“Thank you,” Mr. Quinn murmured. He sent a quick glance toward the bookcase his niece was still hiding behind and proceeded to help the two women find what they wanted.
A purchase was made along with an order, and the pair soon departed with a polite, “Good day.”
Anthony sent a quick look toward the bookcase. Leaning toward Mr. Quinn, he asked, his voice low, “How long has your niece been binding books for you?”
“I suppose it must be…” He stopped himself with a grin and tapped the side of his nose before retreating once more.
“Sorry,” said Miss Quinn as she stepped back into view. With a hesitant glance directed toward the door, she moved back into position behind the counter. “Let’s finish this order, shall we?”
“Have you ever considered letting customers know that you work here?” Anthony asked, leaning against the counter.
“I don’t really,” Miss Quinn informed him, her voice a bit edgy as she began wrapping his books.
“That’s not the impression I’m getting,” he murmured.
Her gaze shot toward his. “This is an irregularity. I… Please, you mustn’t say a word. If it became known that an unmarried woman works here, the shop’s reputation could be ruined. To say nothing about mine or my uncle’s. Please, Mr. Gibbs, I hope you won’t–”
“You needn’t worry. I shan’t tell a soul.”
She expelled a visible sigh of relief, and he noted her fingers trembled as she tied the string to hold the brown paper in place.
Regretting his comment and how anxious it clearly made her, he tried to think of something else to say – a subject to steer her attention elsewhere. An apology might do the trick.
He opened his mouth.
“I’ll require an address for you along with the payment. So your books can be delivered when they arrive.”
“Right.” He retrieved the coins he owed and placed them on the counter. “I could just stop by and check from time to time.”
She gave him an odd look. “I suppose so.”
He flattened his mouth. She’d already shared a great deal about herself with him. Hiding his true self from her felt wrong. It wasn’t the honorable way in which to start a new friendship.
“Number 2 Berkley Square,” he said and watched as she jotted that down. When she finished, she added his name. Mr. Gibbs. Anthony took a deep breath. “There’s a…ahem…slight error in need of correcting.”
“Oh?” She stared at her note. “Forgive me, but I don’t see it.”
“It’s the name.”
“Ah. Just one ‘b’ rather than two? I’ll just–”
He caught her hand to halt her movement and everything stilled, except the beat of his heart, which was thumping so hard he feared she might hear it. Her sharp intake of breath suggested she had.
He withdrew his hand slowly. “My name isn’t exactly Mr. Gibbs. Not formally speaking. I… Promise me what I’m about to share won’t change what’s between us. I need to know that you won’t perceive me differently.”
She knit her brow. “That would honestly be an impossible promise to make without knowing what you’ve been hiding. But I’ve enjoyed our conversations so far and would like to believe nothing will influence that.”
“The name should read, His Grace, the Duke of Westcliffe.”
6
Three whole days had passed since Mr. Gibbs – the duke – had shocked Ada into silence. For several moments after his life-altering confession, she’d wondered if she’d been struck in the head by another book. She’d then proceeded to ponder the probability of two such occurrences happening to the same woman in the space of one week and hadn’t realized her mouth had been hanging open until the duke asked if she was all right.
Embarrassment didn’t begin to describe the emotional calamity she’d experienced. Riotous thoughts and feelings had stormed her brain as she’d struggled to regain her composure.
Not only because of who he was, but because of the tragedy that was attached to his title. She’d been dismayed when she’d read of it in the paper – three dukes, all simultaneously killed when they’d gone to purchase some livestock and a cow pen exploded.
Words had failed her when she’d realized she stood before one of these men’s sons, frozen, with no idea how to respond.
Since their first encounter, she’d known Mr. Gibbs to be a man of elevated status. His attire, the gentlemanly air about him, and the way he moved, all attested to this. She’d known he stood apart from her sphere of existence.
And yet, in some strange way, a bridge had formed between her world and his. They’d chatted, laughed a little, gotten along. It had, she reflected, felt as though there might have been a chance for a deeper connection. A slim chance, perhaps, but a chance nonetheless.
Until he’d told her he was a duke.
Good lord. She might as well dream of wearing a gown made from stardust to the next ball. She felt like a fool. No, she was a fool. Allowing herself to hope a man of Mr. Gibbs’s caliber would ever shower her with romantic attention was absolutely preposterous. Even while he’d been just Mr. Gibbs. Now that she knew him to be a duke, this line of pondering was downright mortifying.
“You’re distracted today,” Harriet said, prompting Ada to blink.
She’d come to the cozy space rented by the Earl of Rosemont’s youngest daughter, Lady Emily Brooke, for the monthly book club meeting she’d been attending this past year. The club was open to fellow enthusiasts and encouraged women from all social stations to join.
There were presently twenty members, including Emily’s grandmother, the Viscountess Attersby, who was an absolute delight. Outspoken and energetic, the older woman would always fill her teacup with brandy before conveying her thoughts on the latest novel they’d all been assigned.
The meetings offered a lovely diversion from everyday life.
She glanced at her friend, aware she ought to say something. Unwilling to bring up Mr. Gibbs, she said, “I’m sorry. It’s been a busy week at the shop.”
“That’s a good thing, isn’t it?” Harriet asked, taking another sip of tea. Her curly red hair was unfashionably short, but the locks still had a charming effect, which was further enhanced by her forest green eyes.
“Certainly,” Ada agreed. She bit her lip and watched as the other book club members began taking their leave. “How about you? Are you still working yourself to the bone or have you been able to get some more rest?”
“I’m here, aren’t I?” Harriet shrugged. “My job doesn’t allow for much rest, but I’ll not complain about it, Ada. You know well enough that I love what I do and that I can’t afford to risk losing the pay.”
Following the deaths of both her parents, most recently her father, Harriet had been left to care for her significantly younger twelve-year-old sister, Lucy. Despite being born into gentry, neither Harriet nor her sister had been provided for in their father’s will, since said will had been non-existent.
As a result, everything had gone to a rather detestable cousin who’d tossed them both out of their home immediately after the funeral. It was a blessing that Harriet had managed to find good employment, though Ada often wondered whether the lengths she’d been forced to in order to do so were worth it.