“Yes.”
He walked toward her with smooth, lithe motions, seeming to move quickly while giving the impression of not moving at all, his steps eerily quiet as though he loathed causing any sort of disturbance. When he reached the counter, he set his package upon it in the same respectful manner that one might place a present before the Queen. “A gift for you.”
As his hat began its journey back to his head, he turned on his heel and walked silently toward the door.
“Who is it from?”
He didn’t stop, didn’t hesitate.
“Who are you?”
Without a word, he opened the door and exited her shop. She rushed after him, but by the time she’d made it out onto the pavement, he’d disappeared, leaving her to wonder if he hadn’t been a mirage. But when she returned to the counter, the package was still there. Tugging on the bow, she loosened the string and parted it, then carefully removed the paper to reveal an oversize leather book, well preserved but obviously quite old. She lifted the note resting on it, deeply touched by the inscribed words written by a meticulous hand.
“Well, you’ve certainly been brought to the right place,” she whispered, gingerly turning back the cover. As her gaze fell on the title, she released an audible gasp and pressed her hand to her mouth. This rare edition had to be worth a fortune.
“Are you well, Miss Trewlove?”
She lifted her gaze to the two young women who’d been browsing. They looked enough alike to be sisters. One was a frequent visitor. The other had never been in her shop before. “Yes, I’m quite well. Thank you for inquiring. Have you found something to your liking, Miss Sear?”
“Indeed. My sister and I are going to takeLorna Doone.” She placed the book on the counter. Originally the story had come out in three volumes, but its popularity had grown after it was released in a single, fairly inexpensive edition.
“I think you’ll enjoy it very much.”
“I don’t see how we can’t, not if it’s as romantic as claimed.”
“We so enjoy romance,” the second Miss Sear said.
“They’re my favorite as well.”
Once they’d completed the transaction and left the store, Fancy turned her attention back to Shakespeare. She couldn’t fathom who would send her such a treasure. With a great deal of care, she carried it into her office and set it on the desk.
Strange how her first thought was to find Mr. Sommersby and tell him about it. She had no doubt he would be as in awe of it as she was.
Throughout the day, she periodically popped into her office just to look at it, touch her fingers to the nearly pristine leather of the cover. Had it ever been read, or had it simply served as a prize, something to possess in order to boast about having? Now it was hers, but for what purpose?
All afternoon she pondered its arrival. After locking up, she carried thoughts of it to the pub with her, anxious to share the news of it with Mr. Sommersby. When she didn’t see hide nor hair of him, she sat at a table near the window, positioning herself so she had a clear view of the door, intent on catching his attention when he walked in.
Only he never did.
“As you can well imagine, I’m the most popular lady in London at the moment.”
Lounging in a thickly padded armchair in the Marquess of Fairhaven’s library, sipping his excellent scotch, Matthew could well imagine it, but then his sister had always garnered attention. Her dark hair and green eyes that matched his guaranteed it.
“All the ladies are calling on me, seeking information about you.” She gave him a pointed look. “And what am I to tell them, I ask you?”
It was the same question she posed each time he visited. “I’m still in mourning. I’ve taken a sabbatical from Society. I’ve flown to the moon. I don’t care, Sylvie. Tell them whatever you like.”
She downed her sherry like a sailor hitting his first pub after arriving in port following years at sea. A footman hurried over and refilled her glass. “You’re not taking this seriously. I don’t even know where you’re presently residing. Are you living on the streets?”
“Don’t be dramatic, darling,” Fairhaven said, his tone offering comfort and reassurance. He had to give his sister credit. Following their mother’s example, she’d gone after her husband’s title. He recalled once overhearing his mother chastising his sister shortly after she had her coming out. “You’ve fine cleavage, my dear girl. Use it to your advantage to lure in the gent of your choosing.”
Apparently, she had done just that. But unlike their mother, Sylvie had managed to win her husband’s heart.
“His appearance should reassure you that he is taking care of himself, even if it does appear he’s misplaced his razor.”
He almost smiled at that. He’d always liked Fairhaven.
“Have you a valet?” she asked.
