“Just stick this end in and read the scale. About 280 degrees should do the trick,” Beatrice said, a bit too casually. “Also, yesterday, I gave him an hourglass and marked it for the right time when he should start to test the consistency.”
Thank you,” Charlotte said. Her sister had done all she could. They hugged again, and then Bea was gone. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she used the rest of the lull in customers to make as many marzipan sculptures as she could.
CHARLOTTE WAS THRILLED to turn over the shop’s sign at the end of the day, feeling merely the tiniest twinge of guilt when she made eye contact with a man about to push the door open. Offering him a regretful smile, she turned her back. With her luck, he was probably the wealthiest man in England and had wanted to buy every last sweet.
That wouldn’t be hard for inventory was woefully low. She hadn’t even allowed Bea to take any to Scotland, as her sister could make toffee when she got there if her new staff was clamoring for it.
Her staff!
Charlotte needed a staff, too. Down one and a half confectioners, because Amity was definitely not producing her usual amount, she had but one young boy to assist her. And Bea was probably correct about hiring counter help, except Charlotte had always enjoyed that part of her job.
Edward had returned from deliveries and gone directly into the back room to make confection. He exclaimed with joy over the thermometer. When customers were in the shop, they couldn’t talk, but when he heard the bell tinkle, knowing they were alone, he occasionally called out a question.
That made Charlotte smile, recalling when she and her sisters were younger how they would ask their mother for instructions from the back room. Felicity, like Charlotte, preferred to chat with customers.
How strange to be the only one of her family remaining in the confectionery!
Edward had completed all his closing tasks and hung up his apron. Donning his coat, he looked weary. Charlotte hoped he didn’t regret working for her. Surely, it was better than a workhouse, at any rate.
He was at the door when she recalled Lord Jeffcoat’s imminent arrival. Hating to ask, but with no Beatrice there, she had no choice.
“Edward, can you stay any longer?”
He turned around. “Sorry, miss. I promised my mother I would go straight home. I have two younger sisters to look after while she takes in piecework. She finishes gentlemen’s shirts.”
Charlotte felt guilty for having asked him. In comparison to him looking after his family and his mother still facing hours of work, what right had she to try to use him as a chaperone? Besides, she was a grown woman, not a child who needed watching over, as if she or the viscount couldn’t be trusted. It was absurd.
In the moment her thoughts were churning, Edward’s expression had fallen. “I am sorry to let you down, miss.”
“Oh, no,” she reassured him, “you haven’t. Don’t give it another thought. Everything is fine. I’ll see you tomorrow morning. Please give your mother my regards. I hope to meet her someday.”
He nodded, albeit without enthusiasm. He’d told Charlotte in the past that his home was not for the likes of her to visit, but he would bring his mother in if ever she could spare the time.
The boy had scarcely disappeared from the shop when she heard a rapping on the glass. And there he was, her new friend, the viscount.
IN A FEW MINUTES, CHARLES found himself exiting Rare Confectionery and entering through a doorway between it and the shop next door. Truthfully, he’d never even noticed the door, and now, as Charlotte had not procured a chaperone, he followed her quickly inside. The less time anyone saw them alone together, the better.
Shutting it firmly behind her, she locked it. Then, in the tight confines of the narrow utilitarian stairwell, she passed him, her light citrus and floral fragrance instantly entering his head. As she proceeded him to the next floor, she gave him a splendid view of her ankles.
Charles sighed. He had to stop thinking of her in those terms particularly at that moment when she needed a friend. She’d already explained how Bea had left London for her husband’s country estate and that Edward had needed to go home.
Upon hearing of their impending inappropriate seclusion, Charles had nearly begged off the favor. He ought to tell her they would go upstairs another time when she had a companion. Except Charlotte seemed a little sad, and the only thing that brought a smile to her face was the notion of showing him the new space for Rare Confectionery’s café.
After she unlocked a door at the top of the stairs, he followed her into an empty room with dull floors in need of polish. The walls, though, were freshly painted, and the windows at the back, overlooking the mews, were sparkling. Not a cobweb in sight on the plaster ceiling either. In the center of the empty room, Charlotte turned to face him.
Somewhat shyly, she asked, “What do you think?”
He chose his words carefully. “It is a good, clean room with plenty of space.”
She nodded, satisfied by his declaration. “Come see the front room overlooking the street. I can practically imagine it furnished, although I’m torn between faux bamboo tables or something with inlay and a hint of gilt accent.”
“Why not both?” he asked, engendering an odd look from her. Obviously he had betrayed his ignorance in all matters of decoration and furnishings.
Following her toward the front, he passed through a wide arch. “It’s a good thing there isn’t a wall and door here. I like how this whole floor seems almost to be one space.”
“Exactly my thoughts,” she agreed, and he regained some pride. “Though depending what we end up serving,” she added, “we might need to build a little kitchen in the back.”
He swallowed.Did she have any idea how much it would cost to put in plumbing up here if there were no pipes for taps and a drain?He had no notion of the cost, either, but it was probably considerable.
