A small bell tinkled over the door as he entered, then it faded back into quiet stillness. The smells of ink and paper, of dust and leather bindings, never failed to soothe.
“Good day, milord. The book you ordered arrived this morning. I was just preparing it for shipping.” The shopkeeper, Mr. Matthews, held out a heavy encyclopedia for his examination. The binding was tight, and the leather wasn’t worn at the corners yet, although it had to be an older copy, since the bookseller had hunted it down from an estate parceling off its private library. Hundreds of pages detailing livestock ailments and cures, both common and rare.
“Excellent, Mr. Matthews. I’ll take it home with me today.”
Ethan wandered the familiar rows, brushing his hand along the spines as if greeting old friends. When he found what he sought, he couldn’t suppress a grin. Gold lettering on the cover contrasted perfectly with the dark leather binding.
The last time he’d brought a gift to Lady Charlotte, years ago, he’d chosen a small posy of peonies, if he remembered correctly. Innocuous blooms that in no way implied anything beyond I think you’re a nice person. Here, have some flowers. Tucking the slim volume under his arm, Ethan took the long route back to the counter, where Mr. Matthews wrapped the encyclopedia in paper and twine.
Since their ride yesterday, this situation with Lady Charlotte had been rolling about in his mind. Considering where they’d been less than a month ago, her offer of friendship was nothing short of miraculous. The problem was him. Yes, he wanted to be her friend—almost as much as he wanted to kiss her and hear her moan his name. Somehow, he didn’t think that was the level of amicability she sought. While being her completely platonic friend, he’d have to ignore his growing desire for her while she searched for a husband.
That might drive him mad.
Even considering impossible scenarios in which Lady Charlotte desired him in return, there was no getting around her father. The earl’s feelings regarding a match between them were clear—and that conversation had happened before Ethan went and spouted off in a bout of drunken idiocy. If Lady Charlotte ever decided she wanted him as much as he wanted her, they’d be in quite a pickle. The earl was a formidable man in both power and reputation.
He smoothed a hand over the leather volume he’d selected and set it on the counter. Friends gave one another gifts, especially when one of those friends had been dealing with something upsetting. Whatever had happened with Montague, it had cost her a night of sleep. Hopefully, the book would make her smile.
“Found something else, milord? You usually do.” Matthews grinned, his straight white teeth bright against his umber skin. The shopkeeper tallied the total, and Ethan paid on the spot, as he always did.
“This store never fails tae hold something I have tae bring home. How’s the missus? An’ your daughters? I’ve no’ seen them in the store the last few times I’ve come in.”
Mr. Matthews had a special smile reserved for the mention of his family. The man exuded sheer joy, and damned if it wasn’t impossible to not envy him a little. “Oh, the missus keeps me on my toes, but she’s a gift. The girls are both married now, one just last month, and the other is making me a grandfather in the new year. I’m a blessed man, milord,” the bookseller said.
“Sounds like it. Congratulations. Please pass along my best wishes tae your family.” Ethan gathered the two wrapped parcels and donned his hat again. “Until next time, Mr. Matthews. Be well.”
Outside, he paused to let a hackney pass before he dodged across the road. Only a couple blocks to the south stood Cal’s Bond Street tailor, where Ethan had left his horse. He stole a glance at his pocket watch. He was due to meet Mr. Macdonell at a nearby coffeehouse in an hour.
A little girl selling violets at the corner turned her large eyes on him. With a little juggle, he tucked the books under his arm and tossed a coin to the girl. He had grossly overpaid but didn’t care a whit when her smile stretched to show the gaps in her teeth. Crouching low, he let her pin the blooms to his lapel. With a tip of his hat, he swept a bow as she giggled.
Rather than fight the congestion of the shopping district all the way to the end of the street, where Cal’s tailor had been in business for decades, he ducked into the newly opened Burlington Arcade. With some of the shops standing vacant, there were fewer people in the covered shopping area. The riffraff tended to avoid the area, as the arcade’s beadles were most enthusiastic about their job. Passing the shop windows with their frills and high-priced wares, he wove through the shoppers to where the arcade opened on Piccadilly.
The tailor shop had the kind of air to it that said, Yes, we’ve been here longer than the king has been alive. Wipe your bloody feet. Ethan did just that, then looked over to see one of the tailors watching him. He recognized that scrawny face. This man, back when he was a lowly assistant, had refused to wait on Ethan the first time he’d met Cal here years ago. When Cal had explained that this was the newly titled viscount and a dear friend, the disbelieving stare would have been comical if directed at someone else. For a brief time, the assistant had thought to transform Ethan from bumpkin to fashion plate. Once the man had realized the new Viscount Amesbury didn’t care if his cravat was pressed, much less tied in a perfect waterfall knot, they’d each retreated to their respective corners, and now they eyed one another like wary ex-combatants.
Ethan followed the sounds of his friend’s voice to a lush carpeted salon, where Cal stood with another tailor’s assistant kneeling before him.
