“I have my art class tonight,” Charlotte said, explaining why she looked better than her usual everyday garb. “I probably won’t see you until breakfast.”
“Have fun.” Beatrice watched her go.
“What are you thinking?” Mr. Carson asked.
“We all wonder if she has her cap set at her friend’s brother who also attends art class. That would explain her lack of interest in finding a husband during the Season.”
Instantly, Beatrice wished she could call back her words. She had no business gossiping about her own family. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have disclosed such an intimacy about my own sister.”
“Perhaps because we are extremely used to each other by now, Miss Rare-Foure. I feel as if I’ve known you a longer time than is truly the case, and I consider you my friend. I would never break your confidence by disclosing anything you tell me.”
“Thank you. I understand how you feel, and I feel the same way.”
Her statement engendered a silence that nearly belied their words of being friendly. Beatrice thought it not entirely comfortable, yet neither too awkward, either. And the strange interlude passed quickly.
“Have you finished making toffee for today?” he asked, breaking the odd tension between them.
“As it happens, I have.”
“Good.” He looked around the shop, and she wondered if she should give him something to taste. Her sisters were far more congenial in that regard, but she went around the counter and considered her options.
“I was filled with energetic productivity today, getting my toffee made. Probably due to our greattriumphof last night,” she added wryly, placing a flower-shaped marzipan sweet and a plain chocolate with fondant filling onto a small porcelain plate. She looked over the counter at him, and he smiled.
“Onward and upward, as they say, Miss Rare-Foure.”
“I suppose.” Wordlessly, she offered him the samples, and he ate them thoughtfully.
“In this case, however, sales have been down a little the past few weeks,” she admitted, “so I didn’t need to make as much as I have in the past.”
“Not good,” he said, handing her the plate.
“How can you say that? That’s the finest marzipan and chocolate in London!” She was ready to give him a jab in the nose on behalf of her sisters.
“I meant the downturn in sales,notthe confectionery. Truth be told, though, I prefer your toffee to either of those.”
She felt her cheeks warm, immensely pleased and hoping he wasn’t saying such only because she was standing in front of him. In any case, she went back to the display, put some plain toffee into a bag, and handed it to him.
“How much?” he asked.
“No charge, Mr. Carson,” she said, and for the first time felt the joy in giving her craft away for the other person’s pleasure.
“Thank you.” He put a piece in his mouth, taking care to suck it while he tucked the bag in his coat pocket.
She watched his mouth as he enjoyed the hard confection, a very attractive mouth, to be sure. When he started to chew, she raised a hand.
“Best to suck, Mr. Carson.”
“My teeth are strong, I assure you.”
Nonetheless, she noticed he pushed the chunk of toffee into his cheek to melt and continued speaking. “May I ask whether your family advertises?”
“We do. Perhaps not enough, or maybe our ads need to change. My father handles all that. Do you know about such things?”
“A little.” He didn’t enlighten her further. “Have you used your sister’s new connection?”
“Usedit?” she asked, wondering if she was going to like where this was going. “If you are not in a hurry, you can tell me what you mean. I can’t close up for another hour. Would you care for a cup of tea?”
He didn’t hesitate. “Yes, I would,” and without further discussion, he followed her into the back room.
