The Chocolatier's Wife (28 page)

She
didn’t
know
what
to
say.
To
say
yes
would
involve
a long
story,
but to say no
would make
matters worse.

“Sister,
you’re
not
trying
to
sell
this
poor, distraught
thing
a
bonnet? Why,
the wedding may
never
occur!”

“That
is
most
unkind.
Don’t
listen
to
her,
Miss
Bey.
And
forgive
me
if
I seem
ino
p
portune,
simply
the
ribbon on
this
warms your
eyes.
You
would look
the perfect dream in
it.”

How
would
a
silver
ribbon
warm
anyone’s
eyes?
“It
is
fine,
very
fine
work,
but I
fear that...
”

“See?
You
were
inopportune.”
The
less
bold
one
said,
smacking
her sister on
the arm,
lightly, with a
pair
of matching gloves.

“Though I am overwhelmed by your kindness, I must allow my future
mother-in-law’s opinion
to inform
my choices in
the matter.”

They
looked
at
her.
They
looked
at
each
other. They
tried
not
to
break out
laug
h
ing.
They
would
not
say
what
they
found
so
funny,
and
she
excused herself and
conti
n
ued on,
breathing gratefully of the outside air.

She
had
real
hopes
for
the
chemist’s,
for
it
was
right
across
the
street
from the
shop,
and
she
was
certain
he
must
have
seen
something
worthwhile.
It was
not
the
best
chemist
’
s
she
had
ever
been
in, for while
it
was
extremely clean,
there
was
not
a
great
deal
of
variety.
The
small,
dark-haired
customer who was arguing with the clerk
wasn’t
apparently impressed, either.

“But
you
promised
that
the
lenses
would
be
here
in
a
month,
sir,
and
‘tis
now g
o
ing on
two.”

“The
lenses
for
your
type
of
microscope,
sir,
are
quite
rare, and
so
the shipping
will
take
longer. After
all,
we
cannot be
responsible
for
how
long things take to come from
across
the sea.
Wind,
weather.” He shrugged.

“The
lenses
are
supposed
to
come
from the
capital,
my
good
man, and though
there
are
a
few
formidable
rivers between
here
and
there,
I
do
not think
one can
call them seas.”

She barely managed not to laugh, partly because she was worried that the
apoth
e
cary,
when
her
turn
came,
would
not
be
so
kind.

“Very
well,”
the customer
said, “I
shall
look and
see
if
there
is
anything
on
your
shelves
I can
possibly use.” His tone was doubtful.

She
was
not
mistaken
in
her
fears.
The
apothecary
stared
at
her
across the
counter,
in
his
sharply
ironed
black
and
white
stripped
apron,
while
she began her overtures,
looking
quite unimpressed. She did not get far.

“I
saw nothing.
I
do not wish to have
any
part in
this.”

She
stopped
abruptly.
The
man
was
rude,
much
more
so
than
he
needed to be.
“But William
of Almsley...”
she began,
hoping to coax
him
around.

“Has managed to bring
down the value of our
district. My business has suffered
greatly
because
of
him!
And
he’ll
be
bringing
a
Tarnia
Hag
in
to
be his
wife.
Imagine,
a
hag
and
a
murderer,
on
our
street?
We’ll
be
lucky
if
we can
keep our
doors open past Light Day!”

Tasmin
blinked.
She
blinked
again.
“I
come
from
the
North.
A
little town
under
the
dominion
of
Tarnia.
I
also
have
the
honor
of
being
William’s intended.”
Her
voice,
if
the
sprites
had
been
around, would
have
caused them to react by freezing every liquid in
the shop.

“Well.
”
H
e
sniffe
d
an
d
rubbe
d
th
e
pristin
e
whit
e
counte
r
wit
h
a
pristine whit
e
cloth
.
Th
e
customer
,
lookin
g
a
t
a
displa
y
o
f
powdere
d
roots
,
snorted
.

“I
suppose,”
she
said,
“it
is
most
fortunate
that
there
is
a chemist
just
a road
over,
is it not?”
And
she turned on
her heel and
left.

She
was
so
angry
as
she
walked
down
the
street
that
one
of
the
sprites, drawn
by
her
obvious
upset,
raced
around
her,
kicking
up
leaves
and
dirt
in her wake,
angrily
diving
through a
tree, shaking
loose a
last few leaves and some
twigs.
Worthless,
us
e
less
day!
Would
that
she
had
never
awakened
to it.
Other
sprites
joined
the
one,
for
they
rarely
ran
singly,
and
she
realized that
she
was
leaving
a
wake
of
dust
and
d
e
bris.
Andrew,
waiting
on
the shop’s
back
doorstep,
looked
quite
taken
aback, and
she
forced
herself
to calm
down,
hoping
her
sprites
would,
as
well.
They
flew ahead
of
her
and threw the door open, ever helpful.

He
paused,
looked
back at
her,
and
then
looked
at
the
huge
stack of papers
and
books
in
his
arms
before
stumbling
inside.
She
marched
up
the three
steps
and
into
the
room,
the
door
slamming
behind
her
dramatically as
the
sprite
took
out
the
a
b
sorbed
anger
on
it.
Andrew
jumped,
and
papers went
scattering
throughout
the
kitchen. She
felt
the
corner
of
her
lips tighten,
then
forced
herself
inward,
forced
the
passions
surging
around
her heart
to
become
calm,
tranquil,
imagining
her
spirit
as
a
deep,
peaceful lake.
When
she
opened
her
eyes
she
felt
a
tiny
bit
better,
enough
to
attempt some
façade
of
calm.
Sheets
of
paper
were
floating
through
the
air
and stacking themselves, somewhat askew,
on
the table.