“Oh no, my lord, I am very pleased to see you.”Gracious, that sounded too eager. “It is the possible impropriety of the two of us together that concerns me.”
“I believe in broad daylight, given our two stellar reputations, no one could find fault with us walking beside one another and going into a shop or two. Why, I could be your chaperone,” he suggested. “Think of me as your maid or footman.”
She laughed and gestured for them to begin walking as they were creating more of a scene by huddling against the front window of Rare Confectionery.
“Since you look nothing like either of our maids and we do not have a footman, I shall simply think of you as my friend.”
“Perfect,” he said in his rich voice, like warm chocolate to her ears.
Shaking her head at the ridiculous and rather disgusting idea of chocolate poured into her ears, she knew she’d best stop all her whimsical thoughts.
“My errands are not too exciting,” she warned him.
“It is no matter. I confess to enjoying your company.”
Her steps briefly faltered. When he said something such as that, those whimsical thoughts came rushing back.
“Where are we off to?” he asked. “And do we need my driver?”
“No, everything today is within walking distance. Most of our bulk supplies are delivered. Occasionally, I go into the East End—”
“I beg your pardon?” he asked, sounding concerned.
“Never alone and never after dark, I assure you. But the cacao bean warehouses are on St Katherine’s Dock, near the tea. Sometimes I’ve had the good fortune to be told of a new type of bean. Obviously not new to those who grow it.” She chuckled at the arrogance of Europeans thinking they’d discovered anything new when the tree had been cultivated for centuries. “But new to us. Anyway, it’s a treat to be one of the first in Britain to sniff the beans or even chew one.”
“You chew them whole?”
“Yes, my lord. Bitter but I enjoy them anyway. Sometimes raw, sometimes roasted.”
He nodded and said nothing to that. He must think her an undeniably odd woman. After another few feet, he asked, “Do you make your own chocolate?”
She wished she could say yes. “No, but that’s because I could not do it as well.”
His footsteps faltered slightly at her side, and she turned to him. “I’m surprised,” he confessed.
“It is more complex to make quality, smooth chocolate than you can imagine. The beans are roasted and the shells removed to reveal the nibs, and then, as with coffee, they must be finely ground. The result is a cocoa paste, which is pressed to draw out the cocoa butter, the slimy part you mentioned when too much is left in your cocoa powder.”
“So, the paste is solid chocolate?” he asked, sounding interested.
“Well, it is,” she said, as they passed store windows, slowly making their way through the multitude of pedestrians. “However, it isn’t very pleasant to eat. To make an edible chocolate bar, you need to add back in more cocoa butter and, of course, sugar. And you must blend this for ages to make it smooth and delicious. Our store buys readymade blocks of chocolate, mostly from Switzerland and France, because it is superior to what I could create.”
In fact, Rare Confectionery had a wonderful relationship with the chocolate manufacturers who supplied their shop. When she had renounced having a Season, her family had spent the money saved for ballgowns and party tickets on travel. Her first destination had been to Switzerland where Amity learned secrets from Monsieur Peter, the man who’d invented milk chocolate and now sold it to her.
Afterward, they had spent time with her grandparents in France. There, Amity visited the famed Debauve and Gallais chocolate shop on the 30 Rue des Saints-Pères in Paris where it had already existed for sixty years. She’d come home with the so-called “coins” created for Marie Antoinette to stave off headaches.
Another highlight had been her tour of the Menier chocolate factory in Noisiel, perched directly upon the Marne River so water wheels could power it.
“The ornate iron-and-brick factory, itself, looks like a confectionery treat,” Amity told him, recalling how charmed she’d been by its facade. “I came home with their popular version of drinking chocolate for my own consumption, and it was superb. Menier recently opened a factory here in London at Shoreditch. Most convenient, my lord.”
Amity hoped she wasn’t boring him, but she loved sharing what she knew about the best thing in the world. “We could not be more fortunate than to live at this time,” she declared.
“Because of the chocolate?” he asked, a teasing tone to his voice.
“Exactly,” she agreed. “Today, I intend to purchase some molds from the tinsmith’s finished goods shop on Cork Street. Do you know it? We also get our tins for gift-giving there.”
A strange expression came over the duke’s face. “I confess I do not know of any tinsmith on any street anywhere. Do you think less of me?”
She burst out laughing. When she recovered, she said, “I expect you also don’t know the best place to purchase the purest sugar or the creamiest butter.”
