To his relief, Charlotte seemed to be alone, bent over the counter working on something.
Thus, he startled when a second head appeared.Edward. Before Charles could recover, the boy spoke.
“Good day, my lord,” Edward said, sounding supremely happy. “I’m learning to make marzipan, not the little sculptures. Not yet. But grinding almonds and sugar together with a drop of water. Do you want to see?”
With a glance at Charlotte to make sure it was acceptable, Charles approached the counter to see they had two bowls on a marble slab. Edward tilted his forward so Charles could look into it.
“It looks good,” Charles agreed. “Or at least, I think it does.”
Charlotte, who still hadn’t spoken, tipped hers forward. It seemed to contain an identical substance.
“Yes, I can see you’re doing excellent work,” Charles added. “You’ve managed to match Miss Rare-Foure’s precisely.” He turned his attention to her. “Good day. How is the confectionery business?”
Charlotte appeared unexpectedly dour, greeting him with neither a smile nor her usual exuberance. “Good day, Lord Jeffcoat. It goes well, I suppose. We’re relieved to have a little quiet time.”
He paused.Was she indicating her displeasure at his unexpected arrival? Her heretofore placid face had a gravity to it of a person with problems.
At that moment, the bell tinkled again, and they all turned to see a duo of customers. Charlotte frowned, pursing her lips in displeasure, and that surprised him more than anything.
Two women wandered along the display case, looking at the offerings.
Without moving from her spot, Charlotte called out to them, “May I help you?”
Charles backed away from the counter to give the ladies more space and took up a place on the opposite side of the room where tins, waiting to be chosen and filled, lined the wall.
One of the women pointed at something. “What is this exactly?”
With an audible sigh, making Charles cringe at her rudeness, Charlotte went to the back side of the display, bent down, identified the confection, and then said, “That’s a chocolate with raspberry essence.”
He knew she would offer a sample next. He’d seen her do it during the time he’d stood there with Waverly, to every single customer. And yet, she didn’t. She waited in silence.
“Is it possible to taste it?” the woman persisted.
“When you go to the fishmonger,” Charlotte said, “do you taste his wares ahead of time? Or at the green grocer’s, do you ask to eat one of his apples or pears before you buy?”
“No, but—” the customer began.
“Have you had chocolate before?” Charlotte asked.
“Why, yes, of course,” the woman answered.
“And raspberries?” Charlotte continued. “Have you ever had a raspberry in all your life?”
“Yes, but—”
“Well, that particular confection tastes just like that — chocolate and raspberries.”
Charles would have taken the point that Charlotte was in a horrendous mood, but these customers didn’t. The other female asked, “What about the marzipan?”
“What about it?” Charlotte asked, folding her arms across her generous bosom, which he wished he wasn’t staring at. He averted his eyes at once.
“Is it all the same?” the woman asked.
“The same as what?” Charlotte responded, being difficult.
“I mean, does it have flavors and centers?”
“Yes,” Charlotte answered with another sigh.
