Page 60 of Regency in Color

The duke leaned in over the counter, drawing her gaze to one of his winning smiles. “Please, don’t beg my pardon. Everyone is too afraid of a duke to tease him properly. I quite enjoy it.”

Thalia couldn’t help returning his smile, though she was certain hers was nauseatingly simpering, showing her infatuation. “Very well. Then I suppose I ought to ask why a man of your importance makes use of only one valet. I would have assumed you had at least two.”

The duke gave her a look that said ‘that’s the spirit,’ before replying. “In truth, Miss Ramsey, I do not have only one valet, or two. No self-respecting duke would go about life with any less than six.”

“Please tell me one of them is solely responsible for getting Your Royal Dukeness into his stockings.”

A twinkle of humor sparked in his eyes. “But of course. The ducal feet are very important, and all.”

They laughed together, his deep baritone combining with her giggle like the strike of drum beneath stringed instruments. Harmony. Perfection.

No.

She couldn’t allow herself to grow fanciful, not even when she was alone, but especially when in Westerfield’s presence. It wouldn’t do for her to delude herself into thinking the man had any interest in her. He was simply easygoing and companionable—the complete opposite of what she expected a duke to be. The thought of a duke conjured the image of a stodgy old man with fuzzy gray side-whiskers and perhaps a portly belly. Tall, strong, and devilishly handsome did not fit into the equation, unless that duke happened to be Westerfield.

However, no matter how handsome or charming he was, Thalia couldn’t forget that he was as far out of her reach as the moon was from the sun. If she wasn’t careful, she’d find herself chasing him across the sky, endlessly longing for what she could never have.

“What can I do for you today, Your Grace?” she said, adopting her most placid, professional tones. “Have you finished with Sense and Sensibility already?”

“I positively devoured it. The author is a most gifted lady.”

Thalia pressed her lips together to contain a smile. The duke was not so full of himself that he shunned the enjoyment of novels as many other men did. Westerfield was a voracious reader who delighted in everything from poetry, philosophy and fiction, to science, botany and farming. The latter seemed wise, as he was responsible for one of the largest holdings in the realm, along with several smaller estates. It delighted her to know that he did not shun the work of the author of some of Thalia’s favorite books. The anonymous pseudonym, ‘A Lady,’ graced the title pages of such works as Sense and Sensibility, and Emma. While many of her male patrons scoffed at the mere mention of ‘A Lady,’ Westerfield had shown an interest in the novels, and Thalia had been happy to present him with a new, pristine copy of Sense and Sensibility a few weeks ago.

“I am glad you enjoyed it,” she said, skimming her fingers down the stack of books at her side. “If you would like to explore more of A Lady’s works, I recommend Mansfield Park. I found it rather diverting. And … it appears as I only have one copy left. I was just about to place it on the shelf.”

“There is no need,” he insisted. “I’ll take it. As well, I had wondered if you have any copies of Robinson Crusoe? My own was irreparably damaged and I need a replacement.”

Biting her lip, Thalia gazed down one of the aisles, mentally thumbing through the contents of the shelves. “I believe I do … if you would give me a moment to search, Your Grace.”

“Of course.”

Thalia used the time it took to retrieve the book to take a few deep breaths and calm her overwrought nerves. She could do this. She could wrap the duke’s purchases and send him off with a cheerful farewell before returning to her mundane life. Oh, Thalia was happy enough and more fortunate than most women like herself. She was lucky that her father’s improved circumstances had offered her a life of genteel comfort, if not outright luxury. They hadn’t had riches or lofty titles, but they’d been a family—him, her mother, Thalia, and her little sister Theodosia. Ramsey’s Books had been left in Thalia’s hands, ensuring she would have the means to care for herself and those who depended on her. If there was a lack of excitement in her life, it seemed a small price to pay for security and a full belly. Many women living in London with her dark skin and African features were relegated to deep poverty, most selling their bodies for lack of other means of making money.

It was wrong for her to be ungrateful and long for more. Thalia told herself this over and over as she located the duke’s requested book and walked it back to the front of the shop.

“You are in luck,” she told him, lifting the copy of Robinson Crusoe.

“Excellent. You are a godsend, Miss Ramsey.”

Despite his flattery, Thalia managed to keep a straight face as she began bundling both books together in shop paper and twine.

“Will you attend Vauxhall this evening, Miss Ramsey?”

“Oh, goodness … I hadn’t planned to … that is …”

“Whyever not? I hear there are to be fireworks and a hot air balloon ascent. I am not one for stuffy soirées held in ballrooms, but never miss an evening at Vauxhall.”

In truth, the event that was being hailed as the grandest of the summer sounded like a wonderful time. People from all walks of life were excited to enjoy the gardens and the fine weather, especially after the dreary Year Without a Summer.

“I must confess to never having visited Vauxhall at night,” she said, while snipping at the twine and arranging a perfect bow. “I have heard that it isn’t particularly safe after dark—particularly for a lone woman.”

“That is true enough, if one veers off the lighted paths. Vauxhall is lit with thousands of lanterns, except for the dark walk. As long as you steer clear of the place, I should think you would be safe enough. Or, perhaps you have a friend or a beau to escort you?”

This time, she couldn’t help the little smile that made her left cheek itch. “Your Grace, while I have any number of friends and acquaintances, there is no beau.”

Westerfield fell silent a moment, his gaze becoming intent as he stared at her. Thalia fought not to squirm under his perusal, finding it disconcerting.

“That’s a shame,” he said, his voice so low Thalia had nearly missed what he’d said. Blinking, he looked away and straightened. “At any rate, I do hope you will change your mind. You must experience a night at Vauxhall at least once in your life.”