The seller’s eyebrows rose. “You’re familiar with Montaigne?”
“I’ve read some of his work. I find his thoughts on friendship particularly moving.”
“A young woman with taste. How refreshing.”
“The most certain sign of wisdom is cheerfulness,” she said proudly.
“Excellent quote, Miss. You are most impressive!”
Eliza smiled and continued browsing. She was examining a collection of Shakespeare’s sonnets when a familiar voice spoke behind her.
“She is indeed impressive.”
Eliza turned to find the Duke standing there, his expression warm and his smile wide.
The bookseller’s eyes opened slightly, recognizing quality when he saw it. “Your Grace! I didn’t realize you were in attendance! Please allow me to help you!”
“I’m just here for the fair,” His Grace said easily. “But I couldn’t help overhearing. You were discussing Montaigne?”
“The young miss here has excellent taste in literature,” the seller said.
“I’m not surprised.” The Duke picked up a leather-bound volume. “Have you read Rousseau then, Miss Graham?”
“Some of his work, Your Grace. Though I find his views on women rather… limiting.”
The Duke laughed, a genuine, delighted sound. “A fair criticism.”
“And what of Aristotle?” She asked.
“A logical man.”
“It is the mark of an educated mind to be able to entertain a thought without accepting it,” she quoted.
“She is a wonder, Your Grace,” the bookseller said, a wide smile on his wrinkled face.
Eliza found herself relaxing, forgetting for a moment that she was supposed to be a maid, that he was a duke, that any of this mattered.
Her gaze fell on a particular volume then, a collection of Greek myths. It was beautifully illustrated, with a crimson leather binding that had been lovingly maintained. She picked it up and flipped through it carefully. The illustrations truly were exquisite. But when she turned to the inside cover, her heart sank at the price.
Far too expensive.
She set it back carefully, but she sensed that the Duke noticed.
Of course he noticed.
“I’ll take that one,” he said to the bookseller, pulling out his coin purse.
“Your Grace, you needn’t—” Eliza protested.
“Consider it a thank you. For helping with the boys.”
“You already thanked me by taking me on this outing.”
“Then consider it…a gift.” He handed the coins to the bookseller and turned to Eliza, the book in his hands. “Please. I’d like you to have it. Will you do that for me?”
Eliza opened her mouth to argue, but the look in his sharp green eyes stopped her. This mattered to him, for some reason. And refusing would only draw more attention. The gesture was too much, yet she felt impossibly happy as her cheeks grew pink.
“Thank you, Your Grace,” she said softly. “It’s very generous. I cannot wait to read it.”
