Enchanted by a Lady's Talent: A Historical Regency Romance Book

by Abigail Agar

  “Miss Blackwell…” he began, stammering. “I want you to know that I appreciate your work. I am truly glad that I have been able to take part in this with you and to see you thrive as an author and…and as a friend.”

  Pippa was humbled by his words, wishing that she could express herself with such simple grace. All the words she had for him were far more cautious out of necessity. If she was not careful, she might tell him the full breadth of her affection for him.

  “Thank you, Mr. Brooks. I have truly enjoyed working with you as well. It has been a wonderful experience and I do believe that it has created a book which neither of us would have been able to write on our own.”

  “Indeed, I must agree on that point as well,” he replied.

  For another moment, they simply looked at one another, their eyes saying everything their lips would not speak. The moment was eventually broken, however, and they moved on to discuss their plans for the evening of the book release. Pippa was eager for the thirteenth of August to arrive so that she could finally have the book in her hands and she would be able to see the finest men of England reading her work.

  Indeed, she was proud to know that she would be standing beside Mr. Brooks the day it happened.

  Chapter 22

  Doyle laughed as he and James continued their discussion regarding the parliament and what fools were sitting there, making the decisions for the entire nation.

  James and Clarissa had a very nice townhouse in London and Doyle was glad to be there, relaxing with his friend, but he was more excited about the fact that Clarissa was supposed to arrive home that day. He was very eager to see her and to know how her time had been in Brighton. But he also wanted to share about Miss Blackwell, even as he was also extremely nervous to do so.

  He wondered what his sister would say and what she would think. Her letter had certainly made it seem as though she were supportive of the fact that he had feelings for a woman, but Doyle had never actually cared for someone before.

  It was nerve-racking to think that this was the first time a woman had come into his life, and he did not know whether his sister would approve of her.

  Even if she liked the idea of Doyle caring for someone, what if she disliked Miss Blackwell?

  That wasn’t possible. How could anyone dislike her? She was vibrant and exciting. She was deep and well-read. In fact, there were many things which his sister had in common with her. There was no reason to think that they would not get along.

  Indeed, it was Miss Blackwell’s family who could cause the trouble. They were the ones who might not approve of him, and if they did not, was there any point in him coming to terms with his feelings for her?

  These questions had been going around and around in his mind since he and Miss Blackwell had begun working together. It was still confusing to try and discern what is best options were and whether they could ever be anything more, but he wouldn’t know that until they made some decisions after the book release.

  He would have to tell her how he felt. If she felt the same, that was when he could go to her mother and father.

  “Have I lost you?” James asked, breaking through his worries.

  Doyle was embarrassed for having allowed his thoughts to drift so far away. He needed to focus on the matter at hand.

  “Please forgive my wandering mind. You know how I can be sometimes. I would like to say that I have heard every word you said, but I fear that I was lost to my wondering what Clarissa shall think of Miss Blackwell,” he confessed.

  James glanced out the window and a smile lit upon his face.

  “It appears that you shall soon have the chance to find out. She has arrived.”

  Doyle turned and saw his sister approaching the door from the outside. James was up and out of the room to go and meet her and Doyle waited a few moments to allow them time to greet one another in private before they came in to join him. Immediately, he was up and out of his chair, hugging his sister.

  “So good to see you, and I am glad you returned safely. Tell me, how was Brighton? How was our family? What all did you see and do?” he asked.

  “Oh, there was plenty, and we shall discuss it in time, but first, I must hear everything which has been happening here. It would seem that I have missed a great deal. Your book, a young woman, and attention from the literary elites of London. You have had a far more exciting time than I have, I am sure,” she said.

  “I cannot say that, necessarily, but it has been interesting. We have seen all manner of unexpected things take place. Not only with the book, but also with the shop,” Doyle replied.

  “Oh, yes! My poor brother and his bookshop. Tell me, how bad was the damage to the store? Did they ruin very much?” Clarissa asked.

  Doyle nodded solemnly. He had done his very best to put the ruined books back together but was still waiting to hear from some of the publishers about getting copies of those books which sold very well.

  “It was quite dreadful,” he said. “And it cost a great deal to recover. We have made so much from the launch of the book, the tickets that is, but I had to use so much of that money on the repairs to the shop and replacements of certain books. It was awful.”

  “Oh, Doyle, I am terribly sorry. I can only imagine how much it must have grieved you. I know what the shop means to you and I truly cannot imagine why those terrible young men would go around, destroying the livelihoods of their neighbours. You deserve better than this, Doyle,” she said.

  “Thank you, Clarissa, but I was not the only one who suffered. There were so many of us who had our shops torn to pieces,” he said.

  “But you have managed to have all he repairs dealt with, yes? There is nothing still in pieces, is there?”

  “No, nothing at all. Everything is finally back as it should be. I fear that I lost much in the process, but I am glad that it has been restored as best it can be. You know, they tore so many of my books to shreds. I cannot imagine what would possess anyone to do such a thing. Why would someone want to destroy books? They are the most lovely, beneficial things we have in our society. To imagine the sort of madness it would require to destroy them is beyond me,” Doyle said, shaking his head.

  “Did you have to replace them with a part of your collection? That was my deep fear,” Clarissa said.

  “Indeed, I had to. I had no other choice. But at least they are now getting into the hands of those who actually wish to read them. Whilst they were in my possession, those books were simply a list for me to go through as I was able,” he said.

  “Yes, I know. You and your love for books being on the shelves is nearly as strong as your love of actually reading them,” she replied.

  “There are plenty of people in this world who are just like that. Do not pretend that it makes me strange,” he said, grinning.

  There was no one in the world who could make Doyle feel quite so at ease as his sister did, and yet, even she was not like Miss Blackwell, who brought him immense joy. His sister was witty, like Miss Blackwell, and he hoped that the two of them would have the chance to meet eventually. He still thought they would like one another, but remained nervous just in case they did not.

  “I am just glad that you are safe. You and this young woman as well, yes? Tell me more about her,” Clarissa said.

  Doyle smiled and sat, leaning back in his chair and thinking about the young woman who had taken his breath away.

  “Miss Blackwell has a mind unlike any I could ever have imagined. She is brilliant, truly. I do not think there is another young woman who is her equal. You would like her. She has such wit and wisdom. She really is the sort of woman I could never have hoped to find without the miraculous help of fate,” he admitted, allowing himself to be more open and honest than usual.

  “Goodness, I have never heard you speak of a young woman this way. She must be truly remarkable,” Clarissa said.

  “She is. You cannot imagine her genius with a pen. Her work is splendid. This book is one of the purest, most genuine pieces
of literature I have ever read in all my life. When you read it, you shall be astonished,” he said.

  “I am looking forward to it. I want to know everything about this young woman who has captivated you so. Do you think she cares for you as much as you care for her?” Clarissa asked.

  Doyle sighed and shrugged.

  “That is the question which haunts me. I do hope so. I hope that she could love me one day,” he said.

  “Ah! So, it is love?” Clarissa leaned forward and put her hands under her chin, a posture of intrigue and determined interest. He ought to have known that his sister would push for this, to know what was in his mind and to understand what exactly Doyle was hoping to find. He had a new and budding romance that he could not keep to himself even if he should have tried to remain calm about it.

  He froze at the realisation that he had just confessed to loving Miss Blackwell. That had not been his intention. He had never anticipated that he would admit to a feeling quite that strong.

  He could not deny that it was love which resounded in his chest, beating to the rhythm of every hope he had been trying to ignore, however. He had not wished to confess that this was the extent of how he felt about her, and yet, he could not pretend anything different.

  “Yes, I believe that it is. And your practical brother finds it difficult to admit, but the brother who also loves a good book and the romanticism of literature must confess that this is the truth,” Doyle said, switching to third person as a way of disassociating himself with what he was saying.

  Clarissa laughed and clasped her hands together.

  “Oh, Doyle! My brother how delighted I am! I could not be happier, truly. You are deserving of this happiness, more than words can say. I do hope that you shall see this through, that you and Miss Blackwell are given the opportunity to share in your love as time goes on.”

  “You have not even met her yet. You may find that you disapprove of her,” Doyle said anxiously.

  Clarissa looked to James and shook her head as if scolding a child. It was clear that she was not going to pretend to pay any heed to Doyle’s warnings. She was far cleverer than that and was not going to pretend otherwise.

  “Do you hear my brother? He thinks I would disapprove? I cannot fathom that he would ever choose a woman I disapprove of. His taste is far too gentle for that,” she scoffed.

  “Gentle? Is that what you think of me? Interesting. Well, I fear that I have nothing more to say on this matter,” Doyle said, blushing.

  He had certainly done all he could to remain comfortable for as long as he was able to, but this was the end of it. He no longer had it in him to sit under their gazes and listen to his sister speaking about his gentleness. He wanted to be viewed as a strong, authoritative man. That had never been something others saw in him, but he wanted that for the sake of this woman whose heart he was suddenly eager to woo.

  Would Miss Blackwell actually want someone who could be described at gentle? Or would she prefer someone like George, who was strong and tough? George still had the love of books that she would probably want in a man, and yet, he was also quite attractive to most of the young ladies who came into the shop.

  Doyle was beginning to wonder if he would be better off dressing more fashionably. Would he improve his chances with her if he cut his hair, shaved, and wore newer, younger clothing?

  Miss Blackwell was not so shallow as to care about all that, but it would not harm him to make more of an effort. Certainly, she would appreciate the gesture, would she not?

  It wasn’t important. Doyle tried to remind himself that there was no commitment between him and Miss Blackwell, and he should not get ahead of himself, thinking that they might actually be able to have something before he even knew how she felt.

  With time, he was sure, he would know.

  Chapter 23

  Pippa was making her way into town, hoping to find something new and pretty to wear in her hair before the evening when the book was to be released. She could not wear her simple daytime bonnet for an event such as that.

  It was deeply important to her that she look as lovely as possible for the event. It was her greatest hope that she could actually impress some of those wealthy, titled men.

  Even if she did not care at all for their opinions of her, she did care about their opinions of her writing. Having the opportunity to present herself as a young woman of class and elegance was simply an added benefit.

  Whether or not they found her beautiful hardly mattered. The important part was whether they found her dignified. If she was dressed in her absolute best clothing, simple rather than gratuitous jewelry, with a classy, understated pin in her hair, she just might be able to pull off the image she hoped for.

  Pippa had not made it very far into town when her face fell. She saw him up ahead, coming in her direction. He had not yet seen her, and she dreaded the moment when he would.

  George Sinclair.

  Ever since he had given her those flowers, Pippa had been terribly anxious around him. She did not want him to have feelings for her because she did not believe that she could return them. No matter how much George appeared to like her, it was nothing compared to how much she liked Mr. Brooks.

  Pippa bowed her head, hoping that her bonnet would hide her face well enough, but it was only a moment before she heard him call her name.

  Looking up, she took in the sight of him.

  “Ah, Mr. Sinclair. Hello,” Pippa said, trying to smile at him even though it pained her to pretend that she was happy to see him when she was actually wishing she could be anywhere else in that moment.

  “Miss Blackwell, how wonderful to see you. I was just thinking about you, in fact. You know, it is strange that you should happen to pop into my mind at just the right moment before I saw you walking down the lane. Tell me, do you think we could have a seat somewhere and speak?” he asked.

  She looked at him with wide-eyed surprise. How could he ask something like that?

  “Oh, dear. I would appear that I have startled you. Forgive me, Miss Blackwell, I had no intention of making you uncomfortable. It is only that I really do think highly of you and I had hoped that we may have a chance to speak in private.”

  “Mr. Sinclair, you know very well that there is no speaking in private between a man and a woman in the middle of London. It would be most improper for us to sneak away on our own or to sit together in public as…as if we had some sort of agreement,” she said, trying to put it delicately.

  Pippa wondered what had possessed him to make such a suggestion, but then she realised that he probably thought it would not matter to her so much. After all, she had been meeting in private with Mr. Brooks for the past few weeks, why should she be upset about this suggestion for the two of them to spend time together?

  Pippa was willing to explain if she really needed to. There was no reason for George to expect that she would make such accommodations for him as well. He was just the man who worked with Mr. Brooks at the bookshop. He could hardly expect her to set aside all propriety.

  For Mr. Brooks, she was setting aside propriety for the sake of her book. George had no such claim to her.

  “I understand, Miss Blackwell,” he finally said. “I know that society is a fickle thing, and it can be very difficult to find opportunities to do what we actually wish to do when society is holding us back.”

  “Have I given you the impression that I should like to do away with society’s rules so that we might spend time together?” she asked, cautiously.

  “Well…yes. I mean, you come to the shop all the time and I know we have spoken a great deal. We get along very well. Are you saying that you do not have…that I am mistaken in what I have interpreted?” he questioned.