a nod of thanks, he removed his glove, tucking it under his arm, picked up the sweet, and popped it into his mouth. For a moment, Charlotte thought all was well. Then the man’s placid smile altered. He frowned slightly, which turned into a puckered expression of distaste.

  Then to her dismay, Edward proudly proclaimed, “I made that myself!”

  Dear Lord! The mystery was solved, but at such a cost. The footman was chewing manfully but not with delight. The texture was probably correct and even the chocolate might have been tasty, but the toffee! Their renowned delectable treacle toffee!

  Charlotte had tasted the burned, bitter flavor, like stale coffee, twice already while trying to determine if each batch was bad. It had been a nasty experience.

  “We will not be able to sell you any toffee, as you have determined,” she told the man.

  “What?” asked Edward, clearly stunned.

  She would explain to him after they got rid of the queen’s servant.

  “I apologize. Please tell Her Majesty—” she broke off at the footman’s expression. Obviously, he was in no position to tell the queen anything. He was to deliver it to some lowly kitchen maid who would deliver it to the cook or housekeeper who would probably deliver it to the butler or whoever waited on the queen.

  Perhaps she could ask the footman to tell everyone at the palace that they were sold out. Would he lie for her?

  “I wonder if Her Majesty can wait,” Charlotte couldn’t believe she was saying such a disrespectful thing, “until early evening. By then Rare Confectionery will have our usual highest-quality chocolate-smothered toffee.” Or they would lose the favor of the palace, and her mother’s disappointment would be crushing.

  “What time shall I return?” the footman asked.

  Grateful that the man was willing to go along with her idea, she was just calculating how long it would take to make a good batch when the shop bell tinkled and Beatrice strolled in. Charlotte sagged with relief, sending a thank you up to Heaven. Bea would still need time to cook and cool the toffee, then to melt the chocolate so it was pourable, and it, too, would need time to set. They would have to stay open late.

  “About six o’clock,” she said, if they started immediately.

  “Very good, miss. I’ll be back then.”

  “I am terribly sorry for the inconvenience.”

  He gave a shallow bow and left.

  “What’s going on?” Beatrice asked.

  Charlotte took a breath. “We have a few issues with some of our confectionery,” she began, not wanting to hurt Edward’s feelings, but this couldn’t happen again. If that toffee had gone to the palace! Charlotte shuddered to think.

  “I don’t understand,” Edward said.

  “Taste it,” Charlotte told him.

  His eyes wide, he took a piece from the display tray and ate it. Looking crestfallen, his gaze went from Charlotte to Beatrice.

  “Is it burnt?” Bea asked.

  “Yes,” Charlotte told her. “And some of the chocolates don’t have the right flavoring or none at all. Now that you’re here, you can make the toffee for the palace and extra, of course, and I’ll work on the chocolates.”

  Beatrice didn’t jump to it as Charlotte had hoped. Instead, she hesitated.

  “Is something wrong?”

  Bea opened her mouth, but the bell tinkled and a customer entered.

  “Edward, remove all the toffee from the display, and quickly.”

  “What about the chocolates?” he asked.

  “No, leave them. I have to have something to sell.” She looked at Bea who was frowning. “Please, Bea, get started.”

  Her older sister sighed and went into the back room while Charlotte served the customers. Inspiration struck as soon as she considered how to sell the mysterious chocolates.

  “May I help you?” she asked, praying they wanted marzipan, which they were woefully low on, too.

  “I would like two of the marzipan pears,” one of the women said. “And some of the raspberry chocolates.”

  Charlotte packaged up the pears and tried out her plan. “We have a little fun going on in the shop today. The chocolates are half price today, and they are all mixed up, so you won’t know exactly what you’re getting. Like a sweet surprise for your mouth.”

  At first the woman blinked, seeming about to protest.

  “Half off?” repeated her friend. “That’s an excellent deal. Every chocolate I’ve ever had from here has been delicious, so how can one go wrong? I’ll take a pound.”

  Charlotte hoped to recoup some of her loss. “Would you like a pretty tin? They can be used for other things later, like holding gloves or hatpins. Small ones are thruppence, bigger ones are a tanner.”

  “Oh, no, thank you. If these were a gift, I might, but they’re just for my family.”

  Charlotte nodded, weighed out a pound of assorted chocolates, and poured the measuring bowl from the scale into a white bag, before tying the top with a blue ribbon, just the way her mother liked.

  “Well, I still want the raspberry chocolates,” came the other woman’s voice.

  Turning to her, Charlotte did the only thing she could think of. “I’m sorry, but we’re all out.”

  For the rest of the day, Charlotte made marzipan sculptures, sold chocolates at half price, and told lies about what they had run out of if a customer insisted since she had no way of knowing what if anything was in a particular chocolate. It was beyond draining. Edward stayed in the back with Beatrice, presumably learning to do better.

  Just in case, however, she stuck her head through the curtain and eyed the two of them. “You’re keeping an eye on the cooking time, Bea?” she asked.

  Edward glanced away, his cheeks turning red.

  “Yes, sister, don’t worry.”

  Charlotte turned around at the sound of the bell again. That was easy for Bea to say. She hadn’t been humiliated by trying to sell burned toffee, and to the palace of all places!

  They would have words later in private, without Edward. How could her sister have left him unsupervised to do something so
important? And it wasn’t merely Bea’s reputation at stake, it was all of Rare Confectionery’s. Moreover, he must have been allowed to make chocolates unsupervised when he went to Amity’s house recently to train and had returned with box upon box. It seemed both her sisters had taken leave of their senses.

  When she realized the time, it was almost four o’clock. Mr. Richardson! She hadn’t even had a chance to tell Beatrice. In fact, expanding the shop had been the farthest thing from her mind all day. And if she gave it more thought, after discovering how quickly things could go wrong, Charlotte might find her feet had grown roots to the floor.

  Hurrying into the back room, she announced, “I have to go out. I forgot I had an appointment.” Quickly, she removed her apron as Bea looked up, a frown on her face.

  “You can’t be serious. You’ve been worried all day about my getting the toffee finished, and now you’re going to leave us.”

  “It’s all done, isn’t it?” Charlotte asked, slipping on her fitted jacket and reaching for her satin hat. Luckily, it tied under her chin and she wouldn’t need pins. “The chocolate just needs to set on the toffee. And it would have been finished earlier if you’d come in before one.”

  Her sister looked surprised by her tone, as did Edward, who’d avoided her for hours and could scarcely look her in the eye.

  “Sorry, Bea,” Charlotte said, tugging on her gloves. “I know you’ve got other things on your mind now you’re a married woman.”

  Bea shook her head. “About that—”

  “I have to run,” Charlotte interrupted her. “I have somewhere I ought to be by four, so obviously I’m already late. You heard what I told the customers about the chocolates. Half off and all a surprise!”

  Without waiting another instant, she rushed toward the front. “I should be back well before the queen’s footman.” A sentence she never thought she would utter!

  Chapter Eleven

  Charlotte didn’t mind her parents being gone, but she appreciated having the family’s small staff at hand. She liked hearing noise when she was puttering about in the morning, even though she ate breakfast alone. The following morning, Finley appeared beside her with two missives.