Inside, Beatrice gave a silent scream of irritation. It was no one’s business outside the family. What if Charlotte were on her deathbed or had eloped to Gretna Green, for goodness sake?
“Iam Miss Rare-Foure,” she insisted. In fact, there used to be three of them, but her older sister, Amity, had recently married and, amazingly, had become the Duchess of Pelham. If that weren’t enough, her sister was off on a wedding trip to the Continent, touring chocolate factories and coffeehouses. Amity and her duke, Henry Westbrook, the Duke of Pelham, were a perfectly matched pair.
Beatrice was happy for them without a doubt. At that moment, though, she wished Amity were in the shop dealing with these pesky people.
Both women in front of her frowned, and one said, “I meant the other Rare-Foure, dear.”
“I’m sorry, she isn’t here.” Beatrice managed to stop herself from adding, “obviously.” Instead, she repeated, “MayIhelp you?” After all, it didn’t take a great deal of skill to put some confectionery in a bag or tin.
“Yes, of course. It’s only that Miss Rare-Foure, the other one, that is, always gives us samples and knows what we want to buy.”
Again, Beatrice blew a great sigh with enough force to move the hair that had fallen onto her forehead. “If you know what you wish to buy, then why do you need a sample?”
At her impertinence, she heard the sandy-haired man chortle under his breath.
In any case, her question was met with momentary silence. “Sometimes, there is something new,” the other woman pointed out.
“Well, there isn’t anything new,” Beatrice told her. “Not today.” There couldn’t be, not with Amity, their chocolatier, trotting through France all starry-eyed and in love, and Charlotte in bed with a towel over her head. She was probably bowed over a bowl of hot water and eucalyptus oil.Lucky girl!
“I see,” said the first woman. “Do you know who I am?”
Beatrice always dreaded such a question. It usually meant she was dealing with an aristocrat and bungling it enough to get the lord or lady’s dander raised.
“As it happens,” she said with exaggerated solemnity, “I do not. I have no idea. What’s more, it is of absolutely no consequence.”
This statement was met with two great gasps of outrage. Beatrice could practically hear her mother’s voice in her head:Do not chase away our customers.
“What I mean,” Beatrice clarified, “is even if I knew which ladies you were, such knowledge would not assist me in guessing the type of confection you are looking for. Why, even if you were Queen Victoria herself, I could not read your mind. Are either of you, in actual fact, the queen?”
Silence fell again as these two ladies stared at her, their faces severe as thunderclouds. Beatrice’s tea would be stone cold, she had plainly not placated the customers, and she still had to get rid of the strange man.
“Is there something you wish to buy?” she tried again in her most polite tone.
“No,” said the second woman. They left in a bustle of satin and silk, as well as unconcealed annoyance. They would probably never return to Rare Confectionery, and for that, Beatrice was ashamed. Slightly.
“Maybe they wanted boiled balls,” the man quipped as soon as the door closed.
Beatrice closed her eyes. When she reopened them, sadly, he was still there.
“Luckily, they can get them just about anywhere,” she reminded him.
“Not on this street. I already looked in a few other shops before coming in here, and they weren’t there either.”
“Naturally,” she responded.
“What do you mean,naturally? Is there a moratorium on boiled candies on this street?”
She sighed. “I meant naturally, if you’d found them elsewhere, you wouldn’t be here, bothering me.”
“Bothering you?” His expression was incredulous but entirely unoffended. He was harder to get rid of than the plague.
“Indeed, you are. Unless you intend to buy something.”
“Well, I might,” he said. “Everything looks very good. I am simply curious about the hard sweets and their conspicuous absence.”
He was like a dog with a bone. Beatrice sorely wished she had some to give him so she could send him on his way.
“You are on New Bond Street, sir. A shopping street for luxury items, including luggage, jewelry, antiques, works of art, and all manner of bibelots. And, of course, our fine confectionery.” She indicated the display cases again with a wave of her hand, noticed toffee on her index finger and, before she even considered her actions, stuck it into her mouth to suck it clean.
