Amity’s father coughed politely to break the tension as his wife began to sputter. Her sisters were no help, staring angrily at Mr. Cole. She should have spoken to her family first and warned them about his strong views.
“We will all be one family,” her mother protested.
“Except she ought to enrich the Coles, not the Rare-Foures.” He stated this as he reached for a slice of apple cobbler.
This made Armand Foure sit up. “I say, will sheneedto work? Do you foresee being in such circumstances?”
Jeremy had the grace to flush slightly. “No, sir. I am sure we shall live well on my income. All the same, if Amity wants to make chocolates to bring in extra money, I would expect her to make them under her new name.”
Amity feared for her mother’s health when she went quite red in the face.
“Now, see here,” Felicity began, but Amity’s father patted his wife’s hand.
“Do not trouble yourself, my love. Perhaps an easier way would be to give Amity and her new husband a share in the shop.”
Her mother didn’t look the least bit thrilled, but she also did not dismiss the notion out of hand. And while Amity wasn’t keen on the idea of her parents giving away ownership of Rare Confectionery, not even to her new husband, if her father arranged it so she could continue to work with her sisters, she wouldn’t protest.
To her amazement, Jeremy shook his head. “That’s very generous of you, but she would still be thought of as a Rare-Foure and not a Cole.”
“Is that so terrible?” Amity asked, speaking for the first time, since it washerfuture they were discussing.
Jeremy stared at her, looking slightly wounded, and she reminded herself this was the man with whom she would spend her life, give over her well-being, and to whom, on her wedding, she would agree day to obey.
“I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “When I am your wife, I do want to be Mrs. Cole first and foremost.” But she was positive she could convince him to allow her to make chocolate at Rare Confectionery.
He beamed at her, and she remembered how amenable he had always been.
“All I’m saying,” Jeremy continued, “is I think Amity should get used to her duties as a wife before she commits to continuing to go to the shop daily. She may find there are other things she prefers to do, for that matter, rather than make chocolates.”
There was silence. Amity shook her head slightly. Jeremy did not understand their passion for confectionery, but he would learn.
“Above all, we want you to be happy,” her mother said to her, and they exchanged a smile.
Amity decided to let her future husband know her thoughts right away. “I believe I shall only be happy if I continue to make confections with my family.”
Jeremy looked thoughtful and nodded. “After a brief break while we become used to our married life, you must continue to make chocolate, for your happiness will be my continual goal for the remainder of our lives.”
Bless his heart!She had known he would be a sweet and understanding husband.
“Perhaps the shop can be renamed,” he suggested, “as Rare & Cole Confectionery.”
“Mr. Cole!” Amity protested, thinking he was taking advantage of her parents’ kindness, but to her amazement, her father smiled.
“This young man will go far, I warrant.”
And with that statement, everyone’s feathers were soothed, and they finished eating in a more jovial atmosphere.
***
THE RAIN WAS ENDLESS, and Henry was glad of a well-constructed carriage. Even so, the dampness seeped in. His coachman, despite an awning to keep him protected, also needed his India rubber-cloth rain slicker.
Having left the city early, it was mid-afternoon when he arrived at Coggeshall and was directed toward the hamlet where the Rare-Foures had a house. His horses pulled his coach onto a tidy piece of land by the River Blackwater where a two-story brick home rose up to greet him.
He had brought neither his footman nor his valet, deciding to rough it. Leaving his coachman with the vehicle until a groom or a stable boy appeared to handle the horses, Henry took it upon himself to hurry along the tended path to the front door. There was no bell, so he knocked. He waited, holding his black umbrella aloft and hoping they had coffee.
When no one came, though he could tell there were inhabitants by the smoke coming from two chimneys, he decided to walk around the other side and see if he had more luck at a side or back door.
After trudging along a grassy path turned mostly to mud, he found a back door and knocked. No one answered.Enough of this dallying,he thought. He was getting chilled and —dammit— he was the Duke of Pelham!
