by Abigail Agar
“Yes. I think such a day could come.”
Chapter 26
Dreamy and content, Doyle made his way to the shop to check on things. There was still much to be done before the launch in terms of preparation and cleanup. Although everything was put back together, he wanted the shop to be spotless.
He could not get his mind off the evening before. So much had taken place, so much which was a comfort to him. Having discovered that Miss Blackwell enjoyed dancing with him and that even her mother and father seemed to approve of him, he felt a wave of relief wash over him.
There was no chance that he could have felt that way if things had gone any differently. It was only because Miss Blackwell had been so eager to dance with him that he had any peace at all. He wondered if her mother and father had inquired further about him and if he had been exposed for his slight deception.
Doyle chose to dwell on the positive. He was glad that her mother had seemed to approve. That was, of course, the primary task at hand in wooing a woman like her.
For now, he needed to prepare other things, to focus on the other tasks at hand, even if they were not his real priority. Because there was scarcely more than a week until the book was to be released, it was time for him to ensure that the entire shop was prepared.
“Ah, George, there you are. How is it today? Any customers?” he asked as he stepped into the shop to see George leaning back and relaxing in his chair.
“Oh! Oh, Mr. Brooks, yes, hello,” he said, rushing to sit upright and look as if he had not been dawdling.
“It is quite all right. I can see that you have been relaxing and, so long as you have not been so unpresentable before customers, I do not mind in the least. But have there been very many today?” he asked again.
“No, there have not, Mr. Brooks. We had two gentlemen come in this morning to take a look at what we had on offer and another who came to add his name to the list of those who would like to be informed should we have space for more people at the event. Otherwise, that is all.”
“Goodness gracious, I can hardly believe that there are still so many who are eager to attend. You know, it shouldn’t surprise me if we learn that many of them are actually already suspicious as to whether or not this book was written by a woman.”
“What do you mean? Why do you think they would think that?” George asked.
“One man asked me what it was like to get into the mind of not one, but two women. He asked if I was able to handle such sensitivity. When I told him that I made every effort, he said that he suspected I had more help than that,” Doyle said.
“Interesting. I would not have thought that anyone might figure it out,” George said.
“Yes, well, soon enough, they shall all know,” Doyle replied, grinning like a fool.
George eyed him with suspicion for a moment before speaking up.
“So, you still intend to be quite honest about everything?” he asked.
“Certainly. I cannot bear to keep up a lie,” Doyle replied.
“That is good. And you do appear to be in quite a nice mood today,” George said, seeming quite the opposite. Doyle sensed that George was agitated about something, but there was no reason to pry. As far as Doyle was concerned, they were employer and employee, nothing more. There was no reason at all to blur those lines.
“Indeed, I am in a splendid mood. Anyway, what have we here?” he asked, focusing on a misplaced volume.
“Oh, that is where the man was looking earlier,” George replied.
“Please be sure to check things like this, Mr. Sinclair,” Doyle said. “This is your duty, the very reason for which I pay you.”
“Yes, I know. Pardon me, Mr. Brooks,” George said.
“Anyway, that is all there is to it. Otherwise, you are doing a rather splendid job keeping the shop running whilst I am away.”
George still looked at him with the same curious stare.
“Well, what is it?” Doyle finally asked.
“You are different. Has something happened? You are not quite yourself,” George said.
Doyle smiled again but looked away. He did not wish for George to know every detail of his life and thought to avoid any prying if he was able. But he could not quite keep all this wonderful news to himself.
“I am simply in a very good mood, thank you,” Doyle said.
“What sort of mood? You look…you look as if you are in love,” George said.
Doyle smiled to himself and finally turned to George and shrugged.
“Yes, I suppose that’s it. I am in love. I can hardly help it and it is strange to admit, but I am,” he admitted.
George’s own expression darkened. He did not appear happy at all. In fact, he had a rather menacing look to him, and Doyle disliked the quick shift, feeling as if he was somehow at fault for the change which had taken place. He could not be sure what it was that led George to feel this way, but his employee was quite obviously upset.
“What is it? You look unhappy. Have I said something to offend you?” Doyle asked.
George clenched his fists for a moment and then unclenched them as he took a deep breath.
“Mr. Sinclair, what is it that is bothering you so?” Doyle pushed.
George stood to his full height and looked at Doyle with something akin to anger.
“Tell me. Is it Miss Blackwell? Do you love her?” George asked.
Doyle was shocked that he would dare to ask him something so abruptly.
“I beg your pardon, George, but what business is it of yours whom I care for and whom I do not?”
George remained motionless, staring at Doyle. He was not backing down, nor would he be intimidated by George’s evident frustration.
“Just tell me. Is it her? Are you in love with her?” George asked again.
No, he didn’t ask. He demanded. His attitude was perfectly awful, and Doyle was growing more and more furious by the second. He could not understand why George was acting like this or why he would think such behaviour appropriate.
“I…I…” Doyle wasn’t sure why he found it so hard to admit exactly who it was that he loved, but he realised that telling George was far more complicated than he might have otherwise anticipated.
His lack of an answer was more than enough to confirm George’s suspicions, however.
“I cannot believe you love her,” George said, his tone full of sadness and strife.
“Is there a problem with that?” Doyle asked.
George looked up at him, his eyes displaying the disappointment that Doyle could understand. It was clear. He would not ask George. He did not need to ask.
The very same woman Doyle loved was the one George cared for as well.
This realisation struck Doyle and he was completely uncertain what to say to George about it. Instead, he chose to ignore the matter altogether, turning away from his employee and fixing another book.
“Well, it looks as if you have things well in hand for now. I shall be here tomorrow, and I can take on the duties of the day. You ought to take the day off and enjoy yourself,” Doyle said.
“What? But I need to work tomorrow,” George said.
“No, no, there is no need. I must come in and take care of a few things. It is better that you enjoy a bit of time free from here,” Doyle insisted.
With that, before another word could be said, Doyle left the shop, quickly making his way down the road and around the corner into an alleyway. There, he stopped and leaned against a wall, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath.
Had he really just run away from his own shop in order to avoid dealing with his employee regarding the fact that they were in love with the same woman? Had that actually just taken place?
Doyle could not understand what he was supposed to do now. Things with George were growing increasingly complicated. Although he now understood why George had been so eager to see Miss Blackwell get credit for the book, he also now understood that things were going to be very awkward between them.
Doyle needed to handle things at the shop, but there was no chance of his returning there while George was present. Not that day, anyway. He would go back the following day, take care of everything he needed to do when George was not there, and then he would sort out his feelings at another time and move on. There was no need for this discomfort between himself and Mr. Sinclair when they really had only learned that they had something in common.
Not that it was the sort of thing which could possibly bond them, but that did not change the fact that they could at least understand one another better now. Doyle just wanted to escape it entirely, pretend that it had not happened, and that he was perfectly at peace with the feelings George had for Miss Blackwell.
But in his own heart, he was worried. He was petrified that she may have feelings for George in return. And why shouldn’t she? He was a far more dashing young man than Doyle would ever be. George was charismatic and engaging. He was charming and clever and funny. He had a far better humour than Doyle and even understood jokes that Doyle could not quite configure.
There was absolutely no reason for Miss Blackwell to choose Doyle when Mr. Sinclair was available before her very eyes.
All the excitement and joy that Doyle had felt just twenty minutes or so ago was now gone completely. He no longer felt confident that anything he wanted could come to pass when he had this new competitor who was everything he could never be. Miss Blackwell would never notice him beyond the foolish bookseller he was.
Once Doyle came to terms with that fact, he had to breathe a sigh of frustration and move on. He decided his best chance was to simply return home and spend the day moping around in his garden, wishing for a chance to live the life he had never known he wanted.
He continued his work there for an hour until Clarissa showed up.
“Doyle good heavens! You are covered in dirt,” she said.
“Well, yes, that is what happens when one gardens,” he replied.
“Goodness, why are you in such a terrible mood? I would have thought you would be happy. Oh, dear! Did last evening not go well? Did your efforts with Miss Blackwell not pay off as you expected?” she asked.
“Quite to the contrary,” Doyle said.
“Really? Then why are you so unpleasant just now?”
“Because I was a fool for believing that it could have actually meant anything. Miss Blackwell is an incredible young woman with a mind unlike any I could ever hope to fathom. For me to think that she would have anything at all to do with me was sheer nonsense,” he said.
“Hush, Doyle. What is the matter with you?” Clarissa asked.
“Did you not hear me? I was utterly ridiculous to believe that she could like me as I like her. It could never come to pass.”
“What is it? What has happened to make you think this way? You were feeling rather optimistic last I heard,” Clarissa reminded him.
But Doyle could barely look at her. Instead, he let his shoulders sag and he shook his head.
“I am a fool, Clarissa. There is another man who likes her, one who is far more likely to get her attention. I could never compare to him,” he said.
“What? That is positively unbelievable, Doyle. Enough of this. I know you. You are my brother and—”
“Precisely, Clarissa,” he said, cutting her off. “I am your brother. You have no choice but to see the best in me. Well? I have had enough. There is no best. This is all I am. I have nothing more to offer.”
With that, Doyle turned from his sister, rushed inside the house, and closed the door behind himself. He didn’t want her pity or her attention. He didn’t want anything. All he wanted was to be left alone.
Chapter 27
Pippa busily scribbled another sentence. She wasn’t sure if her words were making sense, but she was eager to finish writing before her mother and father returned home. Once they did, they would have more than enough to distract her.
For now, she was thankful to have this time to focus on what she really cared about.
She had very nearly finished this new manuscript. It felt good to get back to it after all the time which had been set aside for her work with Mr. Brooks on the novel they were publishing. At last, however, she was able to focus on her other works, ensuring they were not entirely forgotten.
Deep in thought and wishing she could ask Mr. Brooks his opinion on whether her heroine should walk with a limp, which could be used as an identifying characteristic, she was startled by a knock at the front door.
Pippa stood up and rushed to answer it. Her mother had sent the maid away for the day to visit her own family and it was just Pippa there to look after the house. When she saw that it was none other than George Sinclair on her doorstep, she inwardly groaned.
Why had he come? Could he not simply leave her alone? It would have been the wise thing to do, surely. How could he not see that he was bothering her?
Pippa wondered if he was completely mad or if he was simply too determined to make a match out of them that he did not care in the least that she had no interest in him. She answered the door with a stern expression, just to make it clear to him that she was not going to swoon upon seeing him.
“Mr. Sinclair?” she asked, her voice steady.
“Miss Blackwell, very nice to see you. I hope you do not mind the intrusion, but it is very important that I speak with you,” he said.
“I fear that you have come at a poor time for me, Mr. Sinclair. My mother and father are not home. So, you see, I cannot invite you in. There is nothing which would make it all right for us to speak with one another. Perhaps you may return another time,” she said, trying to close the door.
“Wait, wait, wait, wait!” he said, the words fired in rapid succession. George put his foot in the space to prevent the door from closing.
“Mr. Sinclair!” she shouted, shocked by his determination.
“Please, Miss Blackwell. Please just listen to me. Come outside. If we may not speak indoors, you may at least come out here so that we might have a chance to speak with one another.”
“In view of all of the gossiping neighbours? I think not,” she said.
“What would you have me do, Miss Blackwell?” he asked, insistent.
“I would have you go home. There is nothing for us to speak about.”
“On the contrary, I think we have something very important to discuss. I fear that you have been taken for a fool and I should like to be sure that you are made aware of it before you find yourself completely humiliated,” he said.
Pippa sucked in a breath, surprised by this claim. She didn’t think he was being serious. It had to be just another of his tactics to try and distract her and stop her from shutting the door in his face. Nevertheless, Pippa decided to give George a chance.
She relented, clenching her jaw tightly, and walked outside with him, standing with her arms crossed and leaning her hip against a support beam on the porch.
“All right, Mr. Sinclair. What is it?” she asked.
