She bit her lower lip, but a giggle found its way out. “Maybe a little?”
He laughed. “More than a little is my guess. She doesn’t like me much.” He bent and looked out the window. “We are just starting down the Strand.” He pulled the curtains, then reached for her. “That means I have enough time to kiss you properly before we reach the bank.”
* * *
Kevin dealt with his own draft first, then allowed the clerk to handle Rosamund’s. With blotting paper at the ready, she dipped the pen and signed her name. She then requested some additional funds for her use.
“Those drafts will go in the mail to Forestier’s bank. It should only take a few days,” he explained while they emerged from the building. “We should receive confirmation by return post.”
“Then it is done, and I have some banknotes in my reticule and none too soon. The journey to Paris used what was left from my first withdrawal.” She took his arm and they strolled down the street. “I have a dinner being cooked for us. You can explain our next steps then.”
“We have a few hours to spare. What would you like to do?”
“I want to buy some books. The library still looks very sad.”
“Books it will be. Do you know which shop you want to visit?”
“I have never been in one. They always looked forbidding. Any shop you choose should be good enough.”
The shops could be forbidding. He knew one that was not, however. He told the carriage man to take them to Finsbury Square.
“This is one of the largest. It is called Temple of the Muses.” He explained about the muses while guiding Rosamund inside. “It can’t be too forbidding if it dubs itself the cheapest bookstore in the world. No credit, but we should have enough on us to purchase a good number of books.”
She entered, gazing around. “It is very large. Look, there is a dome.”
“Even this level is huge, and there are four stories in all. When it first opened, a mail coach and four drove inside around the center here.”
“I don’t know where to start with walls of books to choose from. I want some proper ones, though. The kind Lily should read.” She made a crooked, little smile. “Me too, if I’m to improve myself.”
“They buy up whole libraries. Let’s see if any have come in that are good.” He brought her to the circular counter and asked to speak with Mr. Lackington, the owner, about the recent acquisitions.
They were sent to an office the next level up. There, a white-haired Mr. George Lackington received them. Upon hearing Rosamund’s interest in shelves of books, he ushered them to a large nook. “We still acquire and sell libraries. I think what you want will be here. These are all leather bound and very handsome. This group here includes the usual poets and philosophers, along with a nice selection of more recent writings.”
He removed one mahogany-hued tome and placed it in Rosamund’s hands. She did not pay much attention to the fine leather binding or the perfectly worked letters on the spine. She opened it reverently, paused a long time at the engraved frontispiece, then turned a few pages.
She asked the price.
“These are only sold together.” Mr. Lackington eyed the shelves. “Just over fifty titles, in matching custom bindings of superior quality. Let us say twenty-five pounds. We do not dither, so I request no less be offered. Our prices are indeed as cheap as we say. Purchasing these same books at auction would be at least twice as much.”
Kevin had spent the time perusing the titles. Rosamund caught his eye with a question in hers. He nodded.
“I will have them,” she said. “Can they be delivered?”
“Of course.” Mr. Lackington slipped her banknotes into his waistcoat pocket, then placed a little card on the shelves. “They will arrive early tomorrow. It has been my pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
“I don’t see why he assumed I would offer less,” she said after she and Kevin took their leave.
“Because he thought you were about to. Were you?”
“Yes, but he couldn’t know that for certain.”
“He was not treating you any differently than he would treat me. Everyone haggles in bookshops. It is commonplace. Hence he reminds his patrons of his policy before they try.”
“They are very impressive books, I will admit. Even the paper was beautiful. I may just sit with one on my lap, even if I am not in the mood to read. Although the one he handed me was full of poems, and I think I’ll try a few of those.”
They had returned to the street level. “Are we finished here?”
She strolled away. “Perhaps a few novels . . .”
