Prologue
London, 1879
Charlotte finished making small marzipan faux peaches, applying pistachio paste leaves to little clove stems before placing them on the plate in the display case.
“I’m starting to think this is a magical confectionery,” she said, thinking of the good fortune of her two older sisters. “You simply waited for the right man to come in, and he did.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Beatrice said, leaning against the counter and stretching her back. “I worked hard even to like Greer before I loved him.”
They all chuckled. Some considered the middle Rare-Foure sister to be prickly, and Beatrice and her husband had certainly traveled a bumpy road while falling in love.
“And I met Henry for the first time in a carriage,” their eldest sister, Amity, pointed out, helping herself to a plain chocolate. “Mm,” she sighed happily.
“That may be true,” Charlotte agreed, “but first, your beloved duke came in here, searching specifically for you.”
“Foroursister, of all people!” Beatrice quipped, earning an unduchess-like response from Amity, who stuck out her tongue.
They laughed again.
“In any case,” Amity said, “I think you had best keep your eyes upon the door.”
Charlotte shrugged. “I always do. After all, I’ve seen the men a London Season has to offer, and I wasn’t impressed quite frankly. On the other hand, if I meet a man outside of the shop, I wouldn’t discount him entirely.” Especially one in particular.
“What about the magic of Rare Confectionery?” Beatrice asked wryly.
Shrugging, Charlotte thought about Lionel Evans and how many times she’d invited him to come to the shop. “I cannot simply wait for lightning to strike thrice, as they say.”
“Do they say that?” Amity asked, heading toward the curtain and the back room where she still had to clean up her work area.
“Something like that,” Charlotte said.
Beatrice shook her head. “I believe the saying is more like ‘lightning never strikes but once in the same place.’”
“But it did,” Charlotte persisted, “for you two.”
“Is love like lightning?” Amity wondered. The three of them stared at one another for a moment.
Then the shop bell tinkled. With wide eyes, they all turned expectantly to see an older man with a cane and an ancient top hat. This made them dissolve into a fit of giggles.
“Go on,” Beatrice said, holding open the curtain so she and Amity could disappear into the back. “Wait on your Prince Charming.”
Chapter One
The days leading up to Easter Sunday were bustling, and it seemed to Charlotte that every last Londoner had decided to buy their confectionery at the same time—and just before closing! As usual, she was offering samples and handling the counter sales, while her sisters made chocolates and trays of toffee in the back room. Amity’s bunny-shaped chocolates and her chocolate eggs filled with creamy fondant, far larger than Mr. Cadbury’s solid chocolate eggs, were selling well as were her own fruit-shaped marzipan creations.
All the past week and right through to Saturday evening when everything would grow as quiet as fish, her mother, Felicity, was also in Rare Confectionery dealing with customers. To the youngest Rare-Foure sister, these were the best of times, when they were all together and the busy hours flew by. Moreover, she enjoyed how happy people became when they tasted a sweet for the first time and found it to be their favorite.
Charlotte didn’t even mind when customers stayed to chat about their feast-day plans simply because, as her sisters often said, she was easy to talk to.
Today, however, when one chatty lady dawdled to offer her best wishes of the festive Easter week, those behind grew restless and grumpy. If Charlotte had her way, she would toss sweets over the heads of those pressing against the counter to reach everyone waiting in line. No one could be crabbed when eating confectionery. At least, that had been her experience in her nineteen years, thirteen of them spent in the confectionery, either watching and learning or serving.
Suddenly, in the midst of the already chaotic scene came three noblemen — her eldest sister’s husband, the Duke of Pelham, and his two best friends, the sometimes smirking Lord Waverly and the rather serious Lord Jeffcoat. Impeccably dressed and taller than their usual female customers, the men caused a stir and couldn’t have picked a more hectic moment to pay a visit.
The last time she’d seen them all together had been at a costume ball for fourteen hundred revelers at Marlborough House the previous year. Even that had seemed less frenzied than their Bond Street shop with patrons demanding tins of this and bags of that.
With the dignity and authority of the highest rank of nobleman, the duke sliced through the crowd with evident purpose and slipped between the counters. After greeting his wife’s mother and a nod to Charlotte, he disappeared behind the blue velvet curtain separating the front of the shop from the workroom. Apparently, he was there to visit with his wife who now carried their first child.
Charlotte’s mother sent her a questioning look but continued to weigh toffee in the pan of their copper balance scale for the customer in front of her. For her part, Charlotte handed another woman a bag of chocolates, quickly took the payment, which she tossed willy-nilly into the cashbox, and turned to the next in line. As she did, she caught the observing glance of Lord Jeffcoat.
