Candace Sweet’s Confectionery

by Dee, Bonnie

  “Perfection,” she purred.

  “Now we must cool the ganache. When the consistency is correct, roll the, er, balls in cocoa powder et voilà, they are ready for consumption. No need for a mold unless you want a specific shape.” Alain concluded his lesson while demonstrating the appropriate sized orb. “But of course, Madame Lisette would have taught you this basic recipe.”

  “She did. Yet hers never tasted quite so … luscious.” She nibbled the finished truffle. “It is—” She trailed off, staring at him and losing her train of thought. So, she felt it too—the heat between them that had nothing to do with the stove.

  They stood silently for a moment, a dozen moments, perhaps an hour, gazing into each other’s eyes. An invisible filament pulsed between them, almost physical in its strength. Alain could not break it. Nor did he wish to.

  “Delicious,” she exhaled and popped the rest of the sweet into her mouth before turning away.

  “Delectable,” Alain murmured. Every cell in his body sizzled with awareness as he stepped back from the work counter. “I must go. Now,” he blurted. “I must take my daughter to the park as I have promised, but I will return tomorrow for your grand opening, d’accord?”

  “Oh.” A kaleidoscope of expressions wheeled across Miss Sweet’s face as he mentioned Vivienne. Attraction melted into surprise as he had expected. Now she knew he had a child, and any flicker of interest between them could come to naught. No point in pretending otherwise, for he would not play at seduction with no potential future.

  “Good day, Miss Sweet, and good luck tomorrow. I may stop by if I am able.”

  “Merci, Monsieur. I enjoyed your lesson and would certainly appreciate your support,” Miss Sweet replied.

  But his back was already turned as he hurried out of the shop full of temptation.

  Chapter Four

  A child! It had not occurred to Candace that her Frenchman—no, not “hers”—might be married, let alone a father. Why had she imagined she knew anything about a man she’d met only yesterday? Perhaps because she had felt an immediate sense of kinship and comfort with him. She may not really know him, but already she liked him. More than that, he stirred an unsettling sensation in her akin to combining vinegar with baking soda so it bubbled up and out of containment.

  Lustful, sinful feelings for a young lady. Beware! Edward Merker’s insidious voice warned.

  Despite everything, Candace still could not completely extinguish her former guardian’s admonishments. Would his voice forever make her question her every thought and action?

  To expel both her inappropriate attraction to Monsieur Moreau and the judgmental counsel of the man who would have held her like a caged canary, Candace threw herself into work. Tomorrow was her big day. She had more candies to make, gift boxes to fold, paper to install on the dispenser roll, and beribboned bags of penny sweets to assemble. She would give the cheap candy favors to every child in the hope their attendant adult would purchase something pricier.

  What if no one comes and your launch is an utter failure? This time her own voice haunted her. Both Hattie and Rose had told her to expect an onslaught of doubt.

  “Opening day is stressful, but don’t allow your fears to undermine your pleasure in your accomplishment,” Hattie had advised the other day when Candace and her friends dined together.

  Hattie’s betrothed, Guy Hardy added glibly, “Success is found in the heart, not in money in the till.”

  “Easy for a rich man to say,” Rose had snorted with disdain. “Candace, you have every right to fret. Just know that it is quite common to have opening day jitters.”

  Rose’s quiet paramour, Will had simply offered a sympathetic smile. Candace found his silent understanding more calming than any words the others offered. She was loved. The friends she had made since first encountering Rose at a suffrage meeting were the best she had ever had. She could talk to Rose and Hattie in a way that had been impossible with her friends at Madame Brodeur’s. And the women’s respective fiancés, Guy and Will, treated Candace like a younger sister. With this foursome she had found true family at last.

  Yet Candace held back from sharing her poisonous fears concerning Merker. He might be out of her life, but he was not out of her head. That ghost she must defeat on her own.

  Late in the evening, with all her tasks accomplished, Candace finally went to bed, certain her night would be restless. Instead, she fell into deep dreamless sleep and awoke at the crack of dawn as fired up as a runner facing a marathon.

  *

  Nine o’clock was too early to expect customers. People weren’t thinking of purchasing anything other than perhaps breakfast muffins and her shop was not a bakery. Candace straightened the bows on the gift bags of sweets. She’d made up two dozen, which ought to be enough to last the day.

  *

  Ten o’clock. Still early, Candace decided, while sipping a cup of cocoa she’d made to calm her nerves. She adjusted the tilt of her hat, especially created for her by Hattie to match her lemon-yellow dress, and smelled the bouquet of flowers Rose had sent along with a note wishing her well. Her friends had promised to stop at their lunch hour but for now would be busy in their own shops.

  *

  Eleven o’clock. Her heart leaped awake as a pair of women with small children in tow entered the shop. She greeted her first customers of the day, offered the children each a goody bag and the mothers gift cards for a percent off their first purchase. But after several minutes of browsing and exclaiming over the cunning designs on the truffles, the ladies took their leave without purchasing anything.

  *

  Noon. The door opened again, and Rose and Hattie entered. Both women looked at her expectantly. Candace kept her lips from trembling and simply shook her head.

  “No customers at all?” Rose asked.

  “A few in this past hour,” Candace admitted. “Most with children. Mentioning the gift bags in the advertisement was a good idea, Hattie. I believe it brought in the few customers I’ve had. I have earned plenty of compliments but no sales.”

  “Oh, my dear, I am sorry. The beginning can be very difficult, but you will persevere,” Hattie replied.

  “I’ve been passing out your cards at the register,” Rose said. “Some of my customers will surely stop by, if not today then soon. Take a break. Eat something. You’ll feel better. Let us mind the counter for a bit.”

  Candace went to the kitchen, where she cried rather than ate. After squashing her rising fear that she would fail at the one thing in life she most wanted to do, she returned to the shop to find Hattie ringing up a woman’s purchase and Rose chatting with a male customer.

  “These are simply divine. If you wish to impress a young lady, they will hit her sweet spot.” Rose began selecting truffles before the customer even agreed. Moments later the dapper young fellow in a seersucker suit left the store with a beautifully wrapped box.

  After both customers had gone, Candace demanded, “Are you two magic? Did you conjure up those people?”

  Rose shrugged. “They simply walked in off the street. Your candy sold itself.”

  “Did you observe Rose nudging that fellow along?” Hattie pointed out. “Often one must convince a customer of what he or she desires. Most people don’t mind being guided along.”

  “I shall remember that.”

  Why hadn’t she learned that lesson as Rose’s assistant? Perhaps because the florist shop had always been busy. People required flowers for many occasions, but they did not really need sweets. She must convince them they did.

  *

  Two o’clock. Despite keeping the door propped open to waft the scent of cocoa to the street, no other customers dropped in as minutes etched the afternoon in painful increments. How could she practice her sales technique without them?

  The telephone rang. Candace was glad to hear Guy Hardy’s jovial voice on the other end of the line. “How is your big launch going?”

  “Awfully, I’m afraid.”

&nbs
p; “It’s only the first day. You’ll gather speed heading into the holiday season. Meanwhile, I wanted to place an order. I would like gift boxes to soften up some of my prospects. Your chocolates will have them almost literally eating out of my hand.”

  Hardy’s work for the WSPU, Women’s Social and Political Union, entailed using his social connections and charm to win new supporters to the cause. Cigars and port seemed more appropriate gifts for the politicians he wished to woo. It was fairly obvious Guy placed the order simply to help her. But Candace gratefully jotted down his requests.

  Guy continued, “Also, what do you think of a decorative assortment of sweets instead of a wedding cake? I will discuss the matter with Hattie, of course, but I imagine a mountain of your truffles would delight our guests.”

  Her throat swelled at his kindness. “Oh, really, that is too much. I appreciate your support, but I suppose Hattie will want a proper wedding cake.”

  “And to eat it too,” he quipped. “She shall have both if that is what she desires. I live to shower my fiancé, soon-to-be wife, with everything she could want. And I know she will want your spectacular creations.”

  “I appreciate your support more than you could possibly know. Thank you.”

  “You’re most welcome.” For once there wasn’t a trace of humor or teasing in Guy’s voice. “You and Rose are very dear to me. I will always look out for my little sisters.”

  His kindness nearly undid her. Candace hung up the receiver before she could break into sobs.

  *

  Four o’clock. Over the next several hours, more shoppers came through and her spirits improved. The day was no resounding success, but she sold a few things and handed out many cards.

  She told a man purchasing a pink beribboned box for his sweetheart to look for her advertisements in the paper as there would be special sales nearly every week. This reminded her she must contact the Times’ advertising department for next week’s placement.

  When the shop was empty again, she telephoned the newspaper and described her proposed content. When she asked how much the advertisement would cost, the fellow named a figure. “I will subtract the amount from what is in your account.”

  Candace frowned. “But I haven’t pre-paid for anything.”

  “Someone has, enough to cover at least a year’s worth of moderately sized notices, with illustrations.”

  She was shocked. “Who set up this account?”

  “According to the statement, a Mr. William Carmody.”

  Dear Will, quietly effective yet never one to draw attention to his deeds. On the surface Rose’s sober beau seemed the polar opposite of Hattie’s fiancé, the fast-talking, impulsive Hardy, but underneath the friends possessed the same generosity of spirit. Candace’s heart ached as she considered the fine qualities of all of her dear friends. Men like Guy and Will had helped rebuild her faith in their gender. Yet again she might have broken into tears of gratitude but for the ringing bell that ushered in a customer.

  The sight of her visitor caused a flipping sensation like a landed fish in her stomach. Monsieur Moreau’s handsome profile cut a sharp relief against the late afternoon sunlight. When he looked at her, the fish flipped faster, bumping against her rib cage. She must pound it on the head and kill it for Alain Moreau was a married man.

  “Bonjour, Monsieur. I was not certain you would come,” she greeted him.

  “I apologize for arriving so late in the day. I was otherwise occupied.” He stepped toward her with a smile that made his dark eyes brighten. “How was your day?”

  “There were a number of browsers, but few sales. I suppose I had expected to throw open my doors and be bombarded by business.”

  “Je suis désolé,” he comforted her. “Such is not often the case in our industry. Sweets are considered an occasional indulgence not of prime importance when shopping.” He waved a hand to indicate her truffles. “Yet you and I know that the creation of chocolate is an art equal to that of the best vintner or parfumier. It is to be respected and savored as one of the finer things in life.”

  “An art form, yes! That is precisely how I feel. It is so wonderful to speak with someone who understands,” she gushed.

  “May I speak plainly, Miss Sweet? You have set yourself up against well-established confectioners in London. There is not room for many even in a city of this size. You must possess something to set you apart, a calling card to announce you are prepared to compete among the very best.”

  These were not the heartening words Candace had hoped to hear, but she appreciated Moreau not sugar-coating facts. “What do you suggest? I am willing to adapt and change as needed in order to succeed.”

  He paused. Emotions darted across his expressive face too quickly for her to read them. At last he gave the tiniest of nods as if coming to a decision.

  “Mademoiselle Sweet, I would like to offer you a proposal, which might benefit both of us. Might you agree to be the sole supplier of Moreau chocolates in London?”

  Disappointment sheered through her. His solution was not what she had expected. He had come here today merely to place his product, and he offered it as if he would be doing her a favor. Probably, Charbonnel et Walker and other stores had already turned him down.

  “I—truly do not know what to say.”

  “In fact, I would hold off on placing our brand in any other confectionery in Great Britain. This exclusivity might be the draw you need to bring in connoisseurs who appreciate the finest chocolate.”

  “What a great courtesy you offer. I should be grateful.”

  If he noted her sarcasm, he did not react. Perhaps something was lost in translation.

  “No gratitude is necessary. This would be beneficial to my company as well. Once customers are in the door, they will discover your delightful truffles. But it is imperative to entice the first—I do not know the English—cochons d’Inde.”

  “Guinea pigs,” Candace supplied. “How very generous of you to wish to help me.”

  Apparently, this time Moreau read her dry tone. His eyes opened wide and he waved a hand in the air as if to erase a mistake. “Non, non. You misunderstand me. I do not mean to offend you.” He laid a palm on his chest. “I believe we may work together to achieve both our goals, but if you disagree, please decline my offer and we will leave it at that. I hope we may remain friends, and I will watch your business’s growth with interest. Your shop is every bit as attractive as Charbonnel’s establishment, and you will earn a clientele with or without my assistance.”

  Candace studied Moreau closely. Far too many times, her controlling guardian, Merker had offered advice or observations for “her own good.” He had convinced her she was too young, too silly, too female to understand life and he must protect her from her own folly. She had nearly believed him, until the WSPU meetings and Rose Gardener had opened her eyes to what women could do all on their own.

  Now, she grasped that not every man would attempt to undermine her confidence. Alain Moreau’s frank gaze invited her to trust him. He was far more experienced in the business world than she, and his family name was renowned in the industry. She need not give up her autonomy by working with him.

  She recalled Hattie once saying, I could not have owned my shop without the seed money to begin. For many years, I despised myself for accepting help from the very man who had ruined my life, yet one must sometimes swallow pride in order to move ahead in this world. I’ve stopped blaming myself for it.

  “Monsieur Moreau, I apologize for my tone,” Candace said. “It would indeed be a wise business decision to create a partnership with Moreau Chocolaterie. I’m certain I would benefit far more than you from such a deal. Please, draw up a contract we may discuss.” She would sign nothing without examining every detail of the document with her solicitor, Jennings.

  “I will do so, Miss Sweet.” He bowed low. She could not help but find the tuft of hair on his crown adorable, which was not at all the sort of thing one ought to be notice about one’s po
tential business partner.

  Mr. Moreau lingered to discuss their expectations of the arrangement. As they pinned down percentages of potential profit, Candace grew quite excited. She hoped for a boost of commerce, but also would not mind seeing more of Moreau as their partnership moved forward.

  With reluctance, and relief, she finally bid him goodbye. There was so very much to consider and she was exhausted at the end of this long and stressful day.

  “Good evening, Miss Sweet. I look forward to speaking with you again. Perhaps we might discuss an advertising plan next time.”

  “I would enjoy that, Monsieur Moreau.” She would enjoy it far too much and must never allow herself to forget his family awaited him.

  *

  Candace turned the sign to “Closed” at last and slumped against the door with a sigh, then she retrieved the daily post and went to her flat to peruse it.

  Amidst bills a cream-colored envelope stood out. The tall, slanted handwriting made her pulse race until it deafened her. With trembling hands she opened the envelope to find a card bedecked with flowers and birds. At their center was a pretty, rosy-cheeked girl similar in appearance to how Candace had looked as a child. Bile rose in her throat as the opened the card and read:

  My dearest one.

  Having noticed your confectionery shop advertised—what a sweet business venture for a girl—I felt compelled to wish you the best of luck on your opening day.

  It seems much longer than mere months since we last communicated. I regret deeply the manner of our parting. I believe you misunderstood my intentions, as I would never seek to harm you and had only your best interests at heart.

  I fear our years apart while you attended Mme. Brodeur’s school were harmful. You lost your trust in my position as your guardian. Otherwise, I am certain you would never have been seduced away from me by devious intruders. Given time, my darling, I’m certain you will see the error of your beliefs and return home.

  Until that time, I am yours, as always,