by Quinn, Paula
Not that she was old, but…well, a spinster of nine and twenty years was considered old by most standards. Certainly on the shelf. What man would desire an old maid like her? The vicar could not have been more than twenty-six or twenty-seven years old. Everyone suspected he had secretly been in love with Lady Poppy and was bereft when she’d married Nathaniel Sherbourne, the Earl of Welles.
He bid her good day and continued on his way.
Once he was out of sight, she hurried back into her shop and firmly shut the door. The place was empty now, the last of her customers having hurried off before nightfall. The sun disappeared early at this time of year.
Since she lived in a set of rooms within the same small house that contained her shop, she had no need to travel any distance to reach home. All she had to do was step behind the floral curtain separating the shop and her kitchen. She crossed into the kitchen to warm her hands over the brazier.
A chill had seeped deep into her bones, but the weather had nothing to do with this particular ache. As the holidays approached, it marked yet another year coming to an end for her. Another year she’d be alone without family.
Another year she’d be alone without the prospect of marrying or having children of her own.
She was so lost in thought, she failed to hear the bell above her door tinkle.
“Miss Billings? Are you all right?” A man’s deep, rumbling voice startled her out of her idle musing.
She turned, recognizing Wellesford’s handsome doctor, Angus Carmichael. His voice carried just that lilting hint of a brogue. Only a hint, however. Although he’d been born and raised in Scotland, he’d lived in England for many years and had acquired a cultured smoothness to his accent. “Oh, Doctor! I do beg your pardon. I was woolgathering and hadn’t noticed anyone come into the shop.”
“Then I apologize for startling you.”
“No need. Um, I suppose you came for the medical book you ordered last week.” She clasped her hands together, fighting the urge to pat her hair or bat her eyelashes at him as though she were a love-struck schoolgirl.
What was it about this man that made her heart flutter whenever he was near?
She tried to gather her scattered thoughts before he noticed they were on him and no longer on the brazier or on restocking her shelves with the new books just arrived from London and still sealed in their packing box.
She had meant to attend to those tomorrow.
Entering the day’s earnings in her ledger could also wait until tomorrow, she decided. How could she count her receipts now or concentrate on anything important while he stood in front of her, turning her brain to pudding? “I received a delivery just this afternoon, but I haven’t had a moment to open the box and inventory its contents.”
“Ah, then I won’t disturb you now. I can come back another day.”
“Not at all. I will open it now.” She hadn’t planned on it, but there was no need to put it off. She strained for any excuse to keep him beside her. In truth, she’d hoped to close up early in order to go through her wardrobe and decide what to wear for the Christmas supper, but there would be time enough to attend to that chore this evening.
She only had one elegant gown anyway, a green silk she’d purchased two years ago on a whim because it brought out the chestnut brown of her hair and the emerald green of her eyes. The gown was quite pretty, but she hadn’t any place to wear it until now, and it needed some alteration to bring it up to current fashion.
“You are nibbling your lip, Miss Billings. It is obvious I’ve come at a bad time.” He turned to leave, but she stayed him by placing a hand on his arm.
“Dr. Carmichael…” She quickly let go of him, surprised by the tingle in her fingers as they touched the wool of his coat sleeve, and went to her desk to uselessly shuffle the papers atop it in order to keep her hands busy. “You see, I’ve just been invited to dine at the manor house.”
He arched a dark eyebrow. “Ah, for Christmas supper next week?”
She nodded.
He grinned. “I’ve been invited as well.”
She nodded again. “I know. The vicar mentioned it to me as he ran by a few minutes ago.”
“Ran by? On his way to the vicarage?”
She smiled. “I think so.”
“Figures he was late to the Tyrell christening. I vow, that man will be late to his own funeral,” he said with a chuckle. “But it makes sense that we three should be invited to Christmas supper at Sherbourne Manor. They’ll want the vicar for the blessing. No doubt, they want to keep me close at hand when their guests begin to suffer from indigestion. Not that the food will be bad. Quite the opposite, their cook is the finest in the Cotswolds. We’re all bound to overeat.”
“Shamelessly stuff our faces.” She bobbed her head in hearty agreement. “Without doubt.”
He moved closer and casually leaned his hip against her desk. “I’m going to inhale the roast goose. I don’t know what she puts on it…or stuffs in it, but there is nothing finer in all of England.”
“You’d better be quick if you’re going to steal the drumstick,” she teased, “for I aim to grab it first.”
“Ah, then I wouldn’t dream of depriving you of the pleasure.”
There was something quite lovely about this man, in a rugged, masculine way. He knew just how to put everyone at ease and at the same time, he exuded an aura of power and authority. Anyone who crossed him would quickly regret it. But any friend of his would have his loyalty and support forever.
She hoped they were friends. In truth, she’d long hoped for more.
His gorgeous dark eyes were gleaming as he continued to jest. “But there are two legs. I think we must form an alliance to block the others from grabbing the spoils. Can’t let these Sassenachs get their hands on our goose. What do you say, Miss Billings?”
She shook her head and laughed. “Our goose? I think the Earl of Welles will have something to say about that. However, I expect there will be more than one goose set out, so there’ll be no need to brawl at the table.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “Well, that’s no fun.”
“But more in the holiday spirit, I should think. I shall still be your ally, Dr. Carmichael. Even though I am one of those Sassenachs, I can always use a Scottish warrior on my side.” He stood quite close beside her now so that she felt the heat radiate off his body. Her heart began to flutter again. “You mentioned the reasons why you and the vicar were invited. Why do you think they invited me?”
His expression turned surprisingly tender. “Because you are someone quite special, Miss Billings. They see your worth and invite you for the best reason of all, because you are their friend.”
“Oh.” She wasn’t certain why hearing him say the reason aloud affected her so much. Yes, she adored Poppy, Penelope, and Olivia. She could not think of them as countess or duchess, for they never put on airs around her and did not want her using their titles when addressing them. She would when in public, of course. “I do like them very much. If ever I had sisters…which I don’t and never will, but if ever I had any, I’d wish for them to be just like those three. They are the loveliest, kindest…”
“Damn,” he mumbled, “are your eyes tearing?”
“No.” It was an obvious lie. Why had she suddenly lost her composure? This wasn’t like her at all. She didn’t want the doctor to think of her as just another silly woman who turned into a watering pot at the slightest provocation.
“If those are not tears, then it must be your roof leaking onto my coat.”
She found herself somehow drawn into his arms and weeping into his lapels. He wasn’t holding her in any romantic way, of course. He was merely being protective and comforting. “Perhaps a few tears fell,” she admitted. “Do forgive me, Dr. Carmichael. I don’t know why I’ve been like this lately.”
She tried to ease away but it was his turn to stay her hand. “Angus,” he said, gazing down at her with concern. Perhaps it was the Scottish in him. They w
ere known for their adherence to a code of honor. He was merely fulfilling a duty to come to the aid of his ally. After all, they were plotting to grab the goose for themselves.
“What?”
“I want you to call me Angus. May I call you Felicity?” He pressed on before she had a chance to consider his request. “I knew another Miss Billings once. A crotchety old bat with a perpetual sneer on her jowly face. She was my governess when I was a lad. She detested me. Used to come after me with her cane whenever I mouthed back at her.”
“Which you did often?”
“Of course. It’s what we Scots do best.” He nodded. “Couldn’t help myself. She considered me lower than the dirt under her boots, and I wasn’t going to stand for it.”
Felicity’s eyes rounded in surprise. “That’s awful!”
He shrugged. “But all Scots were that to her. She was English and therefore of superior blood. She never let me forget it. I have no quarrel with the English, mind you. Only those like her. I’d quarrel with a Scot, too, if he spouted such drivel. I’d quarrel with any man who–”
“Dr. Carmichael, I had no idea you were so quarrelsome,” she teased, liking him all the more because he was the sort of man who would not hesitate to come to the defense of the weak and defenseless.
“Angus,” he insisted. “Call me Angus. It’s only right if I’m to call you Felicity.” He still held her in his arms, their bodies scandalously touching. She ought to have drawn away, but she rested her head against his broad, solid chest instead. She could not resist burrowing a little closer, needing to absorb his heat and strength. “Frankly, I’m surprised we’ve kept up the formality till now.”
“Yes, I suppose you’re right.” He felt too good. She would make a fool of herself if she clung to him any longer, inhaling his subtle bay-spice scent. She eased away. “We’ve been friends for a long time. Very well…Angus.”
There was no point in arguing since he had that stubborn, Scottish look about him and would continue to insist until he got his way. What harm could there be? After all, they were more than mere acquaintances. The doctor often stopped by her shop to ask for one book or another, for he was an avid reader.
Calling him Angus was a harmless request, really.
Of course, they would maintain formality when others were present, just as she would with Poppy, Olivia, and Penelope. “Angus,” she repeated softly.
“That sounded verra nice coming from you…Felicity, my bonnie lass.”
Oh, the husky smoothness of his voice!
She cleared her throat. “As I mentioned, I just received a delivery from London but haven’t opened it yet. I’ll do it now. Won’t take me a moment.” She skittered around her desk to retrieve her knife used to cut open the boxes.
She happened to glance out the window.
The snow was falling harder now. She could hear the wind whistle down the street and through the small gap between the bottom of her bookshop door and the floorboards. “Looks like a fairly nasty storm is about to descend upon us.”
He frowned. “Are you well stocked with provisions? It may take a day or two for us to dig out of this one. The earl may have to send his driver with a sleigh to fetch you for the party if it doesn’t clear out by the end of the week.”
“Oh, that would be fun. I’d love a sleigh ride.” Especially if this man were her companion. It would be quite romantic tucked under a blanket while the moon shone down on them and the bells on the reins jingled in time to the horse’s trot.
She was spinning dreams again.
The doctor had no romantic interest in her.
“I am all prepared to last out the storm…Angus. No need to worry about me. I have tea, biscuits, and plenty of books to tide me over until the snow ends. I even have the fabled Book of Love.”
His eyes rounded in surprise. “So, you’re next?”
She laughed. “No, Poppy, Olivia, and Penelope merely loaned it to me, insisting that I read it. They practically shoved it at me. I couldn’t refuse. But it’s meant for Poppy’s sister next. Poppy will hold it in safekeeping until Violet is ready for her come-out in a couple of years.”
“But meanwhile, you have it.”
“Well, yes. But only on loan. My point is, I have everything I need for this upcoming storm. I’ll be quite cozy.” By the time she returned to the doctor’s side, he had lifted the heavy box onto the table standing in the far corner of the shop where she and the ladies held their book club meetings.
“Let me do that for you.” He held out his hand for the knife.
“Thank you.” She placed it in his palm and stifled a yawn.
He grinned at her. “Am I that boring?”
“No! Never. Oh, please forgive me! I don’t know why the day seems to be dragging endlessly. In truth, I feel as though I’ve been slogging through this entire week. Perhaps it’s the impending snow.”
“Or the thought of the holidays alone,” he remarked. “It hits me sometimes, too. I miss seeing my brother.” He cast her a wry smile. “But feel no such remorse for the rest of my family.”
“You’re fortunate. I don’t know who my family is. Perhaps I’m better off not knowing, but I won’t pretend it does not hurt.” She felt herself about to cry again, but fought off her bout of weepiness. “It has hit me hard this year. I don’t know why, especially since I’ll have friends around me for the holidays. I was busy thinking about what to wear for the Christmas party when you walked in.”
He ran his thumb lightly across her cheek to wipe away a teardrop. “Ah, that’s what had you sniffling and nibbling your lip.”
She nodded. “If the town is snowed in tomorrow, I’ll use the quiet time to do a bit of sewing. I have a lovely green silk that I haven’t worn in years. It will need a little fancy stitch work to make it look as good as new.”
“You’d look beautiful even if you wore burlap.” He broke into one of his rare smiles, one that showed off his dimples. Yes, this man was perfect. Handsome, kind, intelligent.
She felt her heart flutter yet again. Why couldn’t he be hers?
Obviously, he did not return the sentiment. Angus Carmichael had never taken particular notice of her or felt anything for her in that way. But as he turned to slice open the box, she suddenly felt a change in the air and her skin began to tingle.
No, it was quite foolish of her to believe he meant anything more by his statement than a polite comment. “Well, if I don’t finish my gown, I may have no choice but to wear that.”
He said nothing as he began to dig through the box, carefully setting aside each book he pulled out until he got to the bottom. “Blast, I don’t see it.” But he took a moment to study the ones he’d lifted out. “Mrs. Radcliffe’s books seem to be quite popular.”
Felicity blushed. “The ladies enjoy her stories.”
“And what about you? Do you read them as well?”
She tipped her chin up proudly. “I do.”
His smile was surprisingly tender. “You are a romantic, Felicity.”
“Is there something wrong with that?” Dear heaven, the man should smile more often.
He set aside the last of the books and turned fully to face her. Up close, he loomed quite large. He was taller than she’d realized and powerfully built. “Not at all. It’s a softer side of you that you rarely show to others.”
Had he not noticed this before? Did she come across as cold and forbidding? Perhaps she did, for she’d never dared open up to others. “It isn’t a sentiment I can afford to indulge in.”
“Because you’ve been alone all your life?”
She nodded. “I have to look out for myself, for no one else will.” She started to turn away, but he held her back gently.
“What makes you think others aren’t watching out for you? You have friends in Wellesford. You can turn to us if you ever need help.”
Us?
Had he meant to include himself?
“Thank you, Doctor…Angus…um, Doctor. But you ought to be getting h
ome before you’re stranded here with me.” Oh, that didn’t come out quite as she meant it. In truth, it sounded rather tempting to be stuck in the bookshop with this handsome man overnight. They’d be forced to keep each other warm. They could huddle under the blankets while the storm raged outside.
Perhaps, he would take her in his arms again.
“Yes, it does seem to be coming down harder now. Well, tuck yourself in and be careful. I’ll look in on you once the storm eases.” He turned his collar up about his ears, and with a mumbled farewell, hastened out the door.
She emitted a groan as the bell above the door tinkled to mark his departure.
What was wrong with her? Had he noticed her suddenly turning doe-eyed over him? She had suggested he leave, but hadn’t meant for him to race to the door. Perhaps her gaze had been more love-struck than merely doe-eyed. Is this why he’d run off, merely using the storm as an excuse to get away from her before she made a fool of herself? Was he already regretting their new-found familiarity, one that he’d encouraged? “Angus. How nice to see you, Angus. Won’t you kiss me, Angus?”
Oops!
She hadn’t meant to let that slip out, nor should she have been thinking it.
But she’d often wondered about kissing him, wished for it. Why did it feel so important now?
And why him? All the other women were in love with the vicar. But Dr. Carmichael was the handsomer man, she’d always thought so. His dark hair was lightly sprinkled with gray at the temples. Those dark, intelligent eyes of his were glorious. He was big and muscled.
His hands were exquisite.
His smile could make her heart melt.
She dared not contemplate what his kiss would do to her.
“Oh, dear.” Her heart was fluttering again, and she knew she would not respond to his kisses in any respectable way.
Had the room suddenly grown warm? Or was it these nonsensical dreams of love she was spinning again? The doctor was never going to kiss her or spend the night with her unless she was ill and on the verge of death.
Even then, it would only be in his medical capacity.
She marched to her wardrobe and took out the green silk gown she’d rashly and unthinkingly purchased on her twenty-seventh birthday. It was a frivolous expenditure, for she’d never had a proper place to wear it until now.
