Page 18 of The Sweetest Season
“All right.So what is the ingredient you wish to have for it?”
“Just this.”He handed her a folded paper.Always before, he’d simply told her.
“The dinner takes place on Saturday evening.Around five would be a good time to arrive.Farewell, Miss Holliday.”
Noel left, as if swept away by winter wind, though Emmanuel stayed.
“New Jersey again,” Beatrice said, not really thinking of anything in particular.
“Yes,” Emmanuel supplied, ever helpful.“He’s finally well enough to visit the family that hosted him during his captivity.They are spending the winter in New Jersey, of all places, not far from New York City.He promised the young lady—Isabel, she’s called—that he’d visit when he could.They’ve corresponded ever since he left Halifax, but he hasn’t seen her since then.And now he can!”
Emmanuel looked so happy at this announcement that Beatrice just stayed stone quiet.No one knew how she felt about Noel, so why should they be concerned when her heart was slowly cracking?
Noel was returning to the place where he’d been held captive, to the person he remembered most fondly during his captivity.
Isabel.
Bea turned away, fleeing to the kitchen.She found it hard to breathe, hard to stay upright.He’d flirted with her, teased her, played with her.And then left the first moment he could.
She’d almost forgotten the paper in her hand, the one Noel gave to her as if it were a playful little game.Unfolding the paper, she frowned, not understanding the message for a long, long moment.
Then she understood everything, all too well.
Flames of indignation flickered inside.
Beatrice crumpled the paper and tossed it into the dustbin behind the counter, vowing to never trust a man again.
No one else ever read that paper.Ivy carried out the rubbish every evening, and that paper would soon be burned.
But if someone could read it, they would see only a single word:Beatrice.
Chapter 7
Beatrice never felt so humiliatedin her life.She liked Noel Forrest.No, she more than liked him.She’d allowed him into her heart because he’d been interested and interesting, and had honey-gold eyes and he could kiss her hand while looking at her with those eyes.
He could have asked her for nearly anything in those moments, and she’d likely say yes to whatever it was.Because, for some reason, she trusted him.
Only to learn that he had another woman he’d loved for years, and that Beatrice was little more than a dalliance, a way to rekindle the man’s heat before he returned to the one he truly wanted.
And then he had to go and play a trick like that, asking for her by name.As if she were nothing more than a thing to be bought and sold.Aflavor.
Ivy poked her head in the doorway.“Excuse me, miss, but there’s a gentleman to see you.”
“I’m not speaking to Mr Forrest!”
“Oh, I don’t think he’s back from his journey yet.It’s a different gentleman.He gives his name as Mr Darby and requests a few minutes of your time.”
“Very well.”Bea walked toward the door, but was stopped by Ivy, who made her change into a fresh apron, and then tided her hair.
“Much better,” Ivy whispered.“Go.”
Beatrice stepped through to the front of the shop, where a gray-haired man in black was standing in front of the case of pastries with the expression of one who has glimpsed heaven.
“Mr Darby, you asked for me?”
He turned and gave a polite bow.“Are thee Miss Holliday?”
“I am, sir.”She didn’t recognize the gentleman, but from his speech he was obviously a Quaker.“How may I help you today?”
