My Lady Marzipan (Rare Confectionery Book 3)

by Sydney Jane Baily

  Then she remembered. “What about Delia?”

  He frowned. “I cannot be responsible for your maid if she has never ridden. I will bring a footman.” After a pause, he added, “Maybe two.”

  Charlotte fixed him with a smile, raising her eyebrows. “Are you positive two chaperones will be enough?”

  With an uncharacteristically broad grin that brought out his gorgeous dimple, he shook his head and gestured for her to lead the way downstairs.

  “No, Miss Rare-Foure, I am not at all sure.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Edward, we need to find a carpenter to make us a staircase, cheaply and with as little fuss as possible. I suppose also as swiftly as possible, for we shall have to close the shop when the building begins.”

  The boy’s eyes were like saucers.

  “Don’t worry,” Charlotte said, making fruit shapes as quickly as Edward made the marzipan for her. “I won’t ask you to get to work with a saw and hammer.”

  They were not behind, yet nor were they ahead. Amity was producing some chocolates at home, and Charlotte had dusted off her skills to make more in the shop. Edward, with the help of the candy thermometer and the sand timer, was making excellent toffee using Bea’s recipes.

  “I’m just wondering how one goes about finding a reputable person. I have never needed anything built before. I know there is a carpenter’s guild because they demolished their meeting hall a couple years ago, and they won’t open their new one until next year.” She chuckled. “All those carpenters and it’s taking them over half a decade!”

  “I live down that way, miss. Within spitting distance of the Aldgate Pump.”

  She knew of it. It marked the start of the shadier East End of London, but Edward puffed up his chest slightly and added, “You know they moved the pump a little to the west.”

  She supposed that somehow made his neighborhood seem less shabby. She was about to ask him about his living situation when he returned to the point of their discussion.

  “The guild hall is already a beautiful building, miss, even though it’s not finished. Right on the London Wall Road. Just below Finsbury Circus.”

  Charlotte shrugged. “I’ve hardly ever been to that area. Occasionally, I’ve gone to the docks with my father and my sisters, to source out sugar or cocoa beans or my almonds.”

  “That’s all right, miss.” He wrinkled his nose. “It gets ugly anyway the farther east you go.”

  And not very safe, either, from what Charlotte knew of the slums of Whitechapel. She hadn’t liked the wharf area either, but had felt safe with her father.

  “I could ask one of the carpenter’s when I come past in the morning,” Edward offered.

  Frowning, she attached a small clove to the top of her faux marzipan peach. It wasn’t the job for a boy, yet nor did she have time to go all the way across Town, although it would take her past the Inns of Court. She shook her head. She didn’t have time for dropping in and visiting with Barrister Charles Jeffrey Lambeth, if that were even allowed. There must be somewhere closer that one could hire a builder. Perhaps the business on Cavendish Square near The Langham, that made stained glass and vestments for churches. She’d passed it whenever she made deliveries to the hotel. Then she realized the answer.

  “I am a cloth-headed ninny! The newspaper is the answer. I will look through the papers tonight with my dinner and come up with some prospects.”

  Edward looked disappointed so she relented.

  “If you wish to stop by the guild hall and see what you can suss out,” Charlotte told him, “I would be most obliged. Between the two of us, we shall discover the right man for the job of building our staircase.”

  WHILE CHARLOTTE HAD written down the names of two builders from advertisements in the newspapers and brought them to the shop the following morning, when Edward came in, he not only had the name of a builder, he had the man himself.

  “Miss, this is my uncle, Mr. Tufts. He says he can do the job.”

  Charlotte walked around from behind the counter, coming to a stop in the middle of the floor. While she felt a little peculiar meeting with a tradesman, and wished she had an inch or two more on her height to give her an air of authority, she was nonetheless in charge. The man had neither the same sandy-colored hair as his nephew, nor any hint of the boy’s open-faced earnestness about him.

  Instead, his gaze darted up and down her figure, then flickered around the shop, giving Charlotte a moment of discomfort. Yet, when the man met her eye again, he nodded in a friendly fashion.

  “A tidy shop you have here, miss, and that’s no mistake. My nephew told me you need stairs built, and I can help with that.”

  “Are you a master carpenter, Mr. Tufts? Or a journeyman?” Obviously, he was too old to be an apprentice.

  “A builder, I am, miss. I can do a little of this, a little of that. Roofs, walls, stairs. It makes no matter what, I can do it.”

  She glanced at Edward who remained quiet.

  “I’ll get started working, miss,” he said and disappeared in the back to get his apron.

  “His mother’s as pleased as Punch you’ve given the boy work to do.”

  “He’s a hard worker, and capable, too.”

  “Takes after me,” the man said, puffing up his chest.

  A swaggerer, Charlotte thought, but if he was good at his job, then that was no matter.

  “Where would you be wanting the stairs?” he asked, starting to stroll around.

  “In that back corner. We’re expanding to the second floor and the current staircase is outside.”

  “Expanding your sweet shop, are you? You must be doing quite well, and on this street, too. A lot of rich folk buying from you, are they?” He didn’t pause for answers but went to the shelves where they kept their pretty tins for larger orders. Next, he banged on the wall a bit with the flat of his hand.

  Charlotte frowned. What could that tell him?

  “Good construction here,” Mr. Tufts said when he saw her looking at him. Then he looked up. “Gots to cut a hole right there.”

  “Undoubtedly,” Charlotte said. And then, into the silence, she asked, “Would you like to have a sample of confectionery?”

  “Free?” he asked.

  “Yes, of course.”

  “But I ain’t buying nothing.”

  Charlotte smiled. “That’s all right.”

  “A piece of toffee, then, lass. I need to go upstairs and see the lay of the land.”

  Charlotte thought about what had happened with Charles Jeffcoat upstairs. “I’ll get Edward to take you up. I’ve got too much work to do to open. I wasn’t expecting to see a builder this morning.”

  She called Edward out of the back room and gave him the key before giving his uncle a piece of toffee. The boy seemed oddly sullen, not meeting her eyes, but she would talk to him in private after his uncle left.

  Before they went out, she asked, “Mr. Tufts, do you have references?”

  The word she had never used before sounded strange and demanding. She’d never hired a maid or an employee, except Edward. But she knew one asked for such to determine a person’s character and ability.

  “Oh, yes, miss. Only the best. Edward, here, for one.” He reached out and mussed the boy’s hair, which he didn’t seem to enjoy, for he ducked away.

  Charlotte smiled. “I’m sure Edward will vouch for you, but I would like the names of some of your previous employers and the addresses of some residences or businesses where you built something.”

  He nodded. “That’s fine, then. I’ll send that along with Edward tomorrow. And I’ll give you a price as soon as I see the upstairs.”

  “Thank you.”

  Whey they’d left, Charlotte felt as if she were getting somewhere. Maybe she wouldn’t need to pursue any of the other builders from the newspapers, as it would be nice to work with Edward’s family.

  However, when the boy returned a few minutes later alone, he didn’t look happy.

  “W
hat’s wrong?” she asked him as he handed her the keys.

  “Bit of an upset stomach, miss,” he said. “I’d best get the display cases wiped down.”

  They were running a little behind, but she wasn’t ready to let the matter drop.

  “Do you think your uncle can do the job?”

  “I believe so, miss. Why else would he have asked to come?”

  Indeed!

  “I assume he lives with you and you mentioned the stairs.”

  “Yes, miss.”

  “And do you want me to give him the work?” Frankly, it appeared to her as if Edward would rather she kept his uncle at bay, but she couldn’t be sure.

  The boy sighed and rubbed his stomach. “Yes, miss. It would help my mum.”

  Charlotte supposed the uncle was his mother’s brother and would give a little of the money to support the family. From what she could tell, there was no father at home.

  “Where is your father?” she asked him, having never pried before.

  “Dead,” Edward said and disappeared into the back.

  AFTER AN EVENING AT the theatre — without the snapdragon and her husband — Charles was more firmly convinced that Charlotte was the woman he’d been searching for.

  Not for all his life! He couldn’t say anything so romantically silly as that. Yet now that he was considering taking a wife, she seemed to suit his needs. He wanted to touch her and kiss her and sniff her hair whenever they were close. That was a good thing. Moreover, he enjoyed conversing with her, and he especially liked her humor. She seemed the perfect mate.

  And then, in the midst of enjoying her company, he recalled his father saying how Charles’s mother had seemed the perfect companion, too. Fair of face but also charming, easy to converse with, attentive. Wifely. She’d also been strong-willed, intelligent, and terribly, crushingly fickle.

  Watching Charlotte decide between the sparkling champagne and the wine during a ballet intermission, he hoped he didn’t detect a thread of such fickleness in her. If he ever did, it would be the end of their blossoming relationship.

  After he dropped Charlotte and Delia on Baker Street, Charles found himself missing her by the time he reached home, wanting her there, drinking a late-night brandy, warming his bed. All of that and more. Did she want the same? He had no way to know whether she was ready for such a responsibility. Nor could he tell if she would be true to him for the rest of their lives. Was any woman capable of such?

  “She seemed a nice young lady,” his father said, coming upon him carrying brandy up the stairs to his study.

  Hesitating mid-step, Charles turned to where the earl stood at the bottom, in his housecoat as usual. “Who do you mean?”

  “Don’t play coy,” his father said, ascending with one hand on the railing, looking older than his years. He needed a good haircut and to have his valet get him into some presentable clothing. “The pretty one who was here the other night,” his father continued. “With the lovely laughter.”

  It wasn’t the first time he’d mentioned her. “What makes you think I was thinking of her? Why are you still thinking and talking about her?”

  “You’ve been out with her, haven’t you?” The earl leaned over rudely and sniffed his son. “I can smell her fragrance.”

  Charles flinched. “Stop it. Yes, I escorted Miss Rare-Foure to the ballet this evening.”

  His father shrugged and passed him on the stairs. “As I said, a nice young woman.”

  Charles considered the back of his father as the earl headed along the hallway, shuffling in his slippers.

  “So you approve of her?” he called after him.

  His father turned, scowling as he did. “Approve? Are you truly asking me that? You’re not a green youth, nor is she your first paramour.”

  “I am not asking you to pass judgment upon a lover, of which she is definitely not one.” Charles thought for an instant. In fact, what was he asking? He supposed he wanted help in not making the same mistake his father had. “One day, the woman I marry will be the Countess of Bentley.”

  “I suppose your wife can be no worse than the last countess, can she?” his father said.

  They blinked at one another in shared misery over Charles’s mother.

  “Since I made such a poor choice” the earl continued, “blind to all the flaws that were plain as the nose upon my face, I cannot possibly counsel you on your choice. Nor am I positive any woman can be any better than...,” he trailed off as they never spoke her name. “They may all be disloyal, capricious vixens for all I know.”

  “That’s not true,” Charles protested. He knew Pelham’s wife to be none of those things.

  Again, the earl shrugged. “So you say.” He turned and started down the hall again, then paused without looking back. “Your Rare girl, whatever her confounding name is, may be rare indeed, or as commonly deceitful as the rest of them. Only time will tell, I suppose.”

  With that, his father continued to bed, and Charles entered his study. She’d been in it just once, but he could imagine Charlotte there by the bookcase, laughing, looking breathtakingly beautiful.

  His mother, what he could recall of her, had also been beautiful and joyful, laughing a lot, sunny and spirited. And then, in the blink of an eye, she’d left. He vaguely recalled she brushed a quick kiss across his forehead, touched his hair, then dashed out the front door. He had never imagined in his child’s brain that it was the last time he would lay eyes upon her. That she would never even write to him.

  How could a mother do such a thing to her child?

  Charles sat down calmly even though, ridiculously, the old pain welled up in him. The memory remained strong of finding his father on his knees in the drawing room, holding a letter penned in the countess’s scrawl, which the earl could barely read through his tears.

  Charles sipped his brandy and wished he could erase the image of his strong, capable father, sobbing as he learned of his wife’s betrayal and duplicity. After that, after putting his arms around him for a moment, knowing the earl didn’t want his son there to witness his shame and grief, Charles had slipped out of the room quietly, a little afraid of the adult pain he’d encountered. He’d gone to bed, never to shed a tear for his horrid mother, and he’d never brought up the incident to his father.

  Moreover, neither of them had ever forgiven her!

  Chapter Fifteen

  After she’d opened the shop and an hour had passed with no customer entering, Charlotte felt a prickle of alarm. Late afternoon the day before, it had been slower than usual, as they often had a rush of people taking sweets home to enjoy after dinner. That hadn’t happened, so she and Edward had easily cleaned up and turned the sign precisely at closing time.

  After sending him home, Charlotte had spent another hour sketching what she wanted the upstairs to look like and making lists of things they would need.

  The notion of a brand new Rare Confectionery was thrilling, the most exciting thing she’d done since she’d shared the prior Season with Beatrice. And now, she was getting to use her gowns to go out with Lord Jeffcoat, a man who was effortlessly taking up all the space in her heart. No longer did she experience pangs of sorrow at the notion of Lionel. Now, she felt only the way her heartbeat sped up when she was about to see Charles.

  She sighed, leaning against the counter, listening to the sound of ... nothing except Edward working in the back room. An empty store and no bell tinkling. What was going on?

  Suddenly, as if in answer to her prayers, the door opened. But it wasn’t a customer. It was the Duke of Pelham, and upon his face was an expression of consternation. Immediately, her thoughts flew to her sister and the unborn baby.

  Charlotte rushed around the counter. “What’s wrong? Is it Amity? Is everything all right?”

  “What?” He looked flummoxed. “Oh goodness! Yes, she’s fine. She just misses you. You must stop by. How about having dinner with us tonight?”

  “Yes, of course. But you didn’t come here to invite me
to your home.”

  “No, I wondered if you’d seen the Evening Mail last night?”

  “Father doesn’t care for their editor, so we don’t subscribe. Why?”

  “There was a story about Rare Confectionery in it yesterday. It will be out again today in the Times, too, which owns the Mail.” He squared his shoulders. “To put it bluntly, it isn’t favorable.”

  Charlotte was surprised into silence. The shop had never had a bad word written about it that she was aware. “Did you bring it, Your Grace?”

  “Yes.” He drew a piece of newsprint out of his pocket. It had been read and rolled as her father liked to say. “Amity insisted I bring it directly.”

  She took it but didn’t look at it. “Tell me more about my sister.”

  Henry relaxed. “Larger, but good. She enjoys the time with that Percy boy when he comes over. It distracts her from her discomfort and boredom.”

  Charlotte nodded. “Edward has learned a lot from her.” Unexpectedly, she realized she wished to speak to her brother-in-law about the viscount. After all, when would she ever have a chance to speak with Henry alone again?

  “You probably know that your friend Lord Jeffcoat has been escorting me around town,” she began.

  The duke blushed slightly as if they were discussing something personal.

  “I was aware, yes.” Then he grimaced. “Not that Jeffcoat is gabbing like an old woman with a pot of gossip-water, you understand.”

  “No, I didn’t think that. Anyway, I enjoy his company. I merely thought I would tell you that.” She hesitated. This was a little awkward. “I wanted to make sure I had your blessing, I suppose. In any case, if you didn’t want us to keep company, you would have said something to him, but you can also talk to me.”

  The duke’s cheeks grew ruddier. “I think he is a fine man. What’s more, I know you to be a wonderful young woman. I see no impediment to your keeping company.”

  She nodded. “Thank you. I had wondered if he suffered from some great love lost. There is something about him, a little cautious and sometimes sad.”