“There are coffeehouses that serve it with almost all milk,” he explained, “and a very little strongly brewed coffee stirred in. Served that way, it is thicker and fills you up, like a meal.”
“I would like to try that sometime.”
Henry nearly said he would take her to Paris, because over there, women had much more freedom to join men in the bistros and cafes. He caught himself in time. When Madeleine was his wife, if he left her at home on this side of the Channel, he could hardly take Amity Rare-Foure as a traveling companion.
“The chocolate,” she reminded him. “I imagine the plainer, the better.” Delicately, she chose one and popped it in her mouth before taking her next sip.
Her eyes widened with joy. “Oh my. That is beyond delicious. The flavor is layered and complex.” She picked up another chocolate and handed it to him.
“I’m afraid these all have some type of flavoring. This one has a little ground hazelnut. Personally, I don’t likegiandujachocolate or the hat-shapedgianduiotticoming out of Turin. I find the hazelnut paste they add to be overwhelmingly strong and too earthy. Many like it, I suppose.”
Henry knew he wore a dazed expression. He’d never heard of agiand...giand... whatever she’d said. “I know nothing about those hazelnut chocolates,” he confessed.
“Maybe you shall taste thegiandujain Italy someday,” she mused, wearing her own faraway look as if she were already strolling through Turin.
At once, he thought how nice it would be to have her by his side if he did so. A second later, she broke the spell of an impossible daydream by pointing to the chocolate she’d given him.
He ate it and sipped his coffee. “I adore it.”
They grinned at each other, and he wished they could go on drinking coffee and eating chocolates all day.
“We haven’t cured cholera, nor have we hitherto solved the problem of the downfall of Rare Confectionery. Yet I feel as if we have created something wonderful,” he said.
She laughed. “I shall begin to tell our customers to set aside their teapots and enjoy our chocolates with a good cup of coffee instead.”
“And I shall speak with my broker about buying more shares of coffee farms. But now, back to your concerns.”
Amity nodded. “You must understand while we do advertise, much of our custom depends on the good word of people such as yourself. For example, if Lord and Lady Peabody had been unhappy with the confections I brought to their party and mentioned it to others, our orders would drop. And if the guests at the party hadn’t enjoyed them, they would probably have told someone about the poor experience. Instead, we had four people after the Peabody’s party come in and purchase goodly quantities. Five, if you count Lady Madeleine even though she was not there to buy.”
“Just to sample,” he said lightly.
“Please understand, my lord, I am happy to let people try our confections,” she gestured to the ones spread out on his low table. “Because most go on to buy something.”
“Except Lady Madeleine.”
Amity lifted a delicate shoulder in a shrug. “Even if she had sampled and left, that would have been fine.”
Henry felt a little ashamed on Lady Madeleine’s behalf although he knew he should rightly take her side and tell Amity to better curb her sister’s tongue. “I take it the lady said something.”
“I do not wish to cause problems and see no reason to tell tales. I shall only say she acted every bit the earl’s daughter that she is, and in doing so, my sister felt we were being slighted.”
He nodded. “I will speak with her, and if I have to, I’ll confess I have a surprise that involves your store. Hopefully, that will be enough to placate her.”
“Why don’t you give her the rest of these, too? She very much enjoyed what she had. And none of these have any—”
“Orange?”
“Precisely,” she said.
“I will be seeing her later,” Henry told her, realizing he wasn’t looking forward to it. Compared to how much he laughed and enjoyed conversing with Amity, the contrast would probably not be in Madeleine’s favor. “And I will do my best.”
The chocolatier breathed a sigh of relief, making him smile again. Then she stood, which didn’t make him quite so happy.
He rose quickly to his feet.
She curtsied and said, “Thank you, my lord.”
He didn’t want to embarrass her by pointing out it was incorrect to style him as “my lord” instead of “Your Grace.” A part of him knew he ought to tell her, but there was no harm in the small error.
