She shook her head. “Not that I recall, no.” Although Matthew had on occasion.
A dreamy expression came over her mum’s face, followed by a faraway look, the past passing before her eyes. “My husband made me laugh. Oh, we had some good times, we did.”
“And my father? Did he make you laugh?”
As though awoken from a pleasant dream, she gave a little jerk and snapped her attention back to Fancy. “Of course, love. I wouldn’t have been with him otherwise. Now, tell me more about these fellas you danced with.”
“There’s not much more to say. I had a fine time visiting with the gents, but none made my heart sing.” She scooted to the edge of her seat. “Mum, what if the man capable of making my heart sing isn’t a lord?”
Her mum’s face went through a series of contortions as though she were striving not to let her disappointment show. “You have to follow your heart, naturally, but wouldn’t it be nice if it led you to a dukedom?”
She had a feeling her mum didn’t really realize what she was asking. Like so many, she’d placed the aristocracy as a whole upon a pedestal. “There aren’t that many dukes, and Gillie already claimed one.” Did she have to sound like a petulant child? “It’s just... there’s a gent who comes into the shop, and he’s rather nice. I find myself thinking about him quite a bit. To be honest, Mum, the men I met last night all seem to run together. Not a one really stood out.”
“You might meet someone at the next ball who does.”
“I suppose. I haven’t really given it much time, have I?”
Her mum studied her for a full minute before saying, “Tell me about the gent who comes into your shop.”
What could she say that wouldn’t give away she’d actually done things with him without a chaperone, had kissed him, had given him permission to do something he shouldn’t have? “He likes penny dreadfuls. He’s teaching my reading classes on the nights I can’t be there. I’ve seen him give coins to children. And he’s shown a great deal of patience with Dickens. When he’s about, I feel as though my entire body is smiling. And he’s made me laugh a couple of times.” And wiped my tears.
“He sounds right jolly. Has he set his cap for you, do you think?”
She smiled, felt the heat warming her cheeks. “No, I think he’s just friendly.” Exceedingly friendly. “But I don’t want to disappoint—” Closing her eyes, she released a sigh. “It was one ball, one night.” She opened her eyes. “I’m certain in time I’ll meet some lord who will sweep me off my feet.”
“As long as you’re happy, love, that’s all that matters.”
At eight, Timmy Tubbins had an honest, but dirty face with large, guileless brown eyes that, in all of Fancy’s dealings with him, had never once not been steady as they held her gaze. Thanks to Matthew, as she examined the tattered book with several pages that had come loose of their mooring, she doubted the lad. “Where did you say you found it?”
“In Whitechapel, in the street, just lyin’ there, abandoned loike.”
“Not from a bookstall, where it could have been easily plucked from a cart or box?”
“No, Miss Trewlove. That’d be stealin’, woodn’t it? I ain’t no thief.”
He appeared truly hurt that she’d questioned the origins of his find, and she felt guilty about having done so. It was one of the better ones he’d brought to her. With a little loving care, she could restore it to its former glory, having become quite skilled at book restoration, hating the thought of the life of any tome coming to an end. “A shilling, then.”
His grin caused two large dimples to form on either side of his mouth, and she suspected it was those dimples that had her believing him. He held up a hand that was slightly grimier than his face. “Deal.”
She removed the coin from her till. Reaching into an onyx box, she retrieved a wooden token that Gillie had first begun passing around in an effort to feed those who would go without sustenance otherwise. Handing both items over to him, she suspected he’d purposely planned the timing of his arrival to ensure he had a free late midday meal that would keep his stomach from grumbling until morning. “Go to the pub and get yourself a bowl of soup.”
He doffed his flat-cap. “Thanks, miss.”
He rushed to the door, opened it, and then stepped back, holding it ajar as though he were a trained footman as three ladies walked past him, two scowling at him, while the third, Lady Penelope, reached into her reticule, pulled out a coin, and handed it to him. “Thanks, miss!”
He dashed out, slamming the door in his wake. Fancy grimaced at the sound as she moved away from the counter to greet her three new guests. “Good afternoon, Ladies Penelope, Victoria, and Alexandria. How wonderful it is to see you.”
“You still remember our names,” Lady Penelope said, smiling brightly.
“I’m not likely to forget them now. What brings you here?”
“You, of course. We so enjoyed visiting with you last night that we wanted to call upon you.”
“We had no chance to speak with you again after Lord Dearwood took you out onto the floor,” Lady Victoria said. “My word, you had so many dance partners that you must have worn a hole in the sole of your slippers.”
“Not quite.” Although she had come close.
“Lady Aslyn had informed my mother that if we wanted to call on you, we were to go to her residence at the Trewlove Hotel,” Lady Penelope continued, “but when we disembarked from the carriage, Alexandria noticed the name of this shop—The Fancy Book Emporium—and we thought it must surely be yours! How cleverly you named it.”
