Chapter Fifteen
Her driver opened thecarriage door, and all Amity could see was a throng of people. On second look, she realized they were mostly women. And not actually a throng. Perhaps five ladies, all impeccably dressed, each with a maid and some with a footman, thus giving the appearance of more.
The very moment Amity recognized Lady Madeleine standing closest to the door of Rare Confectionery, the lady turned and saw her. A terrible but perfect smile broke over her lovely face, and Amity’s heart sank.
“There she is,” Lady Madeleine said, impeccably dressed in a cream-colored gown with gold trim. “The chocolate seller, herself.”
“What is going on here?” Amity asked as the group of ladies grew quiet and turned to face her. In a very short time, she and Delia were surrounded.
“These ladies are my friends,” Lady Madeleine said. “We are shopping, and I wanted to point out your shop to them.”
“How kind of you,” Amity said, hoping if she behaved civilly, Lady Madeleine might change her tune.
The ladies tittered and gave her pitying looks. Their maids stayed silent, cautiously observing everything their mistresses did.
“I told them how your chocolate made me sick,” Lady Madeleine said loudly. Some passersby, trying to get through the crowd on the pavement, halted to listen. “I wanted to make certain they knew which store sold the rancid chocolate.”
Amity shook her head. “We do not sell anything rancid. Moreover, you do not appear ill.”
“Are you calling me a liar?” Lady Madeleine asked.
Some of the ladies huffed with indignation.
“Careful,” Delia whispered in Amity’s ear. She was right to warn her as London society had become litigious of late. Not only were the newspapers full of frivolous lawsuits, particularly for defamation, Jeremy had recently told them at dinner about the alarming speed with which one might find oneself brought before the bench.
But wasn’t Rare Chocolates being defamed, too?
“You fell ill and now you have recovered?” Amity asked, maintaining her level nature.
“Yes, you simpleton. I told you she was a bit thick,” Lady Madeleine said to her friends who all laughed again.
Amity ignored them all. She took a step toward the earl’s daughter, who seemed to think this was an amusing game and not a risk to the livelihood of an entire family.
“How do you know it was the complimentary samples you had from my shop that made you sick? How do you know it wasn’t what you had for lunch? Bad fish paste on your toast, perhaps?”
Stop talking, she counseled herself, but ignoring her own good counsel, Amity added, “Or an extra helping of broxy meat at supper!”
To a person, everyone around her gasped, even the servants. The idea that a lady would eat a cut of meat from an animal which had dropped dead was apparently as great an insult as Amity hoped it might be.
