by Dee, Bonnie
Now it was Alain’s to run as he saw fit, and he still doubted every decision he made.
“Please continue,” Miss Sweet said quietly.
“The lack of gloss on the outer shell indicates insufficient tempering, suggesting the cocoa butter has not properly crystallized. But that is a matter of technique which should improve with practice.”
Miss Sweet nodded, a brown curl escaping her coiffure to trail enticingly along the curve of her cheek.
“The texture is smooth and not overly fatty. It melts pleasingly on the tongue,” he added. “But there is a hint of—comment le dire?—musty flavor, which suggests the beans were not stored well and had begun to mold before roasting. What supplier do you use?”
Miss Sweet’s eyes widened. “I’m using moldy cacao beans? I had no idea.”
“May I examine them? I will tell you if that is the problem.”
She paused only a moment before inviting him behind the counter. “Please, come this way.”
Alain followed her to a clean and very modern kitchen. The stove appeared brand new. He wanted to buy several of that brand, only a larger model, for his factory. An icebox dominated one corner of the brightly lit room. Bins and cartons of ingredients or candies awaiting floor space were neatly organized at one end. Everything was ship-shape, fresh and hopeful, like the proprietress herself. It would be wonderful to start life with a clean slate, no family name to live up to or mistakes from the past to haunt one.
“Here is the bin where I store the beans.” She opened the lid. “I had them shipped directly from Mexico. If any moisture infiltrated the beans, it must have happened at the source or on the voyage.”
Alain lifted a handful, smelled them, and allowed them to trickle back into the bin. “There is little sign of the molding since they have already been roasted.”
“Oh dear, I shall have to throw away the lot! It will take weeks to receive another shipment and then how will I know what to expect?” She glared at the offensive cacao beans.
“For a beginner to take on the entire process from bean to finished product is not done. I suggest you purchase quality cocoa powder from a reputable source. Later you might experiment with roasting and grinding a particular blend of beans.” Alain drew out his card and a pencil to write on the back. “I give you the name of a reliable processor our family has used for years. Their cocoa powder is best.”
Her fingers brushed his as she took the card and an electrical charge snapped between them. Alain muttered a curse at the brief, unexpected pain.
Miss Sweet nearly dropped the card. “Dry weather. Too much friction.”
“Indeed.” Alain stepped back and regained his business demeanor. “Might I leave samples for you to consider? I will offer a reasonable starting rate for a small display, and no long term commitment to purchase.”
She studied his card. “I shall consider it very seriously. Thank you, Monsieur Moreau for your honest assessment of my humble efforts. You’ve given me much to think about.”
He dipped his head in acknowledgement and followed the proprietress to the front. He gave her the samples, closed his case and prepared to enter the hat-thieving wind again. “Do not give up on your efforts, Miss Sweet. I believe the shop is only a portion of your true desire. You do not wish to merely sell others’ bonbons, but to create an unforgettable chocolate, no? A vocation and an art, not merely a business.”
She lowered her gaze. “You must think me incredibly silly or pretentious.”
“Indeed not. For it is my calling as well, voyez-vous cela? Such an aspiration is of no less importance than becoming a vintner or a master chef. To create good chocolat is to create pure happiness.” He chuckled. “Happiness for the palate and a respite from the troubles of life, eh?”
Miss Sweet offered the most beautiful, illuminating smile he had ever seen. “That is precisely what I feel. It is as if you have been inside my mind and given voice to my thoughts more eloquently than I ever could. I attended a school in Paris for a number of years. When I first arrived, I was lonely and homesick, but at the local sweet shop, run by a wonderful woman, Madame Lisette, I found a safe haven. A home far better than the one I had left in England. Warmth and kindness and—” She shook her head. “I have said too much.”
“I know Madame Lisette well. You speak the truth. She is an admirable woman.”
“It was she who taught me cooking and candy-making. How astonishing that you know her!”
“She sells our brand, so I have spoken with the woman many times over the years.” Alain checked his watch, shocked to find over an hour had passed. “I am afraid I must now leave, Miss Sweet. But I shall stop by another day. I look forward to talking with you again.”
He meant it. Whether she bought from him or not, he definitely wished to converse with this intriguing woman once more. But for now he had an engagement to keep and could not linger.
“Good day, Monsieur Moreau. It was a pleasure meeting you.”
“Enchanté, Mademoiselle.” Alain took her hand and bent over it. This time he allowed his lips to linger on her warm skin for a moment before letting go.
After leaving the shop, sample case in hand, he rushed with the wind down the avenue. He was overdue to return to the boarding house where he was staying for the duration of his visit. Vivienne would be eagerly awaiting him. Bad enough he had torn her away from home to accompany him on this undertaking, he could at least make certain her time in London was memorable.
He did not know if it had been right or wrong to bring her, but he could not bear to leave her behind in France. As impossible as it seemed, there was always the chance she would not be there when he returned.
Chapter Two
Following Alain Moreau’s visit, Candace retreated to the kitchen to cook. What good fortune to meet a professional to give her an honest critique and recommend a quality supplier. It hurt to throw out the expensive cacao beans. She would have liked to demand a refund, but doubted she would get results from the overseas company. Better to live and learn, and the young gentleman from a distinguished lineage had taught her much.
A silly, schoolgirlish part of her that had never reared its head before suggested there were many things she would like to learn from him concerning the art of lovemaking. This must be the aching, longing feeling the other girls had spoken of while she had been an oblivious late bloomer. At last Candace understood the fuss about why the others had mooned over any glimpse of man their sheltered lives allowed and gossiped constantly about their romantic daydreams.
Monsieur Moreau certainly was an attractive fellow with his well-shaped features and expressive eyes. But better than that, he shared her passion for chocolate and could speak knowledgeably about a topic of interest to her, something she had never experienced before. He would return to her shop expecting an answer to his proposal. She would love to carry even a limited amount of Moreau chocolates if she could afford his price.
Candace disposed of the moldy beans in the dustbin and set about ordering cocoa powder from Moreau’s supplier. Then she decorated the cooled tray of marzipan and wrapped the patisserie well. She would distribute these samples to her customers during her Grand Opening only two days off.
After a last look around her well-stocked shop, Candace checked the locks, turned off the light and headed upstairs. Her rooms’ earthy colors were balm to her soul, natural, peaceful and completely of her own selection. Growing up as Edward Merker’s ward, Candace had been constrained by his decisions down to the details of her bedroom, as frilly and pink as the inside of a music box. She didn’t hate pink on principle, but her controlling guardian had driven her to nearly despise the color.
After escaping his house, she had hoped never to see that bedroom again. Then she had woken up from sedation, bleary and confused, with that blasted canopy overhead and her freedom stolen away. She shuddered to think what might have happened that night if Will Carmody and Rose had not arrived to save her.
Candace would never s
ay so aloud, even to Rose, but she worried Merker was not yet finished with her despite the legal action she had taken to be rid of him. What if he decided he would go to any lengths to have her, and sent more ruffians? His figure loomed so large in her life, that she really wasn’t certain what he might be capable of doing, or whether he might convince authorities his authority was for her own good.
A distant knocking on the shop door made her literally jump. She was a raw nerve ending that needed but a touch to set it off. Though she hid it well, fear and uncertainty were never far beneath her calm exterior.
Candace set down the paring knife she was using to peel potatoes for her supper. She could ignore the knocking since it was past the time when any shop would be open. But her mind wouldn’t rest until she found out who was there. It might be Rose, after all, come to spend the evening with her. Hushing her insidious fear of intruders, she went downstairs to answer the door.
A young woman stood on her doorstep—someone familiar, and yet Candace could not quite place her. The blonde woman glimpsed her through the glass and raised a hand to wave vigorously. The energetic gesture immediately awoke a memory. The woman was Susan Carpenter, a friend from Madame Brodeur’s who had left the boarding school several years before Candace under a cloud of mystery.
None of the girls knew what the scandal was, but they had spent much time theorizing.
Candace opened the door. “Susan, is it really you? I almost did not recognize you, you have matured so.” She would not add that the once jolly, robust girl now appeared far too thin. “Do come in.”
Susan might have lost some of her bright spark, but when she smiled, the old, irrepressible Susan was still there. “Oh, Candace, it is so good to see you. I read about your shop opening and determined to visit you. Forgive the unreasonably late hour and no forewarning you of my visit. I hope I have not disturbed you.”
“Not at all. I was about to prepare supper. Would you dine with me?”
“I oughtn’t to stay long, but… yes, I would love to.” She nodded vigorously. “Thank you.”
Taken aback by this unexpected visitor with whom she had no close connection, Candace adopted her best hostess manners, showing Susan the shop before leading the way upstairs. The situation was strange, but also rather exciting. Other than Rose and Hattie Glover, this was the first guest she had entertained.
Susan offered to help prepare the meal, but Candace insisted she sit and tell her about her life since their school days. For a few minutes Susan spoke about their time at the academy, recalling old friends and the fun the girls would get up to behind the teachers’ backs.
“Do you recall Violet Henderson?” she asked abruptly.
Candace froze in the middle of chopping a carrot. She would have forgotten the very quiet girl whom the snobbish girls had called Shrinking Violet except for the manner in which Violet, too, left school early. “Yes. I remember her. She went home several months after you did. I did not witness it, but others said she suffered a mental breakdown and could not stop crying. The poor thing, I wish I had been a better friend to her.”
“Ah.” Susan nodded as if not surprised. “I never learned what happened to her.” She closed her eyes and exhaled. “So long ago and yet sometimes as vivid as if it were yesterday.”
Candace did not ask what she meant. Having gone through a difficult time, she recognized pain when she saw it. Suzie would share her feelings only if she wanted to.
Those intent eyes focused on her. “You must wonder why I came here. It will seem odd after all these years. But although you and I were not extremely close, I always felt you were a kind person. I must confess I need a listening ear just now, someone with whom I may speak honestly and who will withhold judgment.”
Candace abandoned her chopping to sit with Susan. “Please, tell me what troubles you.”
Susan sucked in her lip in a considering way that abruptly brought Candace back to coaching her on arithmetic—the highest mathematics level Madame Brodeur’s students were expected to achieve. The rest of their coursework had consisted of etiquette, French, managing a household, and other womanly pursuits. They need know only enough of any subject to carry on pithy drawing room conversations. A lady should never appear to be either a bluestocking or a dullard.
“Whatever it is, you may trust me to understand,” Candace encouraged her. “I have recently been through a rather awful ordeal myself.”
Susan’s lips compressed into a straight line. “When I left the academy, did the girls spread rumors?”
“There was talk, but nothing specific. Not to me at any rate. Madame said your parents required you at home. Most everyone thought your father could no longer pay your fees.”
“It was something a great deal more scandalous.” Susan regarded her as if calculating something before she spoke again. “I don’t know if you ever noticed Violet and I were quite close.”
“I thought it was kind of you to take her under your wing, with her being so shy and you so outgoing.”
“Yes, well… I do not wish to shock you, but Violet and I were much dearer to each other than mere friends. We believed we were in love.”
“Oh.” Candace considered for a moment. “Oh!”
“Yes. That,” Susan replied. “We were best friends but also held hands and kissed when we were able to find a private moment.”
The open way she admitted to such behavior was shocking. Candace had heard about girls doing that, but she had never expected to meet one of those types. It was as if Susan Carpenter had turned into an alien being right before her eyes. “I see.”
Susan laughed. “I have shocked you, of course. Your face is as red as a strawberry. I apologize for being so forthright.”
“Not at all. I am not so sheltered. I know such, er, friendships may occur. You were young…” Candace faltered.
“So Madame Brodeur informed me after one of the teachers caught Violet and me together. Also my parents, after I returned to England, proclaimed I would grow past it. When I foolishly proclaimed I would always love Violet, I was sent to receive treatment to curb my urges. I stayed at Holbrook Sanitarium from age fifteen to seventeen before I was deemed healthy enough to leave.”
“Did the therapy work?”
“I came home obedient, humble, and quieter than I had ever been in my life, and I did not so much as look at a ladies’ magazine to admire a female form. I never spoke of Violet or tried to contact her. My girlish adoration was something to be set aside with childhood.”
“I see.” Candace cursed herself for the repetition, but she did not know how else to respond.
“No you don’t, but that is all right. For two years I have remained compliant, other than avoiding any matrimonial prospects Mother has put forth. My will was bent, but apparently not entirely broken.” A familiar Susan chuckle interrupted the story before she continued. “When I learned of your mysterious disappearance and almost immediately afterward that you had achieved independence and prepared to open a shop, I wanted to know how you did it. It must have taken great strength of will to find a way out of what I assume was an untenable situation.”
“I had to flee. My guardian was… not a good man,” Candace said.
“But you did not just dream of escaping. You did it! Tell me how. Please!”
“I had friends to help me, or I might still be under Mr. Merker’s control. He was determined to keep my fortune and me as well. Even with legal papers signed, I still fear his retribution.” It was a relief to admit aloud. She hadn’t wanted to share her qualms with her friends who would naturally reassure her she had nothing to worry about. Knowing that and feeling it were two different things.
“When a person has had complete power over one, she will never feel truly safe.” Susan bit her lip. “Do you wonder why Violet was not asked to leave the academy at the same time I was? It is because she immediately claimed ignorance concerning what we had done. Claimed she hadn’t realized it was wrong and suggested I had pushed her into t
he kissing and touching. Her apology allowed her to stay, while my stubborn will prompted my incarceration. I learned that is what strength of character achieves.”
Candace recalled how Shrinking Violet had nearly disappeared into silence after Susan left. Candace had believed it sorrow at the loss of her best friend, but guilt might have played an equal part in the girl’s breakdown.
“I’m sorry I didn’t befriend her more, but I was too focused on escaping to Madame Lisette’s whenever I could manage.”
“Most of us are oblivious to others’ pain, especially when we are young. One does what one must to survive. Violet may have denied me, but therapy taught me to camouflage myself like some forest creature waiting for danger to pass by. I do not wish to be that timid creature any longer. With your help, I hoped I might grow bold again.”
Her confidence left Candace bewildered. “Honestly, I am not certain how I may help you. I have no particular advice to offer. In the end, I simply left Merker, which was not easy by any means.”
Susan slumped into her seat with a sigh. “Of course, you’re right. I know that. I suppose I came to you simply to unburden myself. For that opportunity, I thank you.”
You might offer her a place to stay like Rose did for you, Candace berated herself. But her freedom was too new and unfamiliar. Becoming involved in an old friend’s drama might bring catastrophe to her doorstep. She did not extend the offer.
“You are welcome to visit me any time.” That much she could do.
Suzie shook off her sadness and put on a brave smile. “Enough of my woes. Tell me about your shop. It seems you’ve found your true calling purveying sweets.”
Relieved at the change in subject, Candace resumed preparing their meal and spoke of her plans. As they ate the simple meal, the women exchanged more remembrances of their girlhood at Madame Brodeur’s. And talked about what had become of some their schoolmates who lived in London.
“Elaine Braithwaite has married Sir Alexander Cubbins, taking her place in the Best Society, exactly as one suspected of the girl who ruled the school,” Susan mentioned.
