“Is this to do with Mr. Carson?”
Her mother frowned. “I don’t think so. Why do you ask?”
“The night Mr. Carson and I first went to Amity’s, he said he was staying at the Langham. Naturally, when you said swanky, I assumed it was the same. I can’t think of a nicer hotel in London.”
“The Langham’s manager placed an order for samples of practically everything, and we’re billing the hotel, too.”
“Billing for samples?” Charlotte asked, her tone awestruck. “That hardly seems fair.”
“With the amount your father told me they charge their guests, being fair has nothing to do with it. They can afford to pay for every sweet theirmaître d’hôteltastes. If they enjoy them, then our confectionery will be offered in their restaurant as well as for guests to take to their rooms.”
“Why can’t I go?” Charlotte protested.
“Because you are better with customers here in the shop. And Beatrice is better with,” her mother paused, “with carrying samples.”
Beatrice rolled her eyes.What a thing for her mother to say!
In any case, Felicity had a good-sized bag ready behind the counter. “Two types of toffee, a quarter pound each, twelve different chocolates, two of each, and six marzipan shapes. You may take a tramcar or a hackney cab if you like.”
“No, thank you, Mother. I would prefer to walk. It’s only ten minutes.” She slipped her gloves back on and picked up the bag.
Stepping outside the shop, Beatrice thought how preferable it was to be out walking when she felt a little lazy, rather than sitting in the back room where she would undoubtedly fall asleep upon her stool within the hour. She didn’t dally since she’d passed the same shops a hundred times and knew what was in every window. Heading up New Bond Street, she turned right onto Maddox Street. After a quick left, she cut though Hanover Square and passed the magnificent edifice of the Earl of Harewood. She wondered if he would hold a ball that Season, as the earl was purported to have a fine collection of old China on display.
After traversing busy Oxford Street, in another minute, Beatrice was walking through Cavendish Square. She could already see the elegant Langham looming at Portland Place, past the square’s northeast corner.
At the same time as she spied the six-story, yellow sandstone hotel, she recognized Mr. Carson approaching along the path between the shrubbery and the neatly manicured grass. The familiar pounding of her heart ensued at the sight of him, followed quickly by a burst of happiness.
A moment later, he saw her, and the very next instant, she realized he was walking a cat.
Unable to even consider not laughing, Beatrice let loose a peal of laughter at the sight of the tall man holding one end of a long, thin leash with a ball of grey fluff at the end of it. What’s more, this fluff was prancing with its tail in the air, a tail nearly as big as the entire cat.
“What on earth?” she asked when they grew close.
While Mr. Carson stopped in front of her, the cat did not want to halt its promenade. It tugged at the leash, before turning to look up at him, whiskers quivering with disapproval.
“May I pet it?” she asked him.
“She’s liable to scratch or bite you,” he warned.
“Then I shall scratch or bite her back,” Beatrice promised. Setting down her bag, she bent low and touched the top of the cat’s head before giving it a little rub behind its ears. It leaned into her hand, enjoying the attention. She could even hear it beginning to purr.
“She seems to have taken an instant liking to you,” Greer said, “perhaps sensing a kindred spirit.”
“You mean a quick-tempered female.”
“Precisely. Miss Rare-Foure, may I introduce you to Miss Sylvia, my mother’s cat?”
“You brought her all the way from America?” Beatrice couldn’t take her gaze off the sweet pussum’s face. It had closed its eyes now and was purring loudly.
“I did. I didn’t have the heart to leave her. All she’s ever known is being pampered, spoiled, and utterly indulged. I believe the shock of a regular home with people who don’t worship her might have killed her.”
She stood again. “Why, Mr. Carson, I believe you have a tender heart and are deeply fond of her.”
“Hardly, Miss Rare-Foure. If you must know, my mother’s will demanded I look after her.”
“I doubt your mother’s last testament ordered you to bring her cat to Britain with you, in a first-class cabin, I’ll warrant, and then put her in the most expensive Mayfair hotel and walk her through Cavendish Square on a leash.” She glanced down at Miss Sylvia again, seeing what looked like rubies and diamonds, sapphires and emeralds encircling its neck, winking in the sunlight.
“Good God! Are those gemstones?”
