Charlotte felt close to tears. “You shouldn’t be back here,” she said, when she wanted to scream at him to get out. The man moved toward her and the only exit. Taking a step back, she bumped into Charles, who then dragged her to the side, clearing the way so the stranger could exit. Charles saw him out of the shop and locked the door.
Before she knew what she was doing, she sagged against the counter, put her head into her hands and let the tears fall. After a moment, she felt his warm hand on her back, first patting and then rubbing gently until she stopped crying.
“What a mess!”
“I cannot believe your builder left your shop unsupervised and open. It’s unconscionable. We’re lucky there’s anything left at all.”
She doubted one particular thing remained. Looking behind the counter, she saw the glaringly empty space.
“Someone filched the cashbox. Luckily, it was nearly empty since we haven’t been serving customers.”
Charles’s hand stilled on her back. Then perhaps realizing the impropriety, he moved away a few feet. “I suppose your builder has finished for the day?”
“He ought to be here,” she said, and they both looked at the mess he’d left. “Do you think he’s coming back?”
Charles’s grim face was her answer. They walked over to the mess of wood that would never be proper stairs.
“Has he already been paid?” He picked up a split piece of lumber.
“Some of it. Half to start, then a little extra for more supplies.”
She heard Charles sigh and knew what he was thinking. Then he asked, “What is his name?”
She told him.
“And do you know where his office is?”
Office? She doubted the man had any such. “No.”
“How about where he lives? Or Edward for that matter. Perhaps it’s the same place.”
She shook her head feeling ever stupider. What must Charles think of her?
Groaning, Charlotte gazed around her and thought how just a couple of weeks ago, Rare Confectionery was bustling. Not only did they have many customers until the terrible newspaper review, they also had good contracts, and no hole in the ceiling.
Now they had double the rent, someone selling their sweets at Covent Garden, they were down two contracts, maybe three, they had no customers at all, and a massive hole in the ceiling.
Feeling lightheaded with worry, she knew she must be pale for Charles stared at her a second before saying, “Let’s make tea and discuss what to do next.”
Following him into the back room, she began to remove the pilfered things from the sack on the floor while Charles lit the stove and put the kettle on.
“I did it!” he exclaimed as she righted Amity’s bottles of raspberry and orange essence that had been knocked over.
Glancing at him, and at his pleased expression, her heart lightened a little.
“I suppose you don’t have to make your own tea at home,” she realized aloud. “Or anywhere for that matter. Well done.”
“Are you making fun of me?” he asked, taking a toffee tray from her hands and setting it on the shelf where she was reaching to put it back.
“Oh, no, Charles. I am speaking in earnest. You lit the stove, filled the kettle, and put it on as if you knew what you were about.”
He grinned. “That was the extent of my kitchen abilities, I assure you. I would starve to death even with a well-stocked pantry if I didn’t have a cook.”
“I doubt that. You are a capable person who would figure it out. You would probably buy a recipe book and be a chef in no time. You have sense and you think ahead. You are never rash, not that I’ve seen.” She felt the tears well up as she compared him to herself. “And you would never pay a man to build you a staircase without knowing if he truly could do it.”
The tears flowed down her cheeks, and he took her in his arms. So disappointed in herself and in Edward, and especially in Edward’s uncle, Charlotte couldn’t enjoy being in Charles’s arms, despite trying to find comfort there.
If only she wasn’t so angry at herself.
“Maybe the boy will return tomorrow,” he said, “and you can find out where his uncle lives.”
“And if he doesn’t?” she said against his coat.
“Then I shall help you find him anyway. Edward Percy and Mr. Tufts both. I know some detectives at Whitehall who can help.”
“Oh, how embarrassing!”
“You are not the first to be duped by the unscrupulous. Tufts probably did as much as he could and then, when he couldn’t continue with the farce, he decided he’d take what he’d already got from you. Obviously he wasn’t going to be able to finish and collect the balance.”
“I need to find a new builder, and quickly, but the place I went into treated me like a silly woman. I guess the clerk was right.”
“I’ll take you back there—” he began with a scowl.
“They were too expensive anyway.”
Charles paused a minute. “I feel rather ineffectual myself. I’ve never had to hire a laborer and wouldn’t know where to find one. When our home needs repairs, I just tell ... That’s it! My butler knows everything!” he exclaimed.
Surprisingly, his declaration made her smile. “Does he?”
“It seems so. I should have thought of that before. I’ll ask him about a builder, and we’ll get your stairs started again in no time.
She looked up at him. “I was thinking how fun it would be to have a blue ribbon tied across the bottom step with a sign that said, ‘Come upstairs soon.’”
“And so you shall,” he said as if she were a child.
Rolling her eyes, she did, in fact feel better. “As soon as those stairs are done, then I can reopen the shop. I’ll need to hire someone to replace Edward. All that training in making confectionery — wasted! Not to mention how much I liked the boy.”
He squeezed her shoulders reassuringly, and it was almost as nice as sharing a kiss, knowing Charles cared enough to comfort her. She sniffed his spicy scent.
“I do hope Edward returns tomorrow, yet I don’t believe he will,” she added. And she had to think beyond the boy and his bewildering betrayal to the well-being of her family’s shop.
“Rare Confectionery will recover, and then I’ll find a reporter to come interview me about the shop and our expansion. He or she will love everything, and our customers will come flocking back, eager to enjoy the upstairs, too.”
“That’s my girl,” he said. “It all seems bleak, but it won’t be so hard to fix.”
His girl!
She craned her neck to look up at him at the same time as he glanced down at her. And her thoughts returned to their kisses, because although being comforted was almost as nice, there was nothing quite like sharing a sensual kiss. When he put his hand under her chin, she parted her lips.
“Charlotte,” he began.
“Charlotte!” echoed another voice, not softly but making her heart beat just as hard. Actually harder!
And then raised a little louder, the voice came again. “Charlotte Rare-Foure, you come out here this instant!”
“Mother,” she exclaimed.
Chapter Twenty-Two
When Charles released her, the sickening feeling returned instantly. The haven of his arms had made everything seem all right for a few minutes. Straightening her shoulders, she parted the curtains and walked through to the front.
Both her parents stood next to the pile of debris, still in their traveling clothes. Her father was looking up at the hole, while her mother, hands on her hips, fixed her instantly with her piercing brown stare.
“What on earth?” Felicity asked.
And then, as Charlotte knew he would, Charles stepped through the blue velvet curtain behind her.
That got her father’s undivided attention.
“Well, well,” Armand said. “The viscount. In the back room, Mrs. Rare-Foure.” He exchanged a veiled look with Charlotte’s mother — or what he thought was veiled.
Felicity’s expression softened measurably. “Well, at least we have some good news.”
Instantly, Charlotte thought her mother was referring to her father’s health.
“Father is doing much better. I can see by the color in his cheeks.”
“Yes, of course,” her mother said, “but to your good news.”
“Mine?” Charlotte asked. How could her mother think there was anything good in the disaster in which they all stood?
“I assume you have come to an agreement. Otherwise why would Lord Jeffcoat be in the back room?”
“Oh!” Charlotte said.
Charles, who had remained silent up until that moment, stepped forward and shook Armand Foure’s hand before nodding to Felicity.
“I must apologize if we gave the wrong appearance. You see, we’d just discovered some rather disturbing events, and so I was making tea,” he trailed off at the bemused expressions on both her parents’ faces.
“Were you about to don your apron, as well?” Armand asked, then laughed heartily at his own jest. “Perhaps you were going to put on the frying pan and make some eggs and bangers.”
“Father!” Charlotte scolded. “The viscount was kind enough to see I was in some distress and attempt to — oh! the kettle!” She left them to go turn off the stove. “Shall I make the tea anyway?”
“Of course,” her mother said. “No need to waste boiled water. Then come out here and hug us.”
Charlotte poured the water over the tea leaves, quickly put the cozy over the teapot, and ran back to face her parents in case Charles was being further insulted or pressured.
Her mother opened her arms, and Charlotte ran into her comforting embrace. She’d always considered it to be the very best place in the whole wide world. Warmth and rosewater fragrance surrounded her. And then after feeling her mother’s kiss upon her temple, she was handed off to the other best place to be, enfolded in her father’s strong arms. She had missed his familiar tobacco scent, glad he was home.
“Are you truly feeling better?”
“Yes, dear girl. Nothing some sea air and glasses of port couldn’t cure.”
She sighed, relaxing until he said, “You had best tell us what’s happened to the shop before your mother has a fit. I know she’s contained herself as best she can, but an explanation is in order.”
He set her away from him, and she almost moved toward Charles. After all, his embrace had become another of her favorite places. Glancing at him, he nodded with encouragement.
Charlotte took a breath. “Surprise! I’m expanding Rare Confectionery upstairs. That’s double the space for customers. With room for a café to sell coffee, hot chocolate, and tea, as well as our confectionery, and maybe some biscuits or even patisserie?” She wished she hadn’t ended on an uncertain, questioning note, but she was feeling impossibly unsure of her actions.
Her mother frowned. “Didn’t we discuss a café before I went away?”
“Yes, Mother. But it would be right here.” Charlotte gestured to the gaping, ugly hole. “And I had to say yes to Mr. Richardson as he had some loud tenants waiting for the space.”
“What do you mean you said yes?” Felicity asked.
Charlotte had to confess. “I mean I signed a lease, for three years.”
Her father barked out a laugh. “You’ve raised a miniature you, Mrs. Rare-Foure, except you would have demanded five years at a fixed monthly rate.”
“Indeed I would,” her mother said. “I shall speak to the landlord at once for trying to fox my daughter when we have been good tenants all these years.”
“Then you’re not angry?” Charlotte asked.
“I can see you were caught in a difficult position. Naturally, I would rather you had contacted me—”
“I would have if he’d given me more time.”
Her mother pursed her lips. “Again, I shall have words with him. He knew what he was about in pressuring you.”
“Lord Jeffcoat looked over the lease to make sure nothing was amiss.”
“Did he now?” remarked her father.
Charlotte rolled her eyes. Her parents had them at the altar exchanging vows already.
“Finish up, Charlotte,” her mother prompted. “We’re going to Amity’s next to see how she’s feeling.”
“She’s feeling rotund and exhausted,” Charlotte told her. “And Beatrice has gone to Scotland.”
“I know. And poor timing. But what possessed you to try to build stairs on your own?”
“Is that your handiwork, too, Jeffcoat?” her father asked good naturedly. “Making tea, reading contracts, hammering and sawing — all for the sake of my youngest daughter?”
Charlotte watched Charles’s cheeks grow ruddy, and then she answered for him.
“Unfortunately, the stairs, or lack thereof, are the work of a builder whom I fear has taken off with our money.”
For the first time, her father looked truly annoyed. “He did, did he? Well, that won’t stand, I can tell you. I’ll hunt him down, make no mistake.”
Her mother patted his shoulder. “Don’t get worked up, my love. There is no clean sea air here to restore you.” Then she looked at Charlotte. “Is there anything else? Tell us everything, and then we’ll leave you two ... to have your tea.”
Charlotte felt her own cheeks grow warm. That her parents would consider allowing her and the viscount to remain alone after discovering them was incredibly improper. Perhaps it was a test.
As if sensing the same thing, Charles said, “Now that you are here to ... support Miss Rare-Foure, I shall take my leave. I have writs of court to work on. It was good to see you both again,” he added.
Turning to Charlotte, he took her hand and formally bent over it as if they were at a ball instead of in the midst of a ruined shop.
“I hope to see you again soon.” Their gazes locked, and all the feelings growing between them seemed to be apparent in the depths of his blue eyes.
“Yes,” she said, then coughed at her breathy tone in front of her parents, especially when she longed for a kiss goodbye.
She could see Charles knew her thoughts when his glance went to her lips, then back to her eyes. He smiled, his dimple appearing. “I’ll send an invitation to your home.”
She nodded. “Thank you for all your help, especially today at Covent Garden.”
“Covent Garden?” her mother asked.
With that, his lordship took his leave, knowing she had a lot to tell her parents. After the door closed behind him, Charlotte considered the situation.
“Perhaps you should stay for tea after all, for it will take a little while to catch you up. Or we could abandon it and go to Amity’s. I can explain it as easily to you there.”
“Wasting a pot of tea,” her mother said. Then she brightened. “We’ll take it with us.”
Charlotte’s father laughed until he was crying. “As if anyone would ever want to be in their carriage with a hot beverage.”
Her mother glared at him. “We have most definitely had chocolate in mugs while in a sleigh. I remember that Christmas in France on your father’s farm.”
“And Beatrice spilled hers all over the blanket. It sounds good, but I for one don’t want scalding tea spilling on my lap. It’s uncivilized.”
“Very well,” Felicity said. “We shall have a cup here and then go to Amity’s. Hurry along,” she ordered Charlotte. “Go find three mugs and pour. As long as you have milk. We are not savages, after all.”
Charlotte dashed into the back room. “Cannot waste a pot of tea,” she heard her mother add.
Felicity was frugal but never cheap. How she would take the income losses, Charlotte couldn’t guess, but soothing her with strong, milky tea was a good start.
“Where’s Edward?” she called out.
It was going to be a long afternoon of explanations, but hopefully Amity and her duke would put a good dinner on the table and have some smooth brandy after. They were all going to need it.
TH
E NEXT MORNING, NEITHER Edward nor his uncle appeared for work, and Charlotte felt truly heartsick. She had let her family down at least twice.
Fortunately, her mother was excited about the upstairs expansion, and when Charlotte drew her a sketch of the tables she’d ordered, Felicity approved.
It was tense over breakfast, however, when her mother insisted on reading the article disparaging the confectionery. Armand had to talk her out of going to the publisher’s offices in search of the reporter. Her mother wished to give the woman a stern talking to.
That would solve nothing. What they needed was to get up and running, and have good publicity outweigh the bad.
“We ought to sue her for defamation,” Felicity said, “now that we have a lawyer practically in the family.”
Charlotte ignored her words. She’d said something similar three years earlier when Amity was engaged to a solicitor, and that had come to naught. Thank goodness! A duke was infinitely better than a solicitor. But a viscount who was also a barrister — he was a fish of a different scale!
“We ought to sue that charlatan masquerading as a builder,” her father chimed in instead of calming her mother further.
Charlotte knew she’d best get a plan of action before her parents started litigation against everyone. They had not taken kindly to the loss of the Great-Western Hotel account either, but at least that wasn’t a prosecutable offense. She hoped.
“Everything depends upon us getting the shop reopened,” Charlotte pointed out.
“Our daughter is correct,” Armand said. “I know where to find a professional carpenter, but good ones aren’t usually available upon short notice. We’ll see what we can do.”
“If Lord Jeffcoat remembered,” Charlotte told them, “then he was going to ask his butler about getting a builder.”
Silence blanketed the table. Then her parents laughed.
“He’s going to ask his butler!” her father exclaimed.
Charlotte frowned. “It was nice of him to offer. After all, if a nobleman needs work done, he asks his butler to find someone to do it, and they probably find people falling all over themselves to do so.”
My Lady Marzipan (Rare Confectionery Book 3) Page 23