She nodded, glad she hadn’t given him marzipan instead simply out of pride of her own creation. Most children wrinkled their nose at the creamy almond paste when they could have chocolate or toffee.
“It seems like sorcery,” he continued, “the way it melted on my tongue. The outside dissolved before the inside. I vow, miss, there wasn’t merely one flavor but many.”
She paused. They gave hundreds of samples a year, but she couldn’t recall the last time she’d had a child in there alone, so well-behaved and so articulate. Most children grabbed at anything she handed out and ate it without discretion.
But this lad ... there was something about him.
“Charlotte,” her mother caught her attention. The line of customers was out the door. Suddenly, she had an idea.
“Are you in school?” she asked.
“No, miss,” he said, then shrugged.
She hoped he meant due to Easter week and not because he didn’t attend, at the least, one of London’s so-called Ragged Schools if not something better.
“Do you have a job?” she persisted, for even the youngest often were apprenticed to various skilled trades or were already factory workers, slaves to dark rooms and machines all day.
“No, miss. Nothing to be found nowhere because of the season. I’ll be looking again after Easter Sunday.”
The Elementary Education Act, which passed with much hullaballoo three years earlier, could cause a problem. “How old are you?” If he were under ten, as he appeared, then it was illegal to hire him anyway.
“I’m twelve, miss.”
Goodness, he was small for his age. He clearly needed a few hearty meals and not merely sweets.
“Would you come again tomorrow, either at eight o’clock before we open or at six after we close?”
“What for, miss?”
“A job if you’re willing.”
His face lit with excitement. “Yes, miss. First thing in the morning, I’ll be here. Thank you, miss. Thank you.” So thrilled, he nearly dashed out of the store without his purchases, but she managed to get both bags to him and ask his name.
“Percy, miss. It’s Edward Percy.”
Then Lord Jeffcoat, having remained stationed by the busy door, opened it and let the boy out and a cool April breeze in. Once more, the viscount’s gaze caught hers. Charlotte wasn’t sure if he could have heard her discourse with young Mr. Percy, but he eyed her with what she now realized were rather attractive, thoughtful eyes, almost as blue as her sister Bea’s.
HAVING WORKED A QUARTER of an hour past closing, Charlotte was relieved when her mother finally announced they were done for the day. Felicity had already told Lord Jeffcoat to turn the sign as if he were an employee.
“And don’t let anyone else in,” she’d ordered, which caused Lord Waverly to ask, “Shall I start to sweep now, madam?”
Those remaining in the shop chuckled. The Duke of Pelham came from the back room with Amity, who was growing round with their first child, and Beatrice, both already wearing their cloaks, gloves, and hats.
While tending to the last customers, Felicity asked, “Where is my duchess of a daughter heading tonight?”
Charlotte couldn’t help smiling. Her mother prized Amity’s great fortune in marrying a duke and especially in doing so for love.
“We are going to the Dowager Duchess’s home for supper,” Amity said, referring to her mother-in-law. “All of us,” she added, taking in the other two men.
“Not me,” Beatrice said. “I’m heading home to my American, in case anyone’s interested.”
“Oh, we are,” Lord Waverly promised, with an exaggerated tone, making them laugh. “And what about you, Miss Rare-Foure?”
Charlotte still found it amusing how she’d moved up in formal address after Beatrice married the previous autumn. She used to be simplyMiss Charlotte.
“Perhaps you would care to accompany us,” Lord Jeffcoat unexpectedly blurted, “if that’s all right with Pelham, assuming there is room at the dowager’s table.”
Charlotte startled at the invitation from such an unexpected source. The viscount had now addressed her twice in the space of half an hour.
