Chapter Two
Greer took a step backas the young woman before him grew red in the face, and he knew he’d made an error. He wasn’t sure whether he’d caused her fury by giving her the gold coin or by presuming she had a gentleman friend, or even by his bold assumption she liked to eat.Who could tell with this crabby miss?
Whatever it was, she was mad as a wet cat, and her hyacinth-blue eyes glittered with flecks of fire — or perhaps that was simply the watery English sunlight bouncing around the white interior of the shop and reflecting in them. Either way, he knew he’d bungled it.
Miss Rare-Foure opened her mouth undoubtedly to give him a sharp dressing-down, he was certain of that, but she glanced past him to the new customers who’d entered the candy shop.
Glaring at him, she snatched up the coin. “Your change, sir.” She held it out and quickly let it drop from her fingers. If he hadn’t caught it, it would have rolled onto the clean wood floor. He did catch it and stuffed the offending coin back into his pocket.
“Well, thank you,” he said to her stiff back, as she walked away to help the newcomers. With no clear understanding of these British folks, he hoped to do better if he was to gain a titled lady, which was his foremost goal, along with a spiffy London townhouse.
“Goodbye,” he added, although she ignored him, already boxing up some chocolates for the young couple who’d entered.
Greer had reached the door when he suddenly heard her call out to him, “You there! American!”
Turning with a half-smile starting to form on his lips, ready to receive an apology for her churlishness, instead he was hit by a half-pound of toffee, catching it and smashing the crinkly paper sack against his chest.
“Don’t forget your confectionery,” Miss Rare-Foure quipped, a smirk on her pretty face. The other customers had turned to watch the buffoonery.
He decided then and there he would return to speak with her again. The way she’d fearlessly handled the aristocratic women — and even put him in his place — gave Greer the idea she would be able to tell him all he needed to know to navigate the peculiar and foreign conventions of the British. Perhaps she could even help him infiltrate the ranks of the nobility.
In any case, while closing the shop door behind him and stepping into the stream of pedestrians, he realized he’d thoroughly enjoyed the unique and abrasive spunk of Rare Confectionery’s toffee-maker.
***
BEATRICE WAS PLEASEDas Punchinello when Charlotte felt better a day later and returned to work, her usual cheerful, smiling self.
Her sister was counting the money in the till as they opened for the day. “It seems sales have been down for two days.”
“That’s right,” Beatrice told her. “Ever since you deserted me, leaving me to wait on these wretched people.”
They both laughed.
“Customers, wretched or not, must have come in as usual. Did you manage to drive most of them away before they could buy anything?”
“Some,” Beatrice said with a sniff, as she wiped down the glass with vinegar and newsprint. Then she recalled the American. “However, one of them bought toffee evenafterI was rude, and I ended up hurling his sweets at him when he forgot them on the counter.” She laughed some more, recalling his expression.
Charlotte was not joining in this time. In fact, she looked horrified. “You didn’t!”
Rolling her eyes at her younger sister’s tone, Beatrice said, “You sound like Mother.”
“With good cause. I told her she should come spend the day with you, but no, she had to play nursemaid to me. What if the gentleman had accused you of assault?”
“Silly girl.”
“No, don’t dismiss me. You always think you can say what you like and do whatever you want without consequence. Only recall what a mess you made of Amity’s life last year, telling off an earl’s daughter and nearly ruining our shop.”
“It all worked out in the end,” Beatrice protested, not wishing to recall one particularly rude young lady who had thoroughly infuriated her. “Besides Mother told off the same earl’s daughter. Why, I thinkyoudid as well, didn’t you, at the duke’s party?”
“That’s not the point,” Charlotte said. “Luckily, I’ve forgotten what the point was. I’m turning the sign around, so get yourself in the back room where you belong. Treacle toffee, if you please.”
Gathering the broom and her glass cleaning supplies, Beatrice went happily to the back room.
“Tea?” she called out to her sister. Although their older sister drank mostly hot chocolate, the rest of the family were solidly tea drinkers.
