Chapter Twenty-One
Henry should have expectedhis words would be met with collective silence, followed by a ripple of disapproval that quickly ran through the parlor’s occupants.
“What I meant to say was, I would like to speak to Miss Rare-Foure about the chocolates. About more chocolates. Other chocolates, that is. A sensitive matter.”
“A sensitivechocolatematter?” Mrs. Rare-Foure asked, looking doubtful.
“Just so,” Henry said, keeping a steady gaze on Amity’s mother, trying not to look the least bit untrustworthy.
“Fine by me,” said her father. “Amity’s a woman of business, out in the world, not like when you were young,” he added to his wife.
Obviously, the man had no sense of self-preservation for Mrs. Rare-Foure took all of her attention from Henry’s inappropriate request and set it squarely upon her husband’s ill-advised statement about her age.
“What can you mean, Mr. Foure?” she asked him. “WhenIwas young?”
Henry thought he heard the man gulp before answering. “I meant, my love, that you were sheltered for longer. Unquestionably, you arestillyoung.” Mr. Foure gazed around him a little wildly, as if hoping for help. No one could offer any. He was a man in a rowboat with no oars, heading for the treacherous falls.
“Frankly, I wonder sometimes,” Mr. Foure added, “how a woman of your tender years can have three grown daughters.”
Mrs. Rare-Foure crossed her arms, glaring at him.
Henry watched it as a life lesson in how not to speak to a female and noticed Amity’s new fiancé doing the same. When their heads turned away from the tragedy of Mr. Foure, Henry realized his lovely chocolatier was looking at Mr. Cole as if for permission. Thus, in the end, it was the lawyer who gave the approval that Henry sought.
Mr. Cole cleared his throat. “Rules, even societal ones, are a little more relaxed in the country, don’t you all agree? If the duke wishes to discuss chocolate with Amity, I see no reason he should not. It’s as if they were having a consultation in the back room of Rare Confectionery.”
Amity glanced at Henry, her cheeks pink, and he had to look away, their kiss uppermost in his mind. If they both looked guilty, the jig would be up and over before it began. He also found it necessary to avoid looking at Amity’s sisters. The one had an expression of a saucy minx and the other, the narrow-eyed scowl of a fox.
Henry rose to his feet slowly, casually, as if this was an entirely unimportant matter. He felt his heart pound with trepidation. Amity stood, too, and after another glance at Mr. Cole, she preceded Henry from the room. He didn’t dare look back in case anyone spied the devil’s horns growing from his head.
Where would she take him?Not outside, which would have been his preference if the rain was not continuing to fall heavily. Instead, they went along the passageway to the study he’d passed earlier. It would all come down to the next few minutes.
***
AMITY’S EMOTIONS WEREshifting like a carriage on the hills of Scotland, going up and down so drastically, she was a bit disoriented. Upon seeing the duke unexpectedly in her own home, she had been well and truly shocked. That sentiment had been followed by so many others in the brief few minutes he’d been in their parlor, she could no longer identify what her prevailing thoughts were.
Except curiosity. She was dying to know why he and Lady Madeleine were not engaged and what he wanted to speak with her about. She knew only it had nothing to do with asensitive chocolate matter.
“Would you like to sit?” she asked, gesturing to one of the worn but comfortable leather reading chairs.
“I’d rather stand if you don’t mind,” he told her. “I was in my coach for a number of hours today. Please, sit if you wish.”
“I will stand,” she agreed. Then she waited. When he said nothing more, but stared at her with interest, she began to feel prickly all over.
“Your Grace?” Maybe he just needed prompting.
