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The Duke of Pelham desires a brand-new confection to win the Season’s loveliest lady. Naturally, he turns to London’s premiere chocolatier for assistance.
Amity has never had a customer quite like the duke. In status, he’s far above ordinary men, yet he is one of the friendliest, funniest, and most engaging males she has ever met.
As the duke enters the scrumptious world of confectionery, he discovers the chocolate-maker is as delightful—and tempting—as her creations. While Amity designs the perfect proposal chocolate, her heart begins to wish the duke could be her very own mouthwatering reward.
Join Amity and her duke on a chocolate-filled romance in the heart of Mayfair, where nobility often acts in a less-than noble fashion. Will the upper-echelon of society sour their happiness and keep them from the sweetest of endings?
Engaging characters, attention to period detail, and heartfelt romance — you’ll find it all in the stories by USA Today bestselling author of historical romance, Sydney Jane Baily.
Read an Excerpt from The Duchess of Chocolate
Chapter One
1877, London
The female whom Henry sought was practically prancing along New Bond Street dressed in a plum-colored gown, a stylish hat on her head with the identifying sapphire blue feather he’d been told to look for. He liked her on sight. If she’d been a dour, gray-clad woman, he would have doubted her ability to create the sweet magic of which he’d heard.
His driver pulled over when Henry tapped upon the ceiling of the carriage. Leaning out the window, he, then, called her name with a slight query to his voice, though he had no doubt it was she.
“Miss Rare-Foure?”
He waited for her to turn and respond. After all, he didn’t want to be accused of accosting the wrong female. Actually, he didn’t want to be accused of accosting any female when it came right down to it. He hoped after they’d spoken, she wouldn’t be accusing him of anything except a pleasant arrangement.
He smirked to himself. In any case, no one accused a duke of being indecorous. He could say that with all the smug certainty in the world for it was true.
The woman in the plum dress stopped, barely able to hold her own against the tide of passersby, and stared directly at him—mahogany-colored eyes in creamy skin, dark hair escaping from under her feathered hat, and a hesitant, questioning expression.
Since she was carrying parcels restricting her movements, she couldn’t even raise a hand to swipe the tendril of hair that crossed her face as she turned.
“Who wishes to know?”
With that saucy statement, she seemed to acknowledge her identity, and then her gaze darted over the coat of arms on his carriage, and he watched her eyes widen.
Not awaiting his footman, he popped open the door and stepped out.
“I do.” Henry offered her a shallow bow, a greeting she tried to return in the form of a deep curtsey befitting his status, but she could hardly manage with her packages. She ought to have a servant assisting her.
Before she could drop anything, he reached out and took the bag, perched atop a box she held with both hands.
“Oh,” she gave a little yelp of surprise, then said, “Much obliged, my lord.”
He started slightly. No one had called him anything other than “Your Grace” since his father passed away, transforming Henry into the Duke of Pelham.
“Will you enter my carriage for a private tête-a-tête? I mean, with your maid, of course.” He looked past her for any such person.
“Oh,” she said again in a slightly different tone, her rich brown eyes looking directly into his. “That’s redundant, my lord.”
“I beg your pardon?” What was the woman on about?
“A tête-a-tête is, by nature, a private discussion, and thus, there is no need—”
“I take your point,” he said, not keen on being corrected by her. “I must tell you, I do not have a chaperone inside,” he admitted, gesturing to his carriage. “Do you have a companion with you?”
“No,” she said, glancing past him to where his coachman and footman awaited. “Nevertheless, I shall enter your carriage for two reasons. One, you are a well-known gentleman with a longstanding, spotless reputation, and two, because your coat of arms is plain to see, so obviously you cannot be engaged in anything remotely nefarious. We shall, of course, leave the shades up and the windows down. Agreed?”
“Yes, naturally.” He watched her take a breath. She was a whirlwind, but hopefully not a chatterbox. He didn’t have all day.
About the Author:
Sydney Jane Baily writes historical romance set in Victorian England, late 19th-century America, the Middle Ages, the Georgian era, and the Regency period. She believes in happily-ever-after stories for an already-challenging world.
Born and raised in California,
she has traveled the world, spending a lot of exceedingly happy time in the
U.K. where her extended family resides, eating fish and chips, drinking
shandys, and snacking on Maltesers and Cadbury bars.
After obtaining degrees in
English literature and in history, besides writing novels, she has spent time
as a copyeditor, cat snuggler, website designer, production editor, mother of
two, and faithful friend to her dog, among other endeavors both literary and
not.
Sydney currently lives in New
England with her family — human, canine, and feline.
You can learn more about her books, read her blog, and
contact her via her Website and sign up for her newsletter here.
Follow her on BookBub.
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