Strangely, Miss Rare-Foure didn’t look thrilled.
“Honestly, my lord, I would not like to steal the limelight, as they say, from you. Not that I could. After all, who am I?” She gave an unsettled laugh. “Only please consider, it is your special night to propose and, after you’ve settled the account, the chocolates will be yours to present. I would be in the way at best.”
Her sister was staring at her as if she’d grown a third eye, and he understood why. Not many people would turn down a direct invitation to a party at his home.
“Not at all,” Henry told the chocolatier, determined now to carry through with the scene he was envisioning. After dinner, all guests would go from his dining room to the ballroom where musicians would play a short concert. Possibly a pianist. A violinist, too. He couldn’t recall precisely what his mother said was the plan for the music, but she had arranged for something excellent. Of that, he had no doubt.
And afterward, as the last strains of the music died down, Miss Rare-Foure, dressed perhaps with an apron as she wore now — though cleaner, of course — would enter the room. He couldn’t ask her to kneel in front of Lady Madeleine, but he could ask her to silently hold out the tray with one perfect chocolate upon it while more servants — not her loud, whistling sister — would enter behind her with more trays filled with the treats for the other guests.
“No one must taste one yet,” he would declare to much anticipation. At such time, he would propose to Madeleine and say something about how if she could declare the chocolate to be terrible, then she could turn him down.
No, that wasn’t right. In any case, he had nearly a fortnight to plan exactly what he would say.
Nevertheless, Miss Rare-Foure simply must be there to present. He had made up his mind.
“I insist you come,” he told her in his most authoritative voice.
She took a breath, her nostrils seemed to open a little larger and her mouth took on a look of mutinous distaste. He thought she was going to tell him no, something that hardly ever happened — in fact, it had never happened — since he’d received the title upon his father’s tragic demise. Even before that, as a marquess, he had rarely encountered resistance to any of his plans.
“And you probably would want the rest of our family there, too,” the larger bosomed Miss Rare-Foure added from behind the counter.
“No,” he said at the same time as the chocolatier. They looked at each other, her gaze locking with his.
“That is,” Miss Rare-Foure explained, turning to her sister, “I believe his lordship said it was a modest dinner party for his close friends and family.”
“I’m afraid your sister is correct,” Henry said, hoping to soften the blow as the young lady looked quite crestfallen. “It wouldn’t do to have too many Rare-Foure ladies hanging about. My other guests would be outshone by your charm and beauty.”
The young lady behind the counter nodded, as if accepting such a circumstance might be true. “I suppose you are right. Hopefully, my sister won’t be too much of a distraction, pretty as she is. All in all, everyone’s eyes should be upon Lady Madeleine on such a special night.”
Henry had to hide his smile. As if any woman could really take the attention away from Madeleine. It was laughable! Turning his gaze back to the chocolatier, with a smudge of brown upon her cheek, she seemed to read his thoughts as if he’d said them out loud.
What’s more, she didn’t look as if she appreciated what he was thinking. Her glance turned withering, as she brushed her hands upon her apron, leaving cocoa prints in two trails. Then she put her hands on her hips.
“Precisely, why are you here, Lord Pelham?”
Chapter Three
