by Abigail Agar
“That man is in love with you.”
“What?” Pippa asked, shocked as she tried to remain quiet enough not to alert George to their conversation.
“You heard me. It is clear that he cares for you. I shouldn’t be the least bit surprised to learn that what he feels for you is far beyond simple admiration,” Fiona said.
“Fiona, that is madness. How can you say such a thing? I know him through shopping here. There is nothing more. I am a customer, as you heard him say. He is able to make a great deal of money off women like me who come and shop all the time,” she reasoned.
“Oh, dear, Pippa. You must surely see what is right in front of you, even if you are too shy to admit it? There are several young women who would love to have attention from a man so handsome as Mr. Sinclair. You have his attentions, rather clearly. You ought to decide whether or not you have any consideration for him in return.”
Pippa thought about it for a moment. Was it possible that she could like George? If he had feelings for her, and if what Fiona was saying was true, was it something worth considering? Surely her mother and father would not approve, but could she love George Sinclair regardless?
She glanced over at him and tried to examine him subtly.
His looks were reasonable, to be sure, but not so striking that she would swoon the way so many other young women had. No, indeed, she could not quite understand what it was about George that all the young women were so drawn to. She, herself, saw him as really rather average.
“I do not,” she finally said, shrugging apologetically at Fiona. Indeed, her friend looked disappointed.
“Are you certain? I find it hard to believe since every other young woman would love to have his attention.”
“Would you?” Pippa asked.
Fiona scoffed.
“Me? I shall remind you that I am engaged to be married, Pippa.”
Pippa was well aware of that fact. It haunted her.
Even though Fiona was two years younger than Pippa and had only just entered society, she was already engaged to Clyde Burroughs, a man who was, likewise, very handsome. He was a gentleman of exemplary character and Pippa approved of him for a match with Fiona.
But Pippa’s mother and father constantly used Fiona and Clyde as a reason for which she must urgently marry. They would constantly remind her that if Fiona were able to find a husband so quickly after entering society and at such a young age, surely Pippa ought to be able to find someone as well.
This reasoning was dreadfully unfair in her mind, but she did all that she could to push past it each day when it flared up in her thoughts. It wasn’t as if Pippa had no desire to marry; she simply detested the expectations which were put upon married women, and how those expectations led women to behave as they pushed towards marriage.
Even if she did want to one day find a husband, she couldn’t imagine that George was the right man for her. She saw him as a nice man selling books, but little more than that. Even if he had proven to be more, to have a great character and a charming personality, she just did not feel any sort of spark of connection with him.
“I do not believe he is the man for me, Fiona. Anyway, we ought to move on from this discussion. I have little desire to think about it. Instead, let us choose what we want to read next,” Pippa said.
Fiona nodded in agreement and they began to search the shelves.
The two young women had an understanding. Whenever they went to the bookshop, they would each buy one book. Then, they would read the book they bought and trade with one another. It was an excellent way to ensure that they were both able to enjoy more than one read at a time.
Pippa looked through the selection of no more than twenty books and settled on the one she would purchase. She stood by as Fiona continued to search for her own choice, but then wandered to look through some of the books on history to see if there was anything she may be interested in outside of the fiction genre.
She continued to browse until Fiona finally came over to her.
“I made my decision. What do you think?” Fiona asked, letting Pippa look at the book she’d chosen.
“I very nearly chose this one. It looks quite good, and I think we shall enjoy it. Now, let us make our purchases and depart. I am feeling quite anxious to leave,” Pippa confessed.
“Why?” Fiona asked, sounding confused.
“Because of what you said. I do not wish to be around Mr. Sinclair if you are correct in your belief.”
“Why not?” Fiona prodded.
“Because I do not love him, and I have no desire to be pressured into loving someone I do not care for. Anyway, there is no reason to go on about it any longer. Come,” Pippa said, leading the way to the desk where George sat.
He looked up at them and smiled again.
“Found something?” he asked.
“Indeed, we did,” she replied, trying to steady herself.
They set the books on the desk and George looked at each of them, taking his time to flip through the pages and squint at what he saw there.
“This one looks intriguing,” he said of Pippa’s selection.
“Which is precisely why I am purchasing it,” she replied.
George grinned at her, clearly amused by her response, but it only made Pippa more anxious and she was eager to depart from the shop as soon as she could.
“Well, here you are, ladies. Two books,” he said.
“Thank you,” Pippa nodded, pooling her money with Fiona’s in order to pay for them.
“Have a lovely day,” George said.
“And to you as well,” Fiona replied, whereas Pippa simply smiled and gave a slight bow of her head, still feeling rather uncomfortable.
They made their way towards the door just as a man with an unruly, and strangely attractive, appearance came in from outside. Although he was looking down at the floor, his eyes darted up and met Pippa’s for only a moment before he blinked a few times and glanced over at George.
Pippa could not help eyeing him a moment longer. There was something deeply intriguing about the man. Perhaps it was his unkempt exterior, or the way his green eyes shone from his face, or maybe it was just because she had been thinking about how little interest she had in George, but this man was certainly different.
“Ah, Mr.—” George began, before being cut off.
“George, I must speak with you at once. Will you join me in the back?” the man asked, walking through the shop with determined steps.
Pippa couldn’t imagine what it was that had him in such a hurry, but she tore herself away from watching him and decided to continue with Fiona, departing from the store with their new books in hand.
“Did you see that man? He needs to visit the barber,” Fiona said.
Pippa simply grinned, unable to stop herself. The thought passed through her mind that she disagreed with Fiona. It was the lack of a barber which made him all the better.
Chapter 4
“What is it?” George asked once Doyle had ushered him into the back of the shop.
“I have something very important to discuss with you,” he said, now that five days had passed since finding the manuscript.
George waited, his expression curious and cautious at the same time.
“I know that we have not seen the sort of sales which we have been hoping for, but I have a new idea which shall fix all of that,” Doyle began.
“Is that so? I am glad to hear in. Honestly, we could do with a surge of new sales. What is it you have in mind?” George asked.
“A new book,” Doyle replied.
Confusion drew George’s brows together.
“Mr. Brooks, we already have a great number of books. Why do you think that a new one would make a difference?”
“Because this book is unlike anything which I have ever read. And not only that, but…but we are the ones who are going to publish it,” Doyle said.
George stood there for a moment longer, as if he still did not comprehend what Doyle wa
s saying.
“George, did you hear me?”
“Yes, I did, but I do not understand. You are publishing a book to help the shop? I was not aware that you were writing anything. What sort of book is it?” George asked.
Doyle sighed, not wanting to discuss all this just now. He was still trying to avoid telling an outright lie, but he also knew that the moment he put his name on the cover, the lie would be sealed. He may as well start the fib now.
The fact was Doyle was desperate. He had to put on a confident face, but his sister had always told him that his attempts to be confident came across as arrogant. She often teased him over his insecurity, and nothing made him so insecure as the idea that he may fail in his business, which was the most important thing in the world to him.
There was too much competition for fiction in London. Other shops had so much more available than he did, and he was losing business. This book could change all of that. It was possible that he would be able to succeed, given the chance to publish this work.
“It is a fictional book about a young woman and her aunt. Anyway, the rest doesn’t matter. I am working to edit the manuscript and then I shall need to publish it. I believe that it will be done with relative ease,” he said.
“To what end?” George asked.
“To the end that we shall be the only shop in England which carries this book,” he explained.
“And you think many people will want to read it?”
“It is quite remarkable!” Doyle exclaimed with eagerness.
At the look on George’s face, he realised how arrogant he sounded. As he complimented the work of another writer, George believed Doyle was complimenting his own novel. Doyle was embarrassed to realise that he had made this mistake and wished he could undo it, but it was too late now.
“What I mean is that I have had this novel reviewed by others and it has been determined that it is going to draw a remarkable amount of attention,” he said. “That is what I meant by my use of the word ‘remarkable.’”
“Very well. That is rather exciting, certainly,” George nodded
“Yes, indeed, it is. I am quite happy. Now, you must forgive me for being so distracted with this. I have never published a manuscript before, but I am sure that this is going to be quite an adventure,” Doyle said.
“Indeed, I hope so. When do you intend to have everything ready? How shall I prepare the store?” George asked.
“It is likely to take me two to three months to prepare. As far as preparing the shop, I shall have a few items for you to post shortly. I do hope to have the advertisements as early as next week. Once I have done so, we may post about the book and wait for it to be published by building anticipation of its release,” Doyle said.
“Excellent. Considering these events, I am feeling rather enthusiastic about the things to come. You are doing an excellent job of pushing us forward,” George said in a rather encouraging manner.
In truth, Doyle didn’t feel like he was doing any such thing. No, he was feeling like quite a liar and a thief for his actions.
Nevertheless, he was going to press onward and do this terrible thing. He was going to steal this book for himself because he was not sure what else he could do to keep his shop alive. Not only that, but the work really was remarkable, and he wanted it credited to his own name. Whomever the original author was, he ought not to have wasted such a beautiful piece of work.
Indeed, the man had no one to blame but himself for losing the manuscript.
Doyle was eager to get everything finished on the book, but he knew that he also had to spend some time preparing the advertisements and readying the shop for the arrival of the novel. Once he finished it and had the first copies printed, he would need to get them in the hands of influential men of literature who might be able to spread the word of the book to others.
There was much to be done and Doyle was eager to get started. As he stood there, however, thinking through all of this, there was something else in the back of his mind.
Who was that beautiful young lady who had been in the shop when he entered?
“I saw that we had customers just a moment ago?” he asked.
“Yes, of course. That was Miss Blackwell and Miss White. Miss Blackwell is quite a reader and she writes little stories as well and speaks about how much she enjoys crafting them. Miss White is the one she reads to most,” George explained.
“You know them well? I mean, you speak as if you do,” Doyle noted, curious as to what else George might know about them.
“Reasonably so,” he said.
“Which was Miss Blackwell and which Miss White?” Doyle asked.
“Miss Blackwell is the one with the dark hair and Miss White the blonde,” George confirmed.
Doyle noted the look on George’s face when he spoke of Miss Blackwell. How frustrating that they should have noticed the same young woman and if she knew George, certainly she had noticed him.
Doyle would never have a chance with such a lovely young woman with someone like George around, but it hardly mattered anyway. After all, Doyle was not fit for romance. He was too dour all the time and he knew it, much to his own shame.
Instead of remaining at the shop to decipher his many feelings, Doyle decided to depart and return to his work on the manuscript.
“Well, I thank you, George, for how you look after the shop and learn about our customers and what they would like to read. I am going to see to it that this piece is quickly finished and published. Please let me know if there is anything more which you need from me,” Doyle said.
From there, he left the shop and had made it up the street when he saw the two young ladies who had been in the shop. They were not so far from him and were indulging in something they must have just purchased from the bakery.
He was tempted to go and speak with them. The one was so lovely, and he was deeply curious as to what book she had just purchased. He wished he had asked George about it.
There was no reason to stand there, however, staring at the two young women. Doyle knew he was better off with the task he had at hand and ensuring that it was all completed to the best of his ability.
He darted away from there, making his way home to his cottage and ducking inside with eager steps. The only thing on his mind now was is determination to finish the work.
By the end of the day, he was confident that he knew the book very well. It was about a young, orphaned woman who was made to go and live with her aunt. But her aunt did not want her there. It was a tumultuous relationship indeed, and her aunt disapproved of the young woman, whose mother was Irish.
The young woman eventually moved away but was brought back when, years later, her aunt grew very ill and needed someone to care for her. The young woman returned to look after her aunt and, amid all that, met a handsome nobleman.
While it was not a love story, there were certainly elements of romance throughout the book. However, it explored the complexities of human emotion rather dramatically and in such a beautiful way that Doyle felt as if he was there, feeling those feelings with the young woman as she suffered under the hand of her aunt.
It truly was remarkable.
So, Doyle began his work on the manuscript before making his way to his bedroom where he was surprised to see a letter he had placed on his bed that morning and forgotten about entirely. It was most certainly from his sister, but he had been in such a rush that he had failed to take the time to read it.
