Rescue came from an unexpected quarter. Miss Rare-Foure herself.
Chapter Twelve
Charlotte could see what was happening. A jealous woman from Lord Jeffcoat’s past — probably an old flame — sought to ruin their evening. Naturally she would like to know more about the pretty creature, fine-boned, fair-haired, and bejeweled as she was. But not at that moment. She wanted to hear the concert.
Turning awkwardly in her seat, she managed to get her head close to the viscount’s and look back at the woman, who seemed to be accompanied by a fire-breathing dragon, or her dear mama!
“The concert is about to start,” Charlotte whispered loudly. “According to the program, there will be an intermission, so you can go into the lobby and gabble to your heart’s content. But right now, you are disturbing those around you. It’s rather rude.”
Stunned silence met her proclamation.Good!She had their attention. Then she rummaged in her reticule and drew out her ever-present white paper bag, glad it had softened over the past day into a less loud and crinkly version. Opening it, she turned down the edges to reveal what was left.
“Would you care for a sweet? If you tuck it into your cheek and let it melt, it will keep at bay the desire to talk when you shouldn’t. At least, it works well on children. Will you try it?”
And she held out the bag to the woman who was about her own age. Her offering was met with a stony-face, pursed lips, and a clenched jaw. Then, as if a match had been lit beneath her, she exploded out of her seat, standing with a great deal of gestures and inarticulate noises, and then she said, “Come along, Mother. This place has become far too common!”
Her mother stood with some difficulty as she’d been wedged between the velvet-covered wooden arms of her chair. Charlotte thought a little butter over her hips might help to release her. Eventually, the woman stood, huffed loudly, glared at everyone around her, and exited the row, followed by her daughter.
At the last moment, the pretty blonde whirled around and addressed Charlotte.
“I wouldn’t be too smug if I were you. It’s obvious why he’s with you.” With that, she turned and left, just as the orchestra played their first notes.
Puzzled, Charlotte turned around. Lord Jeffcoat was fidgeting beside her, smoothing his coat and keeping his face averted.
“Are you very fond of confectionery?” she asked. “Is that what that lady meant?”
“We’ll talk after,” he promised.
Nodding, she held out the bag to him. He hesitated, his thoughts impossible to discern in the darkened auditorium. Then he reached in and took a piece.
“Thank you,” he whispered, against her ear, making her shiver.
Inappropriately, she wanted to lean her head on his shoulder and breathe in his fragrance. Luckily, she could catch it anyway.Would she ever smell gingerbread or rum and not think of this man? Or want to be kissed by him?
WHEN BEATRICE WANDERED in at one o’clock the following day, Charlotte was fit to be tied.
“Why are you coming in later and later?” she asked her older sister, trying to keep from sounding peevish, but feeling a little desperate. She and Edward were working hard from opening until closing, but they were barely keeping up. And she hadn’t let Edward make any more toffee, not without Beatrice there to supervise.
“Good day to you, too, sister dear,” Beatrice said.
Charlotte noticed she wasn’t wearing her regular day gown, but a ... traveling outfit! Nor did she take off her coat or head into the back room.
“What’s going on?” Charlotte asked, feeling a little leaf of dread unfurl inside her. Plainly, Beatrice was not there to work.
“I have spent all morning packing up our home. Mr. Carson and I are going to Scotland. There is some emergency with the flock and the well water.”
Charlotte knew her mouth had dropped open but was at a loss how to clamp down on her burgeoning panic. “You’re leaving town?”
“Yes. I was going to discuss it with you yesterday, but with the royal request and then your abrupt departure to who knows where, I didn’t get around to it.”
“But with Amity out...,” Charlotte trailed off.
“I know, and I’m sorry.” But she shrugged, as if this were a matter of a being out of a stick of butter or a pound of almonds.
“Can’t Mr. Carson go alone?” Charlotte wished she could take the words back since Beatrice was still considered a newlywed.
Her sister looked chagrinned. “It might be weeks, and I can’t be parted from him that long. I know it’s selfish of me.”
“No, I understand.” Charlotte’s thoughts flitted to Lord Jeffcoat. If he were her husband —what a presumptuous thought! —then she wouldn’t want to let him go away for weeks, either.
