She had no idea if there even was a missus, but it was always good to ask. Most men didn’t think about it until the idea was put into their heads that confection was a welcome present, especially for no occasion at all.
“Why, yes,” he said, looking around as if only just realizing what they sold. “I’ll take a tin of that toffee everyone’s always raving about.”
Glad to hear of it, she was more determined than ever that Bea teach her and Edward how to time it properly.
“But I came to speak to your mother. Is she here?”
“No, sir.” And then the realization hit here. “She is away indefinitely, but I’m in charge. I am running the shop.”
“Really.” He peered at her over his spectacles. His bushy moustache moved up and down as if he were chewing the air while pondering that fact. “I was going to say you seem young to manage a shop, but then, you’ve been here all your life, haven’t you?”
“Yes, sir. Is something the matter?”
“The contrary actually. I am wondering if your mother would like to expand the shop to have the second floor suite. It’s vacant now. Mrs. Hafflen has retired to the country. It’s been all cleaned out. Before I start showing it to possible tenants, I wanted to offer it to your family. More convenient thing, I can’t imagine, than suddenly doubling your space without having to move.”
Charlotte could scarcely breathe.Was it fate?It was exactly what she’d hoped for when she’d spoken to her mother about expanding weeks ago. Felicity’s answer had been definitely no, but only because she didn’t want to leave New Bond Street or have two locations.This was a miracle offering!
“How long do we have to consider this offer?” Charlotte’s hands were trembling, and absently, she reached for a chocolate and popped it in her mouth. She would send a letter to her parents at once and —
“Just until tomorrow I’m afraid.”
Charlotte swallowed too quickly and choked. Grabbing a paper napkin, she coughed until she’d regained her composure. Mr. Richardson’s moustache moved up and down more rapidly, but he waited patiently, saying nothing.
“Excuse me,” she said when she could speak. “I do wish I had more time.”
“Word got out quickly after Mrs. Hafflen moved out, and all sorts of people have been asking. Everyone wants to be on New Bond Street, as you know. I’m being mindful that you don’t want a dance hall above your head.” He laughed ruefully as if that were a possibility.
In truth, Charlotte didn’t want anything above her head except the quiet pillow woman unless it was more Rare Confectionery.
“Do you have a lease I can read over? And the rent? Is it the same as for this floor?”
He eyed her a minute. “Actually, it’s a little less because there aren’t street-front windows.”
She nodded, feeling a thrill of potential dance down her spine. Glancing around the shop, she thought about customers being told they could go upstairs for a rich beverage and to eat confectionery. Or maybe the dining room would be down here and the counter service upstairs. The possibilities spread out before her.
“We would have to decorate upstairs so it resembled the shop,” she mused. Her mother liked as much white and sapphire blue as possible, although Charlotte adored the myriad rich jewel tones of the popular Aesthetic mode.
“You could do that. You could even build a staircase in here.” The landlord glanced around. “I suppose over in that corner, so customers don’t have to go outside to get upstairs.”
“Could we?” Charlotte asked, feeling even more excited. In her mind, she could already see the rooms above filled with small, cloth-covered tables and customers enjoying steaming mugs of chocolate or coffee and plates of sweets. They had so much extra income from the hotel and restaurant contracts, she couldn’t see any problem with paying more rent. And with Amity and Beatrice no long living off the store’s profits, expansion seemed perfectly reasonable.
All at once, despite standing alone in the shop with all the responsibility of Rare Confectionery having fallen to her, she couldn’t think of a single reason not to do it.
“Will you return tomorrow? I promise to have an answer for you then.”
He nodded and drew some papers from his satchel. “Here are the terms, the rent, and the square footage. All that.”
Taking it, she tucked it on the shelf behind her and grabbed a pound tin of toffee, sliding it across the counter to him.
“How much?” he asked.
“With my compliments,” she said.
“Hm. If you want to be a woman of business, Miss Rare-Foure, then you must charge me.”
She smiled. “All right, I will. But first, please choose a sample. As a business woman, I want you to try something else, and maybe you’ll wish to buy it as well.”
He laughed. She gave him one of Amity’s coffee-flavored chocolates, the distinctive taste of which made his eyebrows raise.
