Greer paused for a second, but except for the brandy-drinker, the rest of the men all had open, interested expressions.
“Very well,” he said. “Shall we introduce ourselves?”
In a very few minutes, he felt as if he’d known these fellows all his life. John Delorey, the man with the small bladder, was in textiles like Greer’s Scottish grandfather. He had a wife and two children. The man who sipped brandy, Randall Molino, was a purveyor of antiques, owning a shop a fair distance from Rare Confectionery north of Hyde Park. There were also George and Jeremiah, both friendly sorts.
“We meet here most Wednesday nights,” John said toward the end of the evening. “You’re welcome to come again.”
***
WHEN GREER ENTEREDthe confectionery two days later, having given himself a little respite away from the powerful draw of Beatrice Rare-Foure, he felt renewed vigor. Hopefully, they could discuss the next step in their joint entrance into high society, and he had to admit, he felt better for doing it with the outspoken toffee-maker at his side. She might not be the most experienced of guides, but he knew she would be a dependable companion as they attempted to insinuate themselves into the unfamiliar arena of the British aristocracy.
Miss Charlotte was at her station behind the counter, shaping some type of dough between her nimble fingers.
“What are you working on there?” he asked.
“Marzipan,” she offered with her ready smile. “From ground almonds. I make all the marzipan sweets we sell.” She gestured to the shelf in the display case with artfully made small fruit, flower, and animal shapes. Some were painted, if that was the right word, while some were adorned with nuts and seeds.
“You are a true artist. Have you ever worked with clay?”
Her cheeks turned pink. “I like to work with something that pleases the tongue as much as the eyes. I’m not sure I would be satisfied with work that sat around, gathering dust. Not when I can see the pleasure on a customer’s face as they eat one of my creations. Have you tasted one?”
A peal of laughter came from the back room, not that of Beatrice, either, if he could credit his own ears.
“My oldest sister has returned from her wedding trip,” Miss Charlotte told him, before picking up a small, pear-shaped treat and handing it to him. “The green shade is pistachio.”
Then, while Greer wondered whether he fancied eating a pistachio-colored pear that was made of almond paste, the young woman before him let loose a shrill whistle, which caused him to jump slightly and for silence to descend upon the back room.
Footsteps followed a moment later, and the toffee-maker appeared with another woman, obviously the other Rare-Foure sister by her hair coloring and resemblance.
“Oh, there you are,” Beatrice said.
Greer was pleased to hear welcome in her voice, a far cry from their first few encounters when she wished him to leave the shop and never return. He hadn’t seen her since she’d appeared as a vision of loveliness in a blue gown at the dressmaker’s. And he was glad to see her in an unremarkable dress, which caused him less of a strong visceral reaction. It wouldn’t do to let her uncommon loveliness and her witty nature draw him into an impossible romantic liaison.
“Amity,” she added, “this is Mr. Carson. Mr. Carson, may I present the Duchess of Pelham.”
Miss Charlotte laughed at Beatrice’s words, and he glanced at her.
“My sisters and I are still getting used to the new title,” the duchess said. “I am pleased to meet you, Mr. Carson.”
He stuck out his hand, and then faltered. “Is there a special way to greet a duchess?”
“Of course,” Beatrice said sternly. “You must drop to your knees at once and place your forehead on her left shoe.”
He paused for a split second, then they all laughed.
“Honestly, Mr. Carson, in the confines of Rare Confectionery, I will always be Miss Rare-Foure, the chocolate-maker. I am happy to shake your hand.” And they did so.
“More than that I’m pleased to meet someone who has managed to convince my sister to partake of a Season. She has been telling me of your plan to infiltrate the highest tier of society.”
“With your help,” he interrupted, “if you would be so inclined.”
“I see no reason why not. And back to your question about greeting, when you are in a drawing room, even my husband’s, surrounded by lords and ladies, you must address everyone properly or risk ostracism and humiliation. I know this from personal experience.”
“Then I shall need some lessons. I am a quick study and have a good memory.”
“Indeed, you both shall need lessons,” the duchess said. “I hope you will come to my home tonight to begin. I will tell you the basics of what I have learned during the course of my engagement. And I shall ask my husband for his assistance, too.”
“The duke is very nice,” Miss Charlotte said.
