Smart lad!It was hardly surprising he’d been treated well when strolling into a hotel or restaurant with a viscount. It had been a grand idea of Lord Jeffcoat’s. When Edward made his next deliveries, they would recall the likes of whom he associated and act accordingly.
“Why don’t you ask my daughters in the back if they need anything?” her mother said. “Supplies and whatnot, and then we’ll see what else you can do.”
“Yes, missus. One thing I wondered,” Edward added. “Since the deliveries are in two different directions, perhaps I could go one way, then come back for the rest of the sweets and go in the other. Also, the manager of The Albion — oh, miss, what a place to have a bang-up meal! — he said he would like a dozen more marzipan swans tomorrow and a dozen more rabbits, as he’s putting them atop his raspberry sponge-cakes.”
Then Edward darted between the counters and disappeared through the heavy, blue velvet curtain.
“That was well done,” Charlotte’s mother said. “He did the job and remembered an order.” Turning her attention, she asked, “May I help you?” to the first customer who approached the counter.
Charlotte was pleased with Edward but couldn’t help frowning as the next wave of customers washed over the threshold. When was she supposed to make twenty-four more marzipan sculptures? Maybe they should have hired an experienced confectioner, not a delivery boy.
“Now that he’s made his deliveries,” Charlotte mused at the same time as making change for the customer in front of her, “what more can Edward do until closing?” Suddenly, she doubted her actions. “I should have asked you first.”
Felicity glanced at her. “He’ll do fine. He can fit back here with us to restock the shelves in the mid-afternoon, and at closing, he’ll help clean. And perhaps, if he’s the right sort of person, he can learn how to be a confectioner. Isn’t that really what you saw in him?”
Charlotte recalled the moment Edward ate the chocolate the day before. “I suppose I thought he had the patience and the...,’” she trailed off.What made Rare Confectionery sweets extraordinary?
“The spark,” her mother finished. “I do see that in the boy, too.”
At least Charlotte’s judgment hadn’t been so disastrous in hiring as it had with where she placed her affections.
After that, the shop became so busy Charlotte didn’t have time to think about Lionel, which was a good thing, nor to make any marzipan sculptures, which was not good. Edward restocked the display shelves and the tins on the shelves on the other side of the room, and occasionally, he opened the door for a customer. In the late afternoon when they could see the day’s end in sight, Charlotte went into the back room to make tea and found Edward standing beside Amity, watching her stir the fondant.
Taking a cup of tea out to her mother, Charlotte waited for the next lull and said, “You know, ever since we started supplying confectionery to The Langham, we have been growing.”
“True,” Felicity said. “Which means you’d best make more marzipan before we run out, and the swans and bunnies, too.”
Charlotte took up her position behind the counter where she had a sturdy cast iron grinder for grinding almonds and a cool marble slab for creating her little sculptures.
“I was thinking,” she said casually, “that we might want to expand the shop.”
“Expand the shop?” Felicity exclaimed, her tone shocked. “How on earth would we do that? Cheaper and easier to add another case if we had time to fill it.” She pointed to the opposite wall. “And then move those tins into the back.”
Charlotte frowned. That was simply more of the same. “How about a little café?”
Her mother sipped her tea then shook her head as if already dismissing the idea.
Charlotte persisted, “Something like Gunter’s.” Often their parents had taken her and her sisters for ices at Berkeley Square before wandering over to Hyde Park for a stroll by the Serpentine. As an adult, she still thought the café with nothing but sweet treats, custards, cream ice, and frozen mousses to be a magical place. “I love that place, don’t you?”
In response, her mother tapped the book on the shelf behind them.Gunter’s Modern Confectionersat alongsideLe Confiturier RoyalandThe Art of Spinning and Casting Sugar.
“Yes, I do, buttheyare not on New Bond Street,” Felicity pointed out, “and we don’t know anything about running a café or providing anything other than confectionery. We would have to have servers and a pastry chef and whatnot. I cannot even think about how much work that would be, not to mention the cost.”
Nevertheless, she thought she saw excitement in her mother’s eyes.
“You always wanted one of us to learn the art of patisserie.”
That induced a smile. “True,” Felicity said, “mostly so I could eat such desserts right here for free, rather than having to go all the way to Maison Bertaux.”
Charlotte giggled. “All the way?” It was a mere fifteen-minute walk to Greek Street and one of the few London bakeries selling the authentic French pastries her mother adored. If they went as a family, her father would skip the patisserie and pop in next door to The Coach and Horses pub for a pint.
“Truthfully, dear one,” her mother continued, “I have considered, even dreamed about, a small establishment selling the highest quality of a very limited offering. Tea from the freshest leaves, the richest coffee beans offering their heavenly aroma, our confectionery, and the addition of some decadent pastries. A place for women to gather and chat in style and comfort.” Her expression took on a faraway look.
Charlotte could easily imagine it, too. Then her mother dashed it away with her next words. “But I don’t want to move from New Bond Street and risk losing our current customers, and I don’t want two separate places to run. What a nightmare! No, we must be satisfied with the best confectionery in Mayfair, and on the best street, too. Nothing to quibble about. We are blessed.”
Her mother was right on all points. Besides, as it was, her sisters had no interest in running the shop, so it was going to fall further upon Charlotte. She would remain behind the counter in the same spot for the rest of her life. That thought had never bothered her before because she loved everything about Rare Confectionery — the look of it, the aroma, the customers.
Now, all because Lionel Evans was gone, and she’d been left behind — and because his twice-a-week kisses had been exciting — that insidious notion of dissatisfaction had worked its way inside her, as inextricably as when she pressed fine sugar into ground almonds to make her marzipan paste.She had become restless paste!
