by Dee, Bonnie
Monsieur Moreau regarded Candace over the rim of his wine glass. “And the Queen took care of business on her own. I like that.”
“Your part was good too, Papa. I liked how they got stuck in the Syrup Swamp and had to use dehydrating magic to make the ground solid enough to get out.”
The waiter, who had been lingering and glaring for the past quarter hour, finally approached their table. “I’m afraid the restaurant is about to close.”
“Yes. Of course. My apologies.” Moreau paid the bill then helped Vivienne put on her coat before offering his arm to escort Candace from the building.
They had spent so much time over their meal that it was quite dark outside. Vivienne began to whine. “I thought we would finally ride the carousel after we ate, but now it will be closed again. I’ll never get a chance to ride!”
“We will. I’ve promised you, haven’t I? This Sunday afternoon for certain,” Moreau said.
“Can Miss Sweet go with us? I want her to. She’s almost as nice as grandmère was.” Vivienne seized Candace’s hand and clung to it. The strength of her mittened grip penetrated through Candace’s kid gloves, warming more than her hand. Clearly the comparison to Vivienne’s deceased grandmother was the highest compliment. The girl’s affection formed a lump in her throat.
“No doubt, Miss Sweet has things to do on her one day off. We mustn’t pester her.” Moreau’s eyes glittered in the streetlight as he regarded her. “Unless you would enjoy such an excursion.”
“I”—shouldn’t, mustn’t, couldn’t, ought not—“think it sounds a lovely way to pass the afternoon,” Candace replied. “Thank you for the invitation.”
“But what about tonight?” Vivienne moaned. “I don’t want to go back to the stinky boarding house. I miss my own room and all my toys. Can’t we do something fun?”
The clip-clop of hooves from a passing hansom cab caught Moreau’s attention. “What about a ride around the city to see the lights.”
The little girl bounced on her heels. “Yes! Spectacular!”
Moreau hailed the cabbie, who stopped on the opposite side of the street. Candace gripped Vivienne’s hand to keep her from heedlessly darting to it.
After the little girl had patted the horses’ noses and fed each a bit of carrot that the driver gave her, the trio climbed into the open carriage. Vivienne’s body wedged between Candace and Alain provided a chaste distance. This ride would not be inappropriate for a single woman and a married man, merely a jaunt designed to entertain a child.
The driver chirruped and the horses plodded forward from pool to pool of lamplight. By the time the carriage drove past the lights outlining the storefronts on Bond Street, Vivienne’s chattering ceased and her eyelids drifted closed. As they entered Hyde Park, Candace might as well have been alone with Monsieur Moreau.
Gas streetlights illuminated the pathways and statues in the stately old park, providing stunning views not seen during daylight hours. London was certainly no City of Lights like electrified Paris, but there was a charm to its old-fashioned lighting. Candace settled into her seat, the breeze chilling her cheeks but her body warm and snug under a lap blanket. Relaxation seeped into her bones and her very being, driving away incessant worries.
“Miss Sweet, won’t you tell me something about yourself? I have shared a bit about my history, but know little of yours. Your French is excellent. What school did you attend?”
“Madame Brodeur’s Academy in Paris.”
“Would you recommend it for Vivienne when she is older?”
“No!” She softened her abrupt answer. “It is a creditable school. One learns all a young lady is expected to know, but nothing she ought to know, if you take my meaning.”
He shook his head, “Please explain.”
“Education for girls is inadequate if a woman wants to do anything more than run a household and attend social events. Naturally, those are useful skills, but math, sciences, and all the other lessons taught at boys’ schools should be added. Vivienne would not receive the sort of education to prepare her to run the Moreau company one day, if that is your intention for her.”
“It is if she shows an interest in it.”
“I believe hiring someone who would teach her about finance, business, and the chemistry involved in producing chocolate would be most beneficial. She could live at home where she is happiest, rather than be cloistered with sneering, vicious, gossiping girls.”
Candace fell silent, afraid she had offered too many unasked-for opinions. Her tongue had gotten the best of her and tattled everything she truly felt.
Moreau nodded slowly. “I would not want my daughter to be unhappy or intellectually deprived at school. Nor could I bear to part with her at a young age. Did you miss your parents awfully?”
“They died of diphtheria when I was eight, within days of each other. With no living relatives, my care went to a guardian named in my father’s will, Edward Merker. I stayed with him until age thirteen when I began attending the academy. I have only just returned to England this spring.”
Silence fell but for the creak of leather and clip-clop of hooves. The carriage passed the statue of Wellington before Moreau spoke again. “You are still very young and yet you live on your own and run a business. How did that come about, if I may ask?”
She took a breath. It was unnecessary to share her personal business, but the intimate atmosphere compelled her to confide more of her story. “I stayed at school longer than most girls, being nineteen upon my return and twenty shortly thereafter. Mr. Merker suggested I required no debutante season as he would marry me himself. It was apparent he would continue to pressure me on the matter, so I left his house taking nothing with me.”
Moreau frowned and murmured French words Candace did not recognize but guessed were curses. She plunged on.
“My friend you met, Rose Gardener gave me work and shared her flat with me.” Tears choked her as always when she considered Rose’s generosity which had saved her. Omitting any mention of her abduction, she cleared her throat and continued. “With the help of a private detective, I learned Merker, my father’s subordinate, had likely forged his signature to gain custody of me and thus my inheritance. Rather than file a suit and risk notoriety and a potentially unprovable court case, my solicitor convinced my would-be guardian to grant me immediate autonomy and avoid scandal. My inheritance money made it possible for me to open my shop.”
The Frenchman shook his head. “Mon dieu! Such an ugly and horrible situation. I am happy you escaped it. You must be proud of all your accomplishments in such a short time.”
“I suppose I am.” Candace looked down at the top of Vivienne’s bonnet as the girl slumped against her arm.
“What is it? There is more, I think.”
“I pretend to know what I am doing, but I do not always feel that way. I had never lived on my own before this past summer. I feel as if—”
“You may trust me,” he murmured softly.
Words tumbled out before she could censor them. “As if I am only playacting at being an adult. I feel lost, afraid, insufficient, weak, all the qualities my guardian tried to instill in me. I fear I am inadequate to run a business, and I hear his voice telling me I will fail, that I should have allowed him to look after me.” She laughed to make light of her fears. “Of course, in the daylight hours, I feel braver, and more up to the task. It is mostly at night this man still haunts me.”
“Connard! He would have destroyed your confidence and kept you under his thumb. Thank God you had the courage to leave.” He reached across Vivienne to take Candace’s hand; glove to glove, yet the warmth of his firm grip comforted her.
“My story is small compared to yours,” he said. “But I certainly understand that voice whispering one is not good enough. My father would not approve of how I am managing the family business. For generations, our chocolates were sold only in Parisian stores. My great-great grandfather had decided it gave them a certain prestige, which may have been tr
ue back then. I tried for years to convince my father it was time to change our manner of operation, but he would not listen. Now, from beyond the grave, he continues to question my every decision.”
“Your chocolates should be sold worldwide,” Candace pronounced. “But I admit I am honored you have chosen my shop to open the English market. I will surely sign the contract. I imagine our arrangement will not be permanent.”
“No,” he agreed. “Beginning with one location will allow the factory time to increase production. There will be time later for greater expansion. One does not wish to sacrifice quality for quantity, particularly where chocolate is concerned.”
“Certainly not!” Candace smiled.
Moreau returned her smile. The park seemed a magical place for exchanging confidences and bonding over a business agreement. They shook hands on the matter, lingering a moment before letting go.
Candace exhaled through chilled lips and wished Moreau would lean close to kiss them warm. But he was a true gentleman who would not take advantage of the atmosphere of privacy, especially not with his small daughter sitting between them. At any rate, they were now business partners, and he was a married man, so she might as well banish foolish ponderings on romance.
Easier said than done, as the moon chose that moment to peek out from behind the clouds and turn the park into a gilded fairyland. Candace gasped in awe at the silver tree branches and the statue of Artemis drawing back her bow. “How lovely!”
“Indeed.”
Moreau’s husky reply made her turn toward him. He looked at her rather than the scenery. A fever warmed her flesh, particularly the parts covered by the lap blanket. No man had ever regarded her in such an intense, longing manner—excluding Merker’s leers, which had not induced the same reaction at all. While her guardian’s avid examination had engendered disgust and panic, Monsieur Moreau’s prompted an answering hunger in her. An ache she had never felt before throbbed between her legs. Arousal, attraction, longing crowded her body like too many people pushing into a train car. She must slam the door on them.
“We ought to end the ride, I suppose,” she said briskly. “I must work in the morning, and poor Vivienne seems quite done in.”
He dropped his gaze. “Yes, she is, and she will be angry later to have missed most of our ride.” He leaned to kiss his daughter’s head, and she yawned before snuggling closer to him.
Moreau’s natural, loving gesture touched her deeply. Candace’s faded memories of her parents mostly involved Nanny bringing her down from the nursery each afternoon. She recalled her Italian mother’s embraces and kisses, and exclamations over a picture Candace had drawn or some other trifle she shared. Father had been a more reserved figure, sitting at a distance to watch them together. He’d bestowed pats on Candace’s head or kisses on the cheek but few comforting hugs such as Vivienne and her father shared. If only she’d had had more years with her parents, perhaps she might have come to know them better.
Moreau gave the driver instructions to return to Providence Street and in minutes, the glorious night came to an end.
With Vivienne still sleeping in the carriage, Moreau walked Candace to the door. Once more he bowed over her hand. “Bonne nuit, Mademoiselle. Thank you for sharing a meal with us. I enjoyed our evening very much.”
“As did I. Thank you for inviting me. Good night, Monsieur.”
Once inside, Candace stripped off her glove and pressed a kiss to the back of her hand, wishing he had done the same. She scolded herself for the silly girlish gesture. But if she made a fool of herself tonight over romantic moonlight and imaginary kisses on her hand or even her lips, there was no one there to judge. A woman could daydream, even if the object of her affection was impossibly out of reach.
Chapter Seven
Over the next several days, as business increased and Candace experienced her first rush of customers difficult to manage alone, she decided to hire an assistant. It was too difficult to divide her time between the shop and her work in the kitchen without help.
“That is a good problem to have,” Rose assured her over lunch one day. “If it had not been for your aid in my shop, I might have continued to struggle on my own. Hiring a girl seemed an extravagance I could ill afford, yet it continues to be worth the cost—even though Daisy is certainly not as good as you. You can afford it, so definitely treat yourself to an assistant.”
Candace contacted a hiring agency which sent over a prospect that very afternoon. Although very young, Mary Farmer seemed eager to please and quick to understand how to operate a cash register. Mary, a Yorkshire lass who had previously served as a scullery maid in a country estate, came to the city to find higher paying and more challenging employment. Her chestnut head bobbed repeatedly as Candace explained her duties, and she punctuated every instruction with a quiet, “Yes, Miss.”
Having authority over someone was a new experience. Candace had always been the one expected to adhere to someone else’s rules. Knowing she was a free and independent woman gave her a prideful thrill.
The following afternoon as Candace made a batch of coconut bon-bons and Mary minded the shop, a customer arrived and asked to speak to the proprietress.
“I’m sorry to bother you, Miss Sweet,” Mary said, “But she seems quite upset. Shall I tell her you are unavailable?”
“Did the lady give her name?”
Mary’s eyes went wide, and she clapped a hand to her mouth. “My goodness! I didn’t think to ask.”
“It’s all right. I must finish dipping these in chocolate, then I will come. Serve her a cup of cocoa in the meantime.” Keeping a pot warmed and ready had been Candace’s recent inspiration. What shopper could resist cocoa in such cold weather? And wouldn’t one feel compelled to buy something after enjoying a free beverage?
She coated the coconut balls before the ganache could harden, placed the tray on a shelf, and removed her apron before heading into the shop.
Sitting in one of two chairs gathered around the hot cocoa station, sat Susan Carpenter. Susie Sunshine, as some of the girls used to call her, wore a cloud of unhappiness today. She set aside her cup and rose to greet Candace.
“I am so happy to see a friendly face. Do you have a moment to talk?”
Candace glanced around the shop. Some children were choosing sweets from the penny candy jars while their mother looked on. A pair of ladies examined the truffle display, and a fellow studied a rack of cards. Mary was ringing up a customer at the register.
“Would you mind waiting a few minutes?” Candace asked.
“Yes, of course. I can see you are very busy. I should not have bothered you in the midst of a work day. I shall buy something then go.”
“Your visit is no trouble,” Candace assured you. “Would you care to wait in the kitchen? I will join you as soon as I am able.”
Susan’s eyes gleamed with tears as she replied gratefully, “Yes, please! I could truly use your advice.”
Candace ushered her to the back room then went to wait on customers. Some twenty minutes later, business abated enough that she could attend her waiting guest.
In the kitchen, Susan stood staring at jars of sprinkles and colored sugar arrayed on a shelf, her mind clearly on other things. When Candace addressed her, she immediately cloaked her misery with a smile.
“What a cunning kitchen you’ve created. A place for everything and everything in its proper place. That is the Candace I remember. It must be comforting to have such order in one’s life and to know precisely what one is doing.”
“I rarely feel that certain,” Candace replied. “Creating order around me may cover the chaos I feel within.”
“Perhaps you might help me manage my chaos.”
“Please sit and tell me what is troubling you? Would you care for tea?”
Susan collapsed into a chair by the counter as if her legs had turned to jelly. “No thank you. I won’t take your time but get right to the point. I wondered if you might share the name of the solicitor
who helped you gain your independence. Like you, I am not quite at the age of majority, and I must break free of my parents before it is too late!” She leaned on the counter, resting her forehead in her hand. “One of my great-aunts left me a small sum in her will, and I’ve set aside my personal allowance for some time now. Since it is for sundries, I do not have to account for every penny to my father. I could not open a bank account without Father or a husband to co-sign, so I’ve hidden my savings like a pirate would treasure.” She clicked her tongue. “Such a meager amount, but every pound is one step closer to freedom.”
Candace understood the fire and energy of Susan’s desire. She’d experienced it. Yet she wanted to warn her about the world she would fly away to. “What do you want to do? Where will you go? It is not easy to declare independence and leave behind one’s family or society’s expectations.”
“I understand, which is why it took me so long to make the decision and prepare for the day. I have secretly learned shorthand from a book and would have trained on a typewriting machine if I could figure out a way to do so. I know I will require gainful employment to be self-sufficient and that jobs are not easily come by without a reference. I had hoped to wait until I had access to my aunt’s bequest, a nest egg to rely on.”
“What has prompted your urgency?”
“Love,” Susan answered simply. “I have met someone whom I care for deeply. If I delay another year, I fear circumstances will have changed. Time is our enemy. I might lose her if I do not strike out now.”
Her. The pronoun halted Candace’s racing mind which was trying to work out a solution. She had believed Susan’s therapy coupled with maturity caused her unnatural urges to go away, but clearly that was not the case. She struggled to shift her thoughts, like rusted gears creaking to life. Was it right to aid a woman poised on the brink of a forbidden lifestyle? Everything she’d been taught told her to convince Susan it was a rash decision. But what Candace had learned in the past year about society’s expectations, morality, duty, self-determination, and love greased the gears to start her mind traveling in a new direction.
