“There are my girls, belles of the ball,” Felicity intoned, despite having two customers at the counter.
Both women turned, and Beatrice was glad to see by their clothing they weren’t members of the aristocracy. She wasn’t ashamed of being a confectioner, but she didn’t want young ladies from thehaut tonwith whom she’d rubbed elbows the night before recognizing her. That would be an awkward moment indeed.
“My girls were at Clarendon House last night,” her mother continued unabashedly, as she handed the women each a bag containing their purchases.
“How exciting,” said one.
“Marvelous,” said the other, and they gave Charlotte, already removing her hat, and Beatrice, still standing in the doorway, a second glance.
“You are fortunate girls! Imagine,” the woman said to her friend, “working here during the day and then dancing the night away with wealthy gentlemen.”
“Like Perrault’s Cinderella,” said the first.
“Not only do they work here,” Felicity said, “my daughters make our delicious sweets.”
“I make the marzipan,” Charlotte volunteered.
“Very clever,” said the second lady. “I bought two that look just like pears.”
“Then you must make the chocolates we tasted,” said the other. “I bought at least five different kinds.”
Beatrice shook her head, hating to disappoint the women. Before she said anything, her mother responded, “No, our chocolatier is my eldest daughter, recently wedded to the Duke of Pelham.”
“My word!” “Gracious!” both women exclaimed excitedly at once. “This is a special confectionery indeed,” added the first. “We shall tell all our friends.”
And they left chattering to themselves about noblemen and chocolate.
I make the toffee, Beatrice nearly called after them. Maybe they hadn’t even bought any. Charlotte disappeared into the back room to remove her hat and coat, but Beatrice approached the counter.
“Do you think it’s perfectly fine to tell people about our new connection to the upper class?” she asked.
“I think the publicity of our new duchess in the family, as well as of you girls rubbing elbows with London’s finest will undoubtedly help our shop,” her mother said.
“Whereisour new duchess?” Beatrice asked, still thinking it would be humiliating to have a fine gentleman from the previous evening come in to buy sweets from her.
“She and the duke had some charity luncheon to go to, and Amity took our confectionery, of course. It will be very good for business.”
Apparently, even Amity had changed her mind. Previously, she’d practically forbidden herself to fall in love with the duke for fear of the class difference and what it might mean. Yet now, her older sister seemed to be flaunting her shopgirl background. Beatrice intended to keep the two roles — that of confectioner and that of debutante — separate for as long as possible.
“When is the next event of the Season?” she asked, tugging off her gloves.
“Two days.”
“Another ball,” Beatrice murmured, not as thrilled as she ought to be. She was starting to understand how, despite the change in venue or music, they were all a similar experience. She supposed after a few more, she would even start to recognize the same faces.
“When the weather warms a little, the first boating outing shall take place at Richmond,” her mother said. “And there will be a picnic soon, too.”
“It seems odd,” Charlotte said, having pinned on her apron and returned, “to picnic with strangers.”
“There’s often a ride through the park first or a stroll, perhaps even a tour of Kew Gardens,” their mother said. “You won’t simply arrive by the Thames and plop yourself down upon the grass to eat sandwiches.”
They all laughed. “At least the river isn’t so smelly at Richmond,” Beatrice said. “Can you imagine boating by the Palace of Westminster or down by Blackfriars?”
She started to remove her cloak when her mother stopped her. “I need you to take samples along to a swanky hotel.”
Freezing, Beatrice guessed at once. “To the Langham?”
“Yes,” her mother said, staring at her as if she’d become a necromancer. “How on earth did you know?”
