“I’ll take half a pound of those,” he said, drawing out his wallet as soon as he’d swallowed, “along with the toffee. Youarea fine business woman. I shall see you about the same time tomorrow. I hope you take my offer. Otherwise, I believe it will be a photographer above your head having clients marching up those side stairs from morning till night, or the other interested party was a well-heeled boot maker—” he paused to laugh at his own little pun.
“That one hoped you would close soon so he might open a shop right here below. In any case, that might be quite a bit of hammering overhead. Both those two fellows were chomping at the bit.”
IT WAS INSANITY — CHARLOTTE knew that, but time was fleeting. Heading straight to Park Lane after work, she knocked on Lord Jeffcoat’s townhouse door all by herself. Without a chaperone! It was unquestionably no longer polite visiting hours, which ended about three o’clock for the aristocratic set. After that, a visitor might expect an invitation to a meal, and most people didn’t want that imposition laid at their doorstep or upon their kitchen staff at short notice.
An older man, nearly as tall as Lord Jeffcoat, answered the door, clearly a butler of the quality of Amity and the duke’s efficient butler. Nothing like their own dear man servant Mr. Finley, who was labelled abutleronly by the most generous interpretation of the term.
The butler looked over her head for a moment, and Charlotte wished she had Beatrice’s height. In any case, when he looked down at her, his rather severe face softened.
“Yes, miss?”
In her gloved hand was a Rare Confectionery business card. It didn’t have her name, but she said, “I am Miss Rare-Foure. If his lordship is home, would you mind giving him my card? I shall wait.”
Handing it to him, she tucked her hands behind her back and almost started to whistle. Not the whistle that seemed to make everyone uneasy, but a little tuneful song. However, she stopped herself when he looked at the card and turned it over, then over again. Perhaps he had no intention of letting her in. It was out of the ordinary, to be sure. Probably no unexpected or uninvited visitor had turned up at the viscount’s home all week if not all year.
“Lord Jeffcoat and I are already acquainted,” she assured him. Perhaps the butler thought her a woman of ill-repute, wanting to be caught in a compromising situation so she could blackmail the viscount. Maybe he feared she were some poor servant whom his master had ill-used, who was there to declare she carried his child.
With her thoughts running wild — from reading too many of Delia’s penny-dreadfuls to keep her mind busy in the evenings — Charlotte could do nothing but look directly into the man’s eyes while smiling encouragingly. After all, she was a woman of business!
Something worked on the butler, for he stepped back and invited her in. “If you will wait here, please, miss, I shall ask his lordship if he is seeing visitors.”
“Thank you,” she said, delighted to wander the foyer. The man went up the stairs, leaving her to examine a marble bust that seemed to be someone ancient, a Greek, she supposed. Then she moved on to a gorgeous red vase that she knew to be Venetian glass, having seen the like in Italy. So pretty, with gold overlay seemingly dripping symmetrically down the sides. She had to clench her fists behind her back. Her mother had always said the safest thing to do was not to touch, but she sorely wanted to.
Lastly, on the far wall next to a closed door, there was a landscape. Charlotte’s heart clenched when she saw it was similar to one they’d attempted to copy from a print in art class, probably the same painter. Lionel’s copy had been the best, without doubt.
Footsteps drew her out of her thoughts spiraling into sadness. When she turned, Lord Jeffcoat was arriving on the bottom step, looking as though he’d galloped down them. He ran a hand through his hair combing it back, and then tugged at his coat as if he’d just donned it. She’d apparently caught him in a state of dishabille.
“My apologies, Miss Rare-Foure, for keeping you waiting. I was not expecting any visitors tonight.”
“It is I who must apologize for barging in here uninvited, but I knew of no other lawyer, and I have only until early tomorrow.” Surprised to learn the previous year that Lord Jeffcoat was studying the law, as she’d assumed no titled gentleman did anything so taxing, the other evening he’d informed her he’d been called to the Bar. Charlotte couldn’t be more relieved to have a legal mind close at hand within her circle of acquaintance.
He hesitated, but then said, “That’s quite all right. You are always welcome as the sister-in-law of my very good friend.”
She thought that kind of him, although she also realized they’d taken a step back. She noted with curiosity that she wasn’t welcome simply as the woman he wanted to escort around town, which she was no longer confident to be the case.
Lord Jeffcoat had seemed to enjoy her company at the Haymarket Theatre, as well as that of her sister and Mr. Carson. Nevertheless, after bringing her directly home, he’d seen her to her door, and with a curt bow, left her and Delia on the front step. Moreover, he had not returned to the shop after that, nor had he invited her out again.
In truth, she was a little interested at the reason for his inattention, taking it to mean he’d found her unsatisfactory in some way. Distracted with running the shop in her mother’s absence, though, Charlotte had been unable to rise to the level of being miffed and could barely claim herself even to be bothered — simply curious.
Seeing him as a nobleman at home, surrounded by his fine things —and she hadn’t even made it out of the foyer yet!— Charlotte assumed Lord Jeffcoat had thought her provincial or too middle-class for him. Perhaps she’d laughed too loudly at the play.
“You are aware I am a barrister and not a solicitor. That means—”
She waved her hand. “I know what that means, my lord. You’re more comfortable arguing before a judge than dealing with legal contracts. That’s fine. I simply need someone to read over a document and make sure I’m not missing something or being ill-used.”
He frowned. “What kind of document?”
“A lease. I want to expand Rare Confectionery.”
Looking startled at the import of her visit, he said, “Well, then, I had best take a look.” He peered past her to the butler, who had returned to await any orders.
Lord Jeffcoat’s frown etched deeper into his forehead. “Are you here without a chaperone?” His tone was incredulous.
“Yes,” she admitted. “I came straight from closing up the shop.”
He shook his head while muttering under his breath. She heard the wordsrashandruin.
“Phelps, please bring tea into the...,” he hesitated and looked around his house as if he wasn’t quite sure where he was.
