Page 9

What’s done is done.

Besides, she was far more interested in LordDarius’s delightful bookshop than in reliving her earlier mortification.

Atleast, she thought she’d crashed into the twin who owned the bookshop. Then again, she couldn’t be positive. Unlike her twin sisters, Laurella and Callidora, the Westbrook brothers resembled one another so greatly it was difficult to tell them apart.

Hermuch younger sisters were as different as night and day. Laurella possessed Papa’s chestnut hair and brown eyes, while Callidora had Mama’s blonde hair and green eyes, as did Araminta.

Aramintahad planned on calling at LordDarius’s establishment prior to the grand opening and requesting permission to use a shelf or two as a lending library. She also hoped to ensure LordDarius carried MadamQuillheart’s books.

Notonly did Quillheart garner fame for writing novels featuring scandalously romantic stories, but her books also continued to gain popularity—which secretly brought joy and pride to Araminta, who, in fact, was MadamQuillheart.

Aramintabit back a smile as she patted SirWaddlesby’s silky feathers. No one, not even dearest Papa or her sisters, knew that she was a published author who wrote under the Quillheart nom de plume.

Papawould have an apoplexy if he ever found out. As the rector of SaintAndrew’s, her father considered himself the moral compass of Woodhaven.

The shame. The sin.

Hisdaughter writing such scandalous twaddle.

Lord above.

However, that scandalous twaddle generated a tidy income, thank you very much.

Papastill believed the sale of her embroidery work provided the occasional joint of ham for dinner, the Cheshire cheese he liked so much, the fine port he indulged in, and the LondonWeeklyTimes.

Lordknew the funds didn’t come from the so-called generous offerings collected every Sunday.

Aramintaalmost scoffed aloud but settled for the slightest skewing of her upper lip.

Howabsurd that several of the community’s loftiest members, who perched so regally upon their pews every week, adorned in their Sunday finest, regularly pointed out others’ supposed sins while presenting themselves as the most virtuous of congregants. They were, by far, the stingiest people who held tightest to their purse strings.

Mrs. Clarke’s dour visage sprang to mind.

Aproverbial miserly hypocrite if ever there was one.

Theonly thing Mrs. Clarke ever offered was unsolicited advice and constant condemnation.

Papawould be even more shocked if he knew Mama had encouraged Araminta’s writing.

Lookingback, Araminta understood that her beloved mother must’ve known for quite some time that she was not long for this world. She never quite recovered from Laurella’s and Callidora’s births and had passed from this world when the twins were but five-years-old. At nineteen, Araminta had become a surrogate mother to her sisters.

Nevertheless, JaneWeldon had done everything within her limited means to help ensure their family had financial security by imparting her talent for embroidery to Araminta and, more importantly, by encouraging her daughter to submit her books for publication. Mama had even helped Araminta choose MadamQuillheart as her nom de plume.

Thegiggles they’d shared coming up with the pen name.

Stingingtears misted Araminta’s eyes, but she blinked them away.

“MissWeldon, I haven’t opened to the public yet,” LordDarius said from behind her.

“Please forgive my intrusiveness, my lord.”

Anopportunity had fallen into her lap, and she couldn’t waste it.

Swiftlyblinking away the moisture pooling in her eyes, she shifted the hefty goose to her other hip. Pasting a bright smile on her face, she turned to face the handsome bookshop owner.

“You are LordDariusWestbrook, the proprietor?”

“I am.” He began unpacking books from a wooden box and setting them on a nearby shelf.