The Lady's Chocolatier: a Victorian-era romance novella Page 3

“Sacrificing your freedom by going back, are you? One can only wonder what horrible punishment upstanding members of the ton will find for a wayward daughter.”

  Evangeline rolled her eyes. “No doubt they will see it as permission to matchmake.”

  “Ah, I’m glad to know you find marriage to anyone objectionable, for I’d previously thought it was simply me you took issue with.” The annoyance upgraded to full-blown hostility.

  Oh dear. For the first time, she considered his feelings from that long-ago humiliation. No doubt she’d wounded him terribly. Her chin trembled. None of that, Evangeline. You’re stronger than this. She straightened her spine and willed her emotion away. “Enough, Mr. Winslow.” She made certain to emphasize his title. Using first names was too personal when she wished to maintain distance between them. Their shared history didn’t matter; she was no longer that starry-eyed young lady of twenty-four who had dreams of grandeur, independence and success. There were now several years of experience on her, and she was older and wiser, if not successful. But she certainly wasn’t defeated. She turned toward him, hoping he felt the fury in her gaze. Yet a part of her mourned the loss of what they’d once had together. “Do you mean to have words now?”

  “Given that we’re hardly in a drawing room or parlor, this carriage is as good a place as any.” Matching anger clung to his response. “Perhaps you should start.”

  She ignored him even as she marveled that this was the first time she’d ever seen such ire or heat in him. When they’d courted, he was ever the polite suitor, solicitous in his regard and rather lukewarm in his carriage. Nothing that curled her toes or set fire to her blood. Chaste and nothing a proper gentleman would be ashamed of. No heat had passed between them. That insipid bearing was one of the reasons she’d fled. After all, what would a marriage be if there was no passion in any aspect of life?

  Above all, she did not want an empty ton union. There were too many of those in London, and she didn’t envy those people. She wanted… craved… excitement, thrills, that neck-or-nothing feeling of desire that would have her teetering on the edge of total consumption. She longed for a marriage like her grandmother had enjoyed, like her great-uncle Charles had had, like their parents before them. So many stories she’d grown up with touting such love-drenched affairs as those.

  Are they a thing of the past, a nod to by-gone days? She thought of her parents and the fact they rarely showed affection for each other in public or even in front of her. I do not wish for staid. Something far away from the proper, stifling, oftentimes paper cut-out world of the ton. No gilded prisons for her.

  Realizing he still awaited a response, she said, “If you cannot come to terms with our parting of ways, do let me know, and I will list the reasons why we were not compatible, even if you will not like them.” A sudden bout of exhaustion swept through her. What she wouldn’t give for a warm bed and a bracing cup of tea. None of her plans had turned out right, and seeing him again only highlighted those shortcomings. “This night has worn on my nerves and I would rather salvage what I can of the evening while making other arrangements.”

  Silence greeted her, a great, roiling silence that grew stifling. All the while, he kept his intense, stormy gaze on her—assessing, questioning, wondering. Finally, she sighed. Of course he wouldn’t wish for a row to air grievances and put their failed relationship firmly behind them because he probably had been haunted with why she’d done it.

  “Shocking that you refuse to explain.”

  “Not now.” It was for the best. “On second thought, direct your driver to the Clarendon.” Surely after she claimed connections to the Archewyne name, the hotel would extend her credit. It was the better alternative than offering herself up to the altar of matrimony.

  Telling him her reasoning would wound him deeper. That she couldn’t bear, for when all was said and done, she still cared for him and wished to see him happy. He deserved better than her. Perhaps she had saved him from embarrassment all those years ago, for had their names been linked and she’d attempted to find her path while married, he would have been shocked and disappointed. The knowledge brought swift tears stinging her eyes and she blinked them away.

  “A rather fancy address for a woman with no funds and no companion.” He whipped off his hat, shoved a hand through the partially damp tresses and then replaced the head gear, regardless of the errant droplets he’d dislodged. Raven hair she’d always wondered if it was soft, but had never had the daring to find out for herself. “However, in answer to your earlier inquiry, yes, I would enjoy an explanation as to why you left me, for you never gave one, and I’ve always speculated.”

  Dread knotted her stomach. Never did she think he would call in her bluff. She stared at him with a healthy dose of wariness. Where had the meek second son of a viscount gone in the intervening years? When had this assertive, self-assured man come to dwell in his place? “Well then. I shall give it a go.” Perhaps if they could discuss what happened and why she’d run with grace and dignity, she could finally be free of him, both physically in the present and from her thoughts—the thoughts that always dogged her when she was tired or second guessing her decisions.

  “Not here.”

  “I beg your pardon?” What deviltry was he about? Did he not just agree to a discussion? Did he not just tell her the carriage was as good a place as any?

  The conveyance rocked to a halt as he explained. “I have rooms above my emporium. Perhaps we can take tea together, share a meal and converse like civilized people in front of a cheery fire in my parlor.”

  For the second time that evening, Evangeline’s jaw dropped. She couldn’t determine which shocking statement to respond to first. “I beg your pardon?” It bore repeating. What other surprises would this night hold?

  He flicked a dark eyebrow upward. Humor flitted through his expression before the familiar annoyance replaced it. “Since we parted, I have become a chocolatier of some acclaim throughout London. I run Winslow’s Chocolate Emporium and Confectionary.”

  Of course! She’d passed the Emporium dozens of times while in London but never in her wildest imaginings did she think that his name was linked to the shop. The sweet, rich aroma of chocolate, vanilla and sugar invaded her nostrils with phantom scents, and if she closed her eyes, she could see the window displays full of bonbons and chocolates topped with sugar flowers, discern the sugar-molded Easter eggs decorated with colorful icing with adorable scenes inside also made of sugar. Her stomach rumbled and her respect for him rose. It took great skill to make such sweets.

  “You work a trade?” My how the mighty had indeed fallen. When he’d courted her, he had no aspirations and had been content in riding the coattails of his father and brother. He’d wished for nothing more than to enter whole-heartedly into that glittering world of the idle. “How did you convince your family to let you?” Despite her current circumstances, curiosity ran away with her thoughts.

  “No one ‘lets’ me do anything. I am a self-made man.”

  “Oh.” What did one say to that?

  “If you wish to know the answers to that question and any more you might have regarding how I’ve spent my life after you left me, my dear Miss Bradenwilde, you shall have to accept my invitation to a late dinner and tea.” He twisted the handle to the door and once the panel swung open, he hopped out of the carriage without another word.

  Drat that man! She sat immobile as her mind spun with a thousand inquiries. What did any of this mean to her now beyond satisfying a few lingering ponderations?

  Jasper turned back toward her with a hand extended, and when she assumed he meant to offer her assistance down, he merely grasped the handle of his valise and pulled it from the carriage. Rain beat upon his hat and wetted the shoulders of his overcoat. “Now or never. Like you said, we either lay the past to rest this night, or we will both forever wonder and suffer unanswered questions.”

  Double drat him, and devil take his eyes too. She stifled a snort at her proclivity toward th
e vulgar when expressing herself. When he would have turned away from the carriage, she halted him. “Jasper, wait.” And darn him for making her use his given name. Where had the barriers gone she’d so carefully erected between them?

  “Yes?”

  “I accept your invitation with thanks.” At least she’d remove herself from this dreary cold rain. That fire he mentioned sounded very good indeed. “I would adore a hot cup of tea.”

  “Excellent.” This time he extended his free hand and helped her down from the carriage. As soon as her feet landed on the ground, he released his hold. “I’ll escort you into the shop then grab your luggage. After that, we’ll discuss many things, the least of which where you plan to pass the storm.”

  As he uttered those words, the intensity of the rain picked up and wind threw the angry drops of moisture into her face.

  Laying bare her soul for his censure and mockery left her stomach quaking and cold shivers lancing down her spine. Knowing the truth of the matter would put hurt into his eyes twisted her stomach. It would be a long night indeed, but at the end of it, she would finally be free of him.

  Without guilt? She could only hope.

  Chapter Three

  Where did his resolve to leave her to fate go?

  Jasper cursed himself for a fool many times over as he unlocked the door to his emporium. As the panel swung open, a bell attached tinkled in greeting. “Please, make yourself at home. I’ll return straightaway with your luggage.” He set his valise down inside the shop and then stood aside for Evangeline to pass.

  “Thank you for the kindness.”

  Kindness? Making certain a lady was sheltered from less than ideal weather wasn’t kindness, was it? Expected and what a gentleman should do, of course, but since when would it not be an inherent response that someone needed to go out of their way and thank him for it?

  Still, he nodded and caught a faint, delicate, elusive floral scent. What was it? Not readily able to identify the perfume, he returned to the carriage. Wind-driven rain slashed at his clothing and sent chilly drops down the back of his neck. With the driver’s help, they lugged the trunk and the carpetbag into the shop, and once it was set down on the white-and-black checked marble, Jasper paid the other man. With a murmured good night, he closed the door sharply behind him. The tinkling of the shop bell, once cheerful but now ominous, rang in the silence that followed.

  Devil take this night. He stifled the urge to yawn. Too knackered to do much else other than stare as she removed her hat, he said, “Um, shall we adjourn upstairs?” When her eyes rounded, he cleared his throat. Perhaps that didn’t sound as congenial as it was intended. “For talking and to take tea only. My intentions are honorable.” The silence built between them and he sighed. “Or, if you’d rather, I can put the kettle on here in the shop.”

  Evangeline stabbed the long pin into the crown of her straw hat. “I think perhaps that would be the most logical choice.” She cast a glance about the immediate area the second he flipped a switch and soft electric illumination flooded the cozy shop, glinting off the glass display cases and the glass canisters that lined the shelves behind the high wooden counter. What did the emporium look like to her eyes?

  Inside the cases, a vast collection of sweetmeats rested, ready for eager patrons. Comfits, which were sugar-and-spice-coated nuts; confits—candied fruit. He had a display of sugarplums—sugar heated and hardened into rounds or different molded shapes like roses or fruits or a few animals, and the ever-popular bonbons, caramels, French creams or marzipan. Pride tugged at him. He and his assistant had created all of this with their own hands… and the help of punch machines for the hard candies as well as copper kettle drums that allowed chocolate and sugar to melt without constant stirring.

  The last five years of his life hadn’t been wasted. In fact, he really should thank Evangeline for the courtesy of refusing him. Had he gone on to marry her as he’d planned, would he have had the courage to open the shop or even learn a trade? Interesting concept, that. In marriage, what would he have done with his life, and would he have stumbled upon his ambition?

  “I have always wondered what the inside of this place looked like.” The dulcet tones of her voice recalled his attention to her, and he started, almost forgetting she stood within the culmination of his life’s work.

  “Why have you never come in?” That would have been a trick. Imagine looking up from his creating and spying her coming through the door.

  “I’m not certain.” She moved along the counter, intently studying the sweets behind the glass and in the jars. “Perhaps I was not properly motivated. More to the point, I never had the time to linger in any of the shops while in London. I am always bound by appointments or catching trains.”

  What had called her away? A wry smile twisted his lips. “If you had, I suppose this impending conversation would have occurred that much sooner. We might not even be here in this moment.” If they’d both met each other before and conducted a proper goodbye, would she be married to someone else? A stab of jealousy gripped him for a fictional man he’d not met doing a deed that had not occurred. He shot a speculative glance her way, but nothing in her bearing revealed her marital status.

  Buggar that. It matters not. He’d do well to remember.

  “True.” To a casual observer one would never know he and she shared a history. Is this what they’d become now, strangers struggling to find a topic of mutual interest? “How did you embark on such an occupation?”

  Jasper removed his gloves and then tossed them onto a marble-inlaid table. “Because of you, actually.” He shrugged out of his overcoat and draped it over the back of a dainty, wrought iron chair.

  “Me?” Shock exploded around the one-word inquiry. “What had I to do with it?” She whipped off her gloves.

  “Well, when a man is as soundly humiliated as I was, he must find something completely different and far removed from his previous life as he can.” Jasper didn’t care that the words might be too harsh. He was never given a chance to ask why she’d left, let alone offered the opportunity to fix what might have gone wrong between them.

  “I thought you would have landed on your feet, much like a cat, and you could have depended upon your family. You were always resourceful.” Her shoulders drooped a bit, but she didn’t face him. “It was for the best. You would have come to see that sooner or later.” The last was said in a whisper so he had to drift closer in order to hear. “We wouldn’t have been happy with marriage.”

  A muscle at the corner of his left eye began to twitch—a sure sign his ire was up. “We will never know.” Why did she not understand that marriage between two people was a work in progress, where each party stood by the other in times of both trial and triumph? “You had no right to decide that for me.” Feeling confident he had the upper hand, he moved behind the display cases. At the back counter, he filled a copper tea kettle with water from the nearby faucet then set it on the adjacent small stove. When the flame kissed the kettle’s bottom, he finally turned and found Evangeline as she inspected a case of bonbons as if her life depended upon it.

  “I did not, yet I had every right to decide what was best for me.” She straightened and caught his gaze. “You had no right to set my future for me.” With efficient movements, she tossed her gloves onto a table and then she worked the buttons down the front of her long, green jacket. Once the final one popped free of its hole, she shrugged out of the drenched garment.

  His eyebrows sailed into his hairline. “As if marriage to me was akin to being chained by the ankle to an ogre under his bridge.”

  “Don’t be droll, Jasper. It’s not becoming.” Evangeline held up the limp velvet. “Is there a hook or coat rack or shall I tote this around like a parcel?”

  Embarrassment burned up the back of his neck. “Yes. Just there.” He gestured toward the corner nearest the door even as he roved his gaze up and down her person. The ivory blouse trimmed with lace was sheer enough that he glimpsed an equally lace-ed
ged camisole beneath. The green velvet skirt with its smart brown, wide, leather belt emphasized her slender waist and the flair of her rounded hips. Time had indeed been kind to her, or rather had further enhanced the beauty she’d always had. With effort, he wrenched his attention away and checked the near-boiling water in the kettle. “Pardon me for not being as solicitous as I should.” What an idiot he was to not invite her to remove her wet clothes.

  “As I said before, it has been a trying night—apparently for both of us.” After she’d hung up the garment, she drifted toward one of the tiny, round tables that seated two and then alighted upon a wrought iron chair. The volume of her skirting swallowed up the dainty piece. In the process of arranging said skirting, he caught sight of a trim ankle encased in a serviceable pair of brown leather half-boots. At the last second, he stifled a groan. Had they been able to work out the issues separating them years ago, he could have intimately known that siren’s body.

  Dear God in heaven, help me not make a fool of myself.

  “Indeed.” He cleared his throat and was thankful to spend the next few minutes attending to preparing the tea. The turn of her ankle or the voluptuousness of her figure didn’t tempt him in the least. What he needed to do was pick a fight, one he’d been craving ever since he’d seen her alone on that platform. He wanted her to hurt the way she had hurt him five years ago, the way he still ached now whenever he thought of what could have been. “In any event, shortly after you showed me how much I was worth in your eyes, I experienced a crisis of identity.”

  Silence reigned through the emporium as he loaded a tea tray with all the accoutrements of that repast. Giving into the wild streak of deviltry residing deep down inside, he added a small plate to the tray and placed a collection of four bonbons on it. It was what he fondly called the “broken heart” assortment. Actually, it was quite a decent seller among both males and females, which was why he’d not retired it after he’d laid Evangeline’s defection to rest.