She nodded, folded her gloved hands — also plum-colored — in her lap and waited.
As the carriage got under way, maneuvering around the other carriages and the blasted omnibuses that were a blight upon the streets, he took her measure, and two words came to mind,intelligentandcapable, simply by her manner and the interested look upon her face.
He also thought another word,beautiful, but that was not important to him, so he dismissed it.
Henry knew her reputation as a chocolate-maker — more than that, as a veritable artist of chocolate, a Michelangelo of the cacao bean, as it were.
“I have heard what you are doing in your little shop. I’ve been told you have a magical way of making chocolate confectionery so delicious, one cannot help but consume it, eyes closed, raving over the quality, under an enchantment of ecstasy. Very impressive.”
Her high cheekbones blushed with a pretty shade of rose. “Thank you, my lord. Haveyoutasted my confectionery?”
“Sadly, no, not yet. But I hope to remedy that soon. It is the reason I wish to speak with you. For you see, Miss Rare-Foure, I am in need of a wife.”
***
AMITY SHUT HER MOUTHso quickly, her teeth clacked together. She was sure they made a loud sound, but that might have been only in her head. In any case, her ears were filled with the beat of her own thumping heart.
A wife,she thought.The Duke of Pelham was speaking to her about needing a wife!
“Are you indeed?” she asked when she could finally make a calm and sensible response. Inside, she was screaminga duke, a duke, a duke!
Good lord!She was riding in a ducal carriage with not just any duke, either —although any duke was impressive enough— buttheDuke of Pelham, famous for his massive fortune, his lovely London home on St. James Place, his good looks, which were in evidence that very moment, and his comely smile, which she had yet to see, among other things.
Actually, she didn’t know anything else about him except that he had a sister who was recently married and, thus, also in the papers.What did he like for breakfast? Did he like to read? Was he kind or cruel, of good humor or ill-tempered?None of that was mentioned in the gossip rags she enjoyed with her morning cup of hot chocolate.
The duke’s carriage was regally plush. The soft and smooth leather seat was firm beneath her, promising a comfortable ride even for a long journey. The “shades” she’d mentioned keeping open turned out to be curtains of a thick brocade, shot through with gold thread. And the interior smelled heavenly of some enticing manlyeau de toilette.
With her nose being nearly as good as her palate, Amity tried to pick out all the individual scents — orris and bergamot, cedarwood, musk, sandalwood and more, even something floral, perhaps jasmine. Whatever it was, the duke’s rich fragrance seemed to wrap her in elegant cashmere and tanned leather, making her want to close her eyes and dream of something special upon the horizon. And to desire it!
Oh dear,her thoughts were flitting wildly. They occasionally received dignitaries and titled people in the shop, and thus she and her sisters had learned a little bit about keeping one’s head and maintaining a calm, professional behavior when nobility suddenly appeared. More often than not, however, their servants came in.
She certainly had not anticipated the praise regarding her chocolate creations would engender a marriage proposal from a duke. Besides, she had a suitor — if only she could recall his name or his face at that instant.
“And when I cast my net over London, one lady came to mind.”
He looked benignly at her.One lady came to mind? Herself!He sounded serious.
“Because you love chocolate?” she asked.Why else would he choose her?
He chuckled, and the sound made her shiver.How strange. She usually only had that exciting response when tasting a new strain of cacao bean or creating a brand-new chocolate sweet.
“I am not utterly enamored with it, no,” he said. “I have drunk my fair share like everyone else, but sometimes, it is oily, even slimy, or has a disagreeable aftertaste.”
Poor man!Amity shook her head. No one should suffer with inferior chocolate. The world had been made a better place, as far as she was concerned, when Dutch processed cocoa had been brought to England.
“Possibly, you have been drinking impure cocoa, my lord, with animal fat and potato flour. I assure you there is nothing more pleasant and delicious than a cup of Cadbury’s Cocoa Essence.”
“What I have eaten has been no better,” he protested. “Rather grainy, in fact. A little bitter and coarse.”
“Fry’s Chocolat Delicious à Manger,” she muttered, thinking of that company’s early solid chocolate bar. “Quite unpleasant by today’s standards,” she added. Chocolate had come so far since then. Apparently, the duke had not yet enjoyed the best.
He nodded. “I understandyoucan change my mind. I believe you can work wonders with your confectionery and make anyone say yes to anything — that’s what I was told. That’s what I’m counting on.”
Lately, she had been receiving rave reviews from all quarters, and even the palace had ordered a pound of her cleverly crafted chocolate squares, some infused with orange and some with raspberry liqueur.
Reaching for her reticule, which dangled from her wrist, Amity set it on her lap and opened the drawstring closure. Drawing out a very small, slightly crumpled paper bag, she held it out for him.
“Go ahead, my lord. Try a piece.”
