The de Claire auxiliary kitchen—now officially the "R&D Lab"—was a hive of joyous, chaotic activity. The air was a heady perfume of melting chocolate, baking pastry, and vanilla. Chef Antoine, now a zealous convert, followed Evelyn's instructions with the focus of a disciple learning sacred texts. Her army of pastry chefs was growing more confident by the day.
The prototypes were piling up, each more delicious than the last. They had perfected the cream puff. The tiramisu was a work of layered genius. The fruit tarts were miniature mosaics, glistening under a thin apricot glaze.
Evelyn took a bite of a freshly made lemon meringue tartlet, the tangy curd and sweet, fluffy meringue creating a perfect explosion on her tongue. It was divine. It was marketable. It was… a problem.
Okay, so I have a product line, she thought, leaning against a flour-dusted worktable. And a production facility. But I have zero marketing.
She was Evangeline de Claire, the villainess-in-progress, recently rebranded as the "eccentric broccoli girl." If she suddenly tried to sell cakes, the nobility would assume they were either poisoned or a very elaborate, very weird prank. She needed someone to vouch for her. She needed a face for the brand.
I need an influencer, her modern brain supplied. Someone with a sterling reputation, massive social reach, and a universally beloved public image.
Her mind cycled through the cast of the novel. The snobby countesses? No. The gossipy baronesses? Definitely not. The Crown Prince? Too much political baggage.
Then, the answer hit her with the force of a perfectly baked soufflé rising in the oven. It was obvious. It was terrifying. And it was brilliant.
There was only one person in the entire kingdom who was universally adored, trusted, and admired for her impeccable taste and gentle nature.
Isabella. The heroine.
Evelyn's survival instincts screamed, 'Stay away from the plot's main character!' But her inner entrepreneur screamed louder, 'She's your key demographic and your best marketing tool rolled into one!'
Business won.
The next afternoon, Evelyn found herself standing outside the modest but elegant townhouse of Viscount Arlington, Isabella's father. In her hands, a footman carried a specially prepared mahogany box. Inside, nestled on beds of silk paper, sat her three champions: a perfect, powdered-sugar-dusted cream puff; a miniature tiramisu in a delicate glass cup; and a jewel-like raspberry and blueberry tart.
This wasn't a social call. This was a pitch meeting.
Isabella received her in a bright, sunlit parlor filled with potted hydrangeas and the scent of lemon verbena. She was the picture of grace, pouring tea with a steady hand, though her sky-blue eyes held a hint of polite curiosity. A visit from Evangeline de Claire was, to put it mildly, unexpected.
"Lady Evangeline," Isabella began with a warm smile, "it is a pleasant surprise to see you. I do hope you are feeling better than you were at the ball?"
"Much better, thank you," Evelyn said, deciding to skip the pleasantries. "In fact, I've come here on a matter of business."
Isabella blinked. "Business?"
"Indeed." Evelyn nodded to her footman, who placed the mahogany box on the low table between them. With a flick of her wrist, Evelyn opened the lid.
The effect was instantaneous. Isabella's polite smile was replaced by a soft, audible gasp. The three desserts sat like jewels in a case, looking utterly unlike anything she had ever seen before.
"Lady Evangeline… what are these?" she breathed, her eyes wide with wonder.
"This is the future," Evelyn said dramatically, pointing to the cream puff. "That is a choux pastry filled with vanilla crème pâtissière. This," she indicated the tart, "is a sable crust with a lemon cream filling and fresh berries. And this…" she tapped the glass cup, "is something entirely new."
Isabella looked from the desserts to Evelyn, her initial caution melting away into pure fascination. "May I?"
"I insist."
With delicate reverence, Isabella picked up the cream puff. She took a small bite. Her eyes fluttered shut. "It's… it's like eating a cloud," she whispered. "So light. And the cream…"
Next, she tried the tart. A small, happy sigh escaped her lips as the tangy lemon and sweet berries met the crisp, buttery crust. But it was the tiramisu that broke her composure entirely. She dipped the tiny silver spoon in, scooping up a portion of the creamy, coffee-soaked layers.
The moment it touched her tongue, her eyes shot open. "Good heavens," she said, her voice full of shock and delight. "What is that flavor? It's bold, and rich, and… nothing like I've ever tasted. Is that… coffee?"
"It is," Evelyn confirmed, watching her keenly. Isabella's reaction was even better than she had hoped.
"Evangeline," Isabella said, forgetting the formalities and using her first name, "these are… they are masterpieces."
This was her opening. Evelyn leaned forward, her voice dropping, filled with the genuine passion she felt for her project.
"They're more than that, Isabella. They're an idea. I picture a place, not a stuffy banquet hall, but a beautiful, elegant café. A place where ladies can meet in the afternoon, not just for tea, but for a slice of something wonderful. A place filled with light, conversation, and desserts like these. No politics, no courtly intrigue. Just… sweetness."
Isabella stared at her, utterly captivated. This wasn't the sharp-tongued, cold-hearted villainess of rumor. This was a passionate artist, a visionary. Evelyn's idea painted a picture of something new and exciting, a welcome escape from the rigid social obligations of their world.
"But to do that," Evelyn concluded, her calculating side re-emerging, "I need a partner. Someone with an impeccable reputation. Someone people trust. Someone who, if they say a dessert is divine, the entire capital will line up to taste it."
The implication hung in the air.
Isabella looked at the half-eaten tiramisu, then back at Evelyn's intense, hopeful green eyes. A slow, brilliant smile spread across her face. This was bold. This was unconventional. It was the most exciting idea she had heard in her entire life.
"I've always wanted to be involved in something," Isabella confessed, a new spark in her eyes. "Something real. Not just embroidery and tea parties."
She placed her spoon down with a decisive clink.
"I'm in," Isabella declared, her voice full of a newfound, firm conviction. "I'll invest. I'll help you secure a location. I will tell everyone I know. Evangeline, let's do it. Let's build a dessert empire."
Evelyn felt a rush of genuine warmth that had nothing to do with business. She had come for an influencer; she had found an ally. The heroine of the story wasn't her rival. She was her first believer.
Forgetting all noble propriety, Evelyn grinned and reached across the table, offering a hand. "It's a deal, partner."
Isabella took her hand and shook it firmly, her gentle smile now beaming with excitement. "A Sweetheart Alliance."
The villainess and the heroine had just become business partners. The world wasn't ready.