Candace Sweet’s Confectionery

by Dee, Bonnie

  “Could your, um, friend, be patient for another year? It would still be difficult to break from your family, but at least you would have more money to start out with.”

  “Judith’s family is pressuring her to marry. She may not have the strength to stand against their wishes. If we do not make our move soon, I fear the window of opportunity will close.”

  “I understand. I promise to do whatever I can to help you.”

  Susan’s tears spilled over at last. “You do not know what it means to me to hear those words. There has been no one in whom I might confide other than my dear Judith. Your encouragement is priceless.”

  Susan’s gratitude made Candace regret wavering for even a moment before offering her support. Of course it was the right thing to do! Friendship demanded she set aside her personal opinion and trust her friend knew best what would make her happy.

  After giving Susan Mr. Jennings’s name and address, Candace explained more about how Will Carmody’s solicitor managed her legal separation from Merker.

  In return, Susan told how she had met her friend, Judith Hayes at an afternoon tea.

  “One look across the table, a shared smile over another guest’s long-winded recitation of her family history, and we were both smitten. We met again at other social events and managed several private moments. Then we began arranging shopping trips in order to spend time together. Finally, we admitted our deeper feelings and pledged to be together no matter how impossible it seemed.”

  Candace thought of Alain Moreau, practically a stranger and yet a sense of completion filled her in the brief moments they had shared. If this was what Susan felt for her friend, their relationship became much easier for Candace to comprehend.

  Susan checked her watch. “I should hurry home now. I have been gone so often and for such lengths of time recently that my mother has grown suspicious. Today I can honestly say I visited an old school chum at her shop, and present Mother with sweets to prove it.”

  In the shop, Candace gave her a candy assortment free of charge. “If she likes them, ask your mother to tell her friends. I’m not too proud to accept a little free advertising.”

  “It’s the least I can do. Thank you again for listening and aiding me.”

  “Do let me know how you fare with Mr. Jennings,” Candace added as she saw Susan out the door. If there was anyone who might help her, it would be the sharp-witted solicitor.

  Candace gave Mary leave to take a break and set about tidying the tissue paper in the wrapping area. Minutes later the bell rang to announce the arrival of a customer. She turned to greet the person and beamed at the sight of Alain Moreau.

  “Good afternoon, Mademoiselle. I hope I do not disturb you.”

  Yes. You actually do disturb me very much. What woman would not be affected by the man’s dark good looks, sharply cut features, and shining dark eyes? It was only natural, given Candace had been in a convent-like environment for years, that she would respond to his masculine beauty.

  “Not at all. I have no customers at the moment although it has been a busy day. How may I help you?”

  “I have the contract from my solicitor, and I hoped we might also discuss an advertising plan. But I am early. Shall I return after the store is closed?”

  “My hired girl will watch the shop while we talk.”

  “You are busy enough now to require help? That is an improvement. Très, très bien! Je vous félicite.”

  “Je vous remercie.” Really, she ought not to be so very pleased at his approval, yet she had never felt prouder.

  Together they toured the shop once more, Candace explaining her reasoning behind the layout and the pair of them discussing the perfect price points for various items. At length, Mary returned from in back and silently eyed the alluring stranger who so engrossed her employer. Candace stepped away from Alain, putting a respectable distance between them. “Monsieur Moreau is here to discuss business,” she rushed to explain.

  Mary nodded solemnly, yet Candace caught the glimmer of a smile as the young woman turned to attend to her duties.

  “Please come with me to the kitchen,” Candace suggested to her visitor.

  As Alain followed her from the shop, her invitation burned in the air between them as if her request signified something more than desired privacy for a business discussion.

  Chapter Eight

  He had been too many years without a woman in his life, Alain decided as he followed Miss Sweet to her culinary domain. That was the reason he could not take his eyes from her or stop himself from inhaling the scent that trailed behind her. Not perfume, he thought, but the delicious ingredients of her trade.

  Since Geneviève left, he’d not had any romantic entanglements. At first, too devastated by her betrayal to feel interest in the opposite sex, he’d devoted himself to caring for Vivienne and to work. More recently, when desire stirred in him for a local woman who showed an interest, the flame was immediately quenched by the death of his father. Assuming full responsibility for the family business killed any potential amour on the vine. But the lady had not really held much fascination for him or he would have found a way to be with her.

  Now, here he was in England–of all places–enraptured by a warm, clever, kind young woman he felt as if he had known all his life. Talking with Miss Sweet was like chatting with a dear friend he had not been aware he lacked. Her natural way with Vivienne the other night charmed him. He wondered if Miss Sweet might entertain the idea of being wooed by a single father if he were divorced. It was a black mark in society’s book, yet Candace seemed broad-minded enough to understand his circumstance.

  The real question was, would Geneviève ever release him so he might pursue love with someone far more capable of it than she had ever been?

  Miss Sweet turned to speak to him, and he snapped his gaze from her derriere to her face. “Excusez-moi?”

  “Would you care for tea?”

  “I’ve not much of a taste for it, but would enjoy a cup of cocoa. One would expect a chocolatier would tire of even the smell of chocolate, but I never do.”

  She laughed. “Nor I. Surrounded by indulgence, I am in danger of having to alter all of my clothing. Yet one must sample the chocolate to make certain of its quality.”

  “Your figure—” Appears perfect to me, he thought, rounded, ample and utterly huggable. But any comment on her physical attributes would be inappropriate. “May I help prepare the cocoa?”

  “I have a pot simmering already. But if you wish to cut a wedge of cheese you will find in the cooler, I will slice a loaf of bread.”

  They moved in harmony around the kitchen before sitting on stools at the counter to share the repast. Alain could not keep from comparing Miss Sweet’s easy-going collaboration to Geneviéve’s selfish nature. His wife had never been a partner, but a vibrant butterfly whose interest Alain could only hold for a brief time. She’d never joined him in the mundane tasks that made a house a home or bonded a couple. Youth and foolishness had blinded him to many of her flaws. Truly, the best thing she had done for him was to tear the blinders from his eyes. Alain was far better off without her, and he believed Vivienne was too.

  Miss Sweet garnished the frothy cocoa with chocolate shavings. “I enjoyed our ride the other night. What a delightful way to view the city. The lights in the park transformed it into another world.”

  “I am glad you enjoyed the evening.” He accepted the warm cup from her hands. “One gains a different perspective of a city at night with the grime hidden. Magical indeed.” Mostly because I shared it with you.

  She sipped her cocoa, leaving a bit of foam on her lips. How soft and sweet they would taste if he kissed her.

  Miss Sweet lowered her cup and gazed into it. “May I ask you a personal question, Monsieur?”

  “But of course. If we are to be business partners, I suppose you will want to know more about my character. I don’t suppose marital separation creates a very good impression.”

  “I am quite certa
in you are a trustworthy, honorable man, but rude curiosity has gotten the better of me. Might you tell me a little more about Vivienne’s mother and the circumstances that parted you?”

  How might he succinctly explain a marriage doomed from the beginning?

  “Geneviève and I were far too young when we wed, youthful sweethearts with more passion than sense. Although she was born and raised in Marcoussis, my wife wanted more than the provincial life that lay before us. Her craving for excitement, travel, and wealth spurred her to break free from domestic constraints at last. She fled with a lover bound for America.” He shrugged, almost able now to put the facts into perspective. “We were mismatched from the beginning. I’ve never needed more than my work and my family, while Geneviéve’s impetuous nature required drama and new experiences. I expected her to be content with our life when she simply could not be. I suppose I cannot blame her for her very nature.”

  The wound to his heart had felt like a death blow at first, but he could finally say that and mean it.

  “And she has never returned, not even to see Vivienne.”

  “Once she boarded a ship for New York, her daughter became part of the past. I believe she suffers occasional bouts of guilt or maternal fondness, for she will suddenly shower Vivienne with cards and gifts. Then she falls silent again for months at a time. You must wonder why we are still wed, but it is not easy when one is Catholic. Geneviève refuses to seek either an annulment or divorce.”

  For his part, Alain did not care if he were excommunicated. Though his wife had broken her marital vows with another man—perhaps more than one—Alain did not sue for divorce. Geneviève used Vivienne as a pawn, claiming a judge would always grant custody to a child’s mother. Fear of losing his little girl, not fear of the Church, kept Alain in limbo.

  “I apologize for probing into something that is not my business,” Miss Sweet said quietly. “You are in a difficult situation.”

  “So now you know my life story. The rest involves chocolate production.” Alain sipped his cooled cocoa and sampled the cheese before speaking again. “May I ask you something now?”

  “I already told my history on our ride the other night.”

  “I wondered if you’ve spoken with your former guardian since you broke away from him.”

  Her lips pressed tight before she responded. “Why would you ask that?”

  “It sounded as if he is quite obsessed with you. Such men do not easily relinquish the object of their attention. It occurred to me he might hound you still.”

  “No, he does not!” Her curt reply and shadowed eyes told a different story. She remained afraid of Merker. Alain despised this monster he had never even met for shaking her confidence and making her fearful.

  She drew a shaky breath. “Actually, he sent a note congratulating me on my grand opening. Other than that he has not contacted me, and I have quite put him out of my mind as well as my life.”

  Only a few days past she had confessed the man continued to haunt her, but Alain merely nodded and changed the subject. “This is delicious bread. Where do you buy it?”

  “A bakery the next street over. The baker makes small loaves perfectly sized for a single person to finish while they are fresh. Now that is clever marketing.” She seemed relieved to talk about a mundane subject. The sparkle returned to her eyes as they spoke at length about their favorite foods other than their beloved chocolate.

  When the discussion turned to their business agreement, Alain produced the contract and went over the details with her. For two years, Candace Sweet’s Confectionery would be the sole supplier of the Moreau brand in England. Quantities were agreed upon and a jointly financed ad campaign discussed.

  “With the holiday season upon us, a Christmas themed advertisement in the Times would draw attention,” Alain said.

  “I have dreamed of purchasing a color ad in The Lady. So expensive, but periodicals are beginning to feature them. If that is not feasible, we might design seasonal postal cards featuring Father Christmas bearing chocolate with the store name.”

  “Or the Moreau brand name,” Alain challenged her with a smile. She was the first person he’d met who shared his enthusiasm for the power of advertising. “Posters of the jolly fellow distributing our sweets must be everywhere prior to December 6, St. Nicholas Day. We must blanket the city for the entire month of December.”

  “I’ve also wondered about the best use of free samples. One doesn’t want to give away too much, but a single taste might be enough to earn a new customer, don’t you agree? We might pay carolers or bell ringers to pass them out to those who stop to listen? In bags marked with the shop’s name and address, of course.”

  “Of course! We could easily spend a year’s advertising budget during the coming month alone. I don’t know if all of these plans are feasible, but it is good to consider many ideas.”

  “As my friend Mr. Hardy often says, ‘It takes money to make money.’ Our launch must embed the names Moreau and Sweet in the public consciousness.”

  “Your friend is correct, of course.” Who was Mr. Hardy, and why should it give him a second’s pause that Miss Sweet mentioned a male friend? It was none of his business who her friends were, or if she had a special interest in one. “Your friend sounds very practical.”

  “He often gives sound advice, and he has been of great help in launching this enterprise. Mr. Hardy is the primary investor in Miss Gardener’s florist, and he is Miss Hattie Glover’s fiancé.”

  “Ah, I see.” How ridiculous that it relieved him to know this Hardy had no designs on her. “You are fortunate to have such friends to support you. I regret I have not formed many amitiés in my life. Friends from my childhood fell away after I became preoccupied with work and my daughter. But it is my fault for not cultivating friendships. One must make time for them.”

  “I know I would not be here without Miss Gardener and her beau Mr. William Carmody, who saved me from Mr. Merker.”

  The word “saved” caught Alain’s attention. It sounded as if she had not easily left her guardian’s house. Something more had occurred, but he dare not press her on the details.

  Candace shook her head, as if emerging from a memory. “I pray you will consider me your first good friend in London.”

  “Perhaps we might call each other by our Christian names now? Formality is not necessary between friends, no?”

  She smiled and her cheeks flushed. “Oui. You may call me Candace, and I will address you as Alain—when we are alone.”

  He offered his hand. “Might we shake again on our agreement and promise to be always honest in our dealings with one another?”

  The light of her smile increased. “We may. Although I will have my solicitor review the contract before I sign.”

  “Naturellement.”

  Her palm slid against his, fingers curled firmly around his hand. “Honesty in all things, and if I should ever suggest erecting a billboard in Trafalgar Square, you must talk me out of it.”

  “I promise.” Alain chuckled and continued to hold her hand, until a quiet voice broke the moment.

  “Miss Sweet?” The appearance of Candace’s assistant made them separate quickly as if caught doing something more than shaking hands. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but it is past five. May I close the shop? I did not want to do so without asking.”

  “Yes, Mary. That would be fine. I’ll join you in a moment.” Candace looked at Alain, capturing his breath with her beautiful eyes. “Thank you for stopping. I’m afraid I must—”

  “Of course. I’ve stayed too long. We will talk again soon. In the meantime I will have my factory manager prepare a shipment.” Thank heaven he had legitimate business reasons to see her again.

  But that was not enough. “Might you be interested in attending a fair with Vivienne and me on Sunday? I promised to take her to a village fair where she could see the animals and at last ride a carousel. She would love for you to come along. You’ve become her favorite person.” He pause
d. “I too would enjoy your company, Miss Candace.”

  He could almost read her expressive face. She was considering whether it was quite proper but also seemed excited by the prospect.

  “Do you know I’ve never in my life attended a fair? I should love to go, Mr. … Alain.”

  “Excellent! We shall catch the train to Crumbyvale Sunday morning then?”

  “Sunday,” she agreed with a shy smile.

  Chapter Nine

  Excited anticipation turned to a fluffle of hopping rabbits by the time Alain and Vivienne arrived to escort her to the fair. Candace was thrilled to see them both and to be going on an outing in the country. As a child, she had mostly been sequestered at home, other than afternoons at the park with Nanny. She hadn’t experienced holidays at the seashore or other activity families did for fun.

  Attending Madame Brodeur’s had allowed her a glimpse of freedom at Madame Lisette’s store. But this was to be an entire, glorious day spent in the company of a charming man and his adorable daughter. The sun shone and the world seemed a wide and welcoming place.

  Vivienne greeted Candace with a hug around the waist and clung to her hand, chattering, from the time they left the shop until they boarded the train. She bounced up and down on the hard seat and stared out the window as billows of steam blew past and the engine pulled out of the station.

  The seating arrangement put Candace in close contact with Alain. Shoulder to shoulder and hip to hip, his body pressed against hers awakening a fresh wave of thumping rabbits behind her rib cage. With Vivienne temporarily engrossed in the scenery, the adults could exchange more than perfunctory greetings. But Candace was so distracted by the sensation of his hard, masculine body so close beside her, she could think of nothing to say. Her hands twisted together in her lap then began nervously fingering the beading on her handbag.

  “Are you quite comfortable?” Alain asked. “Shall I sit across the aisle to make more room for you two ladies?”