If she had the time, Eleanor would spend hours in the little shop, exploring whatever new treasures might be found. In her current rush, however, she only had a moment to breathe in the delightful and nostalgic scents. The combination of amber and jasmine always made her think of her grandmother—which is precisely what brought her here.
Continuing toward the back of the store, she glanced into the private room tucked behind a tied-back curtain. Sometimes, Mr. Mishra was so immersed in his preparation of herbs for a special tea or tincture that he failed to hear the bell chime above the front door. Not seeing him, she was about to call out when he suddenly appeared, sweeping silently from around the corner and giving her a start.
Seeing her in the doorway, the shopkeeper’s wide brown face split into a toothy grin.
“Ah, Lady Eleanor! Such a delight! Such a pleasure and blessing to host your beauty in my humble shop.”
Familiar with the man’s typically effusive greetings, Eleanor smiled. She never felt awkward or uncertain around this man. No doubt, because she’d been coming to his shop since she was a young child grasping her grandmother’s hand.
Mr. Mishra was a small man, standing a few inches below her slightly above-average height. And his age was completely indeterminable. Physically he was as spry and fit as any young man. His hair was ink black and cropped to thick, often disheveled waves around his face. His eyes were a dark but sparkling brown and his skin displayed nowrinkles beyond some fine lines at the corners of his eyes.
But there was immense and undeniable wisdom in the man’s face. A sweet and jolly spirit, Mr. Mishra was also more learned than anyone she knew. Though she’d be tempted to claim him a man of middle-age, she knew he’d been proprietor of this shop for multiple decades. And that didn’t even account for the many years of his youth in India. If his stories were all to be believed, he’d lived a full lifetime before even coming to England.
“It has been a long time, my lady,” he said with a bow of his head. “It saddened me deeply to hear of the Rajkumari’s passing. Please accept my sincerest condolences for such a great loss. There has never been such a gracious and lovely duchess in all the world.”
Though her heart clenched painfully at the mention of her grandmother, Eleanor managed a sad smile. “That is very true. Thank you.”
Mr. Mishra lifted his gaze again and gently bobbled his head. “What has brought you to me this day? Tell me what you seek and I shall see to it directly.”
“Well, it’s been six months since Nani’s passing and I find myself yearning for some of things she’d love so much.” Eleanor removed the list from her sleeve and handed it to Mishra. “Some incense and perfumes that she adored. Her favorite tea…” Her voice faded as the grief she’d carried since her beloved grandmother’s death rushed to the surface.
Mishra bobbled his head again as he looked over the list. Then he flashed a kind smile and pressed his palms together beneath his chin. “You honor me, my lady. I shall have this order ready for you shortly. Unless you would prefer to have it delivered?”
“That won’t be necessary, Mr. Mishra. I don’t mind waiting.”
“As you wish.”
He kept up a steady flow of chatter about inconsequential things as he bustled about the store collecting the items on her list. He began with an array of spices he selected from various jars that he brought tohis worktable where he mixed up her grandmother’s favorite tea blend. It was not long before the full order simply awaited proper wrapping to keep everything safe in transit.
“I almost forgot. There is just one more thing I must find.” He disappeared back into the back room, saying, “I set it aside when I first saw it, knowing how much the Rajkumari would love it. And now it must be yours.” Sounds of his movements filled the momentary pause before he muttered, “I know it’s here. I shall find it, do not fear, my lady.”
Eleanor smiled. Suspecting it might be another few minutes, she began to wander the store again, breathing in the lovely scents, trailing her fingers over an elegantly embroidered pashmina, and wondering at some carved statuettes of deities she hadn’t seen in the store before. As the sounds of Mr. Mishra’s search in the backroom became more haphazard, she stepped into the corner to peruse the books.
A moment later, the bell above the front door jingled softly, announcing another arrival.
Instantly shrinking further into the corner, Eleanor tried to make herself invisible, keeping her focus on the rows of books spines, and hoped that whoever had just come in would handle their business quickly without ever knowing she was there.
Unfortunately, in the midst of his own racket, Mr. Mishra did not hear the bell and had no idea he had another customer. Long strides took the new arrival straight to the back of the store as a man’s voice called out in a smooth baritone, “Mishra, my friend. Where are you hiding? I’ve got something special for you today.”
Despite the informality of the man’s greeting, he spoke with the crisp intonation of British nobility in a voice that was distressingly familiar.
A tingle of awareness danced across Eleanor’s nape.
Surely not.
“Ah!” Mr. Mishra called out from the back. “My lord! I didn’t knowyou were back in England. I shall be with you in a moment, I’m just…” His voice became muffled in more shuffling and the slamming of several box lids.
“You’ll want to set aside whatever you’re working on for this, Mishra,” the lord replied, confidence and excitement layering his rich voice.
Desperate to ascertain if her suspicion was correct—or more accurately, to prove herself wrong—Eleanor sidestepped around a glass display case and leaned forward to glance toward the back of the store. The gentleman’s long strides had taken him right up to the doorway of Mr. Mishra’s private rooms. Though he had his back to her and she couldn’t see the man’s face, she noted a broad set of shoulders carried by a trim form that stood at least two inches over six feet and was topped by a tousled mess of dark-golden hair.
It washim.
What in heaven’s name had brought the Viscount Waring to Mishra’s Emporium?
Propping a forearm against the top of the doorframe, the viscount leaned into the back room.
“Mishra! I’ve got something exceptional.”
