The Chocolatier's Wife (33 page)

The room held no clues to young William’s past; it was clean, the furniture
was
nice—in
short,
it
looked
like
no
one
had
ever
lived
in
it
at all.
She
would
have
thought
she
were
in the
wrong
room
if
not
for
her
own cases, stacked neatly at the foot of the bed.

“I
never
thought
William so
terrible.
He
never
seemed
to
mind
my oddities,” she said,
feeling a
bit awkward.

“Well,
William will
let
it
slide
because
of
your
culture.
It
is
quite understandable that
you
don’t
know
any
better.” Bonny
sighed.
“Henriette will
not.” She
walked
over to
the
window
and
pushed
the
curtains
open. Tasmin
cast Bonny
back
a
foul look.

“You’ve
managed
to
deal
well
enough,”
Tasmin
ventured,
trying
to
keep her tone light. Don’t
know
better, indeed!

Bonny
looked
over
her
shoulder
and
grinned.
“Partly
because
I’m
pretty and
my
fa
m
ily
makes
more
money
than
the
Almsleys.
I
was
considered
quite
a
boon
when
the
dish
threw
my
name
out.”
Then,
realizing
the
implications of what she’d said,
she winced.

“Don’t
worry;
I
know
what
William’s
family
thought
of
me—exactly
what my family thought of him.” Bonny
smiled but said nothing.

“What
do
you
think
of
this
whole
mess?”
Tasmin
sat
on the
edge
of
the
bed, bunching the covers in her fist
where Bonny couldn’t see.

“First, I think
that
it’s very sweet
that
you
came; and he’d
better
marry you
while
you’re
here.
What is
he
waiting
for,
until
neither
of
you
can produce
children?
Se
c
ondly,
I
think
that
William’s
arrest
was
all
a
dreadful mistake,
but fortunately it’s
been resolved.”

“I
hope so.”
She smoothed the covers
out again
carefully.

Bonny
came
and
sat
beside
her.
“Of
course
things
are
fine now.
We— you
and
I—will
plan
the
wedding
behind
the
old
girl’s
back.
I’ll
tell
her that
this
or
that
was
the
style
at
some
nobleman’s
wedding,
and
all
will
be splendid!”

“Of course.” Her smile was forced; yet she still received a hug for her efforts.
A
moment
later
Bonny
leapt
up.
“I
am
going
to
go
see
if
Andrew
is downstairs
and
find
out
his
plans.
I’ll
see
you
soon,
sister.
Don’t
let
the
ogre get to you,
her sons know
her nature.”

Her
sons
know
her
nature?
Not
comforting,
really.
How
often
will
I
have to
give
way
because
it
is
her
nature
and
therefore
everyone
accepts it?

She
crossed
to
the
vanity, studying
her
hair.
She
hated
having left
the sprites b
e
hind, but she didn’t want to force them to acclimate to another world
and
then
rip
them
out
of
it.
Also,
she
hated
the
idea
of
having
to
force them
to
behave, and
she
was
certain
the
battle-axe
downstairs
would
not approve of her darlings’
antics.

There
was
plenty
to
do.
Her
cases
could
be
unpacked
and her
clothes hung,
but
the
very
idea
made
her
feel
restless
and
discontent.
Bored, she started
opening
some
of
the
drawers. Each
was
empty,
lined
with
slightly yellowed
tissue
paper.
The
fact
they
had
not
changed
it
made
her
wonder
if they hadn’t
expected her,
or
if they simply did not care.

The
very
bottom
one
was
filled
with
children’s
clothes
no
one
wanted to
part
with
...
a
small
jacket
meant
to
look
like
a
naval
officer’s,
tiny
shoes that
were
badly
scuffed,
a
slightly
mangled
toy
horse.
She
smiled
a
little,
thinking
the
odds
and
ends
were
adorable. She
was
reaching
for
another coat, a
little
larger,
rust
red
and
gold
wool,
when
there
was
a
knock
on
the door.

She
scooted
the
tiny
coat
under
the
bed
with
her
foot
and shut
the drawer,
stan
d
ing quickly.
“Yes?”

A
maid
came
in
with
a
piece
of
pale
blue
paper,
folded
in
sharp
quarters.
Tasmin
bowed
her
head
slightly
in
thanks
and
took
it,
waiting
for
the
woman
to leave.
Her
name
was
written
on
it
in
familiar indigo
handwriting,
and
she slipped it open, taking
it to the window to read.

I
think
my
lady
will
find
the
park
behind
this
house
charming,
even
more so if
she
consents
to visit it in half
an
hour.

William

The
half
hour
crawled,
but
the
person
who
managed
to
wait
that
eternity
and get
herself
to
the
garden
was
quite
as
pretty
as
whatever art she
possessed could
make
her. William, himself,
was
not
terrible
to
look
upon;
in
fact,
he seemed
quite
changed.
The
man who
stood
at
the
back of
the
garden
was not
the
same
one
who
had
greeted
her
in
prison. His
clothes
were
quite fashionable,
with
only
a
little
embellishment,
mostly
in
the
rich
depth
of
its blue color.
His knee breeches had gold buckles, as did his shoes.

He
bowed
coolly,
as
if
they
had
never
before
met,
and
she
returned
the courtesy
with
a
curtsey.
She
rose, and
looked
him
in
the
eyes,
her
hands folded at her waist, her expression calm.