“What about the mines?” he persisted.
“The mines, Mr. Carson?” He’d hoped to soothe her, but as she said those words, she looked nearly apoplectic.
“My first night here, I went to a pub,” he told them both, “and the bartender told me about treacle mines.”
At this, the toffee-maker slapped a hand to her forehead. Miss Charlotte lifted a shoulder in a delicate shrug, tapping her toe as the music had begun again.
“Mr. Carson, treacle is boiled sugar syrup,” Beatrice annunciated each word carefully, as if he were a dull-wit. “If you wish to persist in believing it comes out of the ground like coal, or from a well like water, so be it. I cannot help you. But treacle mines are known to be an absolute hoax, a joke, and a treacle miner means simply a lazy, unemployed do-nothing. Why? Because no one mines treacle!” She’d raised her voice along with her annoyance. “And none of this has helped me feel any better about being labelled a ‘toffee heiress.’”
“Actually, a ‘treacle toffee heiress,’” Charlotte corrected.
Beatrice clenched her fists, and he was sure her head would explode.
“Why are you so worried anyway?” Charlotte asked. “What’s wrong with being known as the mysterious, blue-eyed toffee heiress?”
Beatrice moaned. “One can go to prison for impersonating nobility.”
Charlotte shook her head. “Then it’s a good thing you aren’t doing any such thing. An heiress isn’t noble, and you didn’t make any claims. I did.”
Suddenly, Amity was in their midst, and Mr. Carson could tell she was buzzing with bother, hopefully not about her sister being an heiress.
“All three of you are in terrible trouble. You’ve upset the entire gathering.”
Chapter Nine
Beatrice felt the floorshift upon hearing those words. The look on her older sister’s face was not one she’d ever seen before.
“What did we do?” she asked, slanting a glance at Charlotte who gaped back at her. “Was it the toffee heiress nonsense?”
Amity frowned. “Thankfully, I have no idea what nonsense you’re talking about. But all of you,” she included Mr. Carson in her censure, “left your partners standing on the edge of the dance floor awaiting you when the quadrille started.”
Charlotte gasped, Beatrice’s stomach sank, and Mr. Carson appeared shaken. With their first foray into high society, they’d committed one of the worst errors.
“Mr. Carson’s partner took up with one of your gentlemen — Charlotte’s, I believe — and they tried to slip in when the dance had already begun, causing a few moments’ mayhem. The other gentleman stood out like a dog at a horse race. It was awful.” The duchess shook her head in dismay. “He made an awkward bow to no one in particular and backed away from the dancers. I tried to reach him to partner him, but he’d already moved to the far end of the room and too much of the dance had transpired.”
“Oh dear!” Charlotte said.
