The dowager’s face soured. “She was as dry as Brighton beach sand and just as dull. The sole time I ever saw her demonstrate an ounce of spirit was the night she ate the wrong chocolate, and she had a most disgraceful conniption in public over it. Hardly a young woman who would dazzle London as your duchess. You need someone with genuine warmth and capability and with a certain spark.” She patted her coiffure. “Rather like your old mother.”
He laughed. “I already told you, you are not old. By the way, why aren’t Penelope and Randolph joining us tonight? Why aren’t they being forced to endure this ballet?” he added teasingly.
“Your sister is married and can set her own schedule. Besides, I think they have more important things to consider than the ballet.”
The lights went down, so Henry whispered, “What do you mean?”
“I will tell you more at intermission, but I think you are going to be an uncle.”
Henry sat back feeling shocked.His sister was to be a mother?Penelope was a year younger than he was. That undoubtedly meant soon after his own wedding, he might be expected to start thinking about producing an heir.
Amity’s face instantly came to mind, looking down with love at a wee babe with soft brown hair and her rich mahogany-colored eyes. He would have cherished them both.
Eventually, when he was sure his mother wasn’t looking, he leaned over to see if, in the darkness, he could discern Miss Rare-Foure — assuming there had not been a hasty wedding turning her into aMrs. Cole. He thought he could make out her feathered hat by the dim gaslights running along the sides of the theatre.
Warmth and capability,his mother had said. She had both of those things in spades.
“Stop sighing, Henry, I’m trying to enjoy the ballet.”
He could hardly wait for intermission and a large glass of wine.
***
AMITY HADN’T REALIZEDshe was staring, unseeing, at the shelf behind her marble worktable until Beatrice spoke into her ear.
“You are getting nothing accomplished today. Why don’t you take a walk? Direct your plum-colored boots to St. James Place and see if the duke is in. Maybe he needs morePelhams.”
Amity sighed. “He liked them so much, I thought he would come in to buy one or two someday.”
Beatrice shook her head. “You ninny. His Grace is not going to come in after you so firmly gave him the mitten.”
Amity blinked at the old-fashioned term for turning down a man’s offer.
When Mr. Cole had left and never returned, Amity told her sisters — after much cajoling on their part — how Henry had made his proposal.
“Not exactly on bended knee with declarations of undying love,” she’d explained, “but a proposal, just the same.”
They’d been mightily impressed in any case, and, while understanding her reasons, they couldn’t believe she’d turned him down. Since then, they hugged her more and treated her ever so kindly. She hoped they didn’t feel a sense of burden from her choosing them and the confectionery over the duke.
In her heart, she wished she could have all three.
“If His Grace wants a chocolate, he can come here,” she said softly.
“Men have their pride,” Beatrice reminded her. “Besides, it wouldn’t change anything, would it?”
Sadly, she shook her head and felt tears prick her eyes. “I am afraid not. I cannot live without being a chocolatier and being with you.”
“Nonsense,” Beatrice said, as the bell tinkled at the front of the shop. Charlotte was at the counter, so they ignored it. “You are determined to remain here in this back room, day after day, year after year?”
Amity didn’t like the way her sister made it sound as if she’d been sentenced to Newgate gaol. Chocolate-making was a joyful affair. On the other hand, she’d felt anything but joy in recent weeks.
“Amity,” Charlotte called out, and she got to her feet, glad of the interruption since Beatrice was scowling and looked as if she had more unwelcome words to say on the matter.
Pushing aside the curtain, she entered the front of the shop to see the Dowager Duchess of Pelham and Henry’s sister, both of whom she’d met at the ill-fated proposal party.
For a moment, Amity wondered if Her Grace were there to reprimand her for causing trouble. Worse, what if the dowager knew her son wanted to marry a shopkeeper’s daughter and was enraged?
“Your Grace,” Amity said and curtsied before greeting the young lady with another curtsey, “My lady. How may I help you?”
