by Edith Layton
Lady Gray had a lively wit, Arthur was wonderful at mimicry and making funny faces, and Niall was cleverer than any man Joy ever spent time with. He made her say funnier things than she’d ever thought of, too.
Joy came to see they all enjoyed each other’s company. Lord Paget really liked his aunt, though she loved to tease him. He was fond of Arthur, less so when Arthur grew too gallant toward herself. Odd, she thought now and again when she saw the spaniel eyes Arthur made at her, that she’d first thought him the more handsome. Now she saw he was just a boy, a frivolous one at that. Not half as good-looking as Niall. How could she have thought tousled black curls and great brown eyes more compelling than a strong lean face with bright watchful eyes? Madness. She looked at the baron whenever she could, which was whenever he wasn’t watching her.
Lady Gray watched the pair of them with satisfaction. It was very like watching a badminton match, she later observed, with one of them returning a glance whenever the other left off glancing their way. Let Arthur sulk. He was young, he’d have his turn with other females. Niall had never before shown any respectable woman preference, and Joy Ayres was more than respectable. She was charming, intelligent, and obviously fascinated by Niall.
But when the desserts were finally served, it wasn’t a very sweet time for Joy. “It’s very late,” she said regretfully, “or at least, so it is in our house. I must be at work tomorrow,” she added. She raised her chin because she was cringing inwardly at having to use the word work. It reminded her of the gulf between herself and these privileged people she was dining with.
It reminded Niall, too. “Yes, too bad. Because I can’t forget my obligations, either. I have to see a man about a horse tomorrow at first light. I’ve plans to bring a handsome bay stud home with me when I return for Christmas.”
“Ah, Christmas at the old Hall,” his aunt sighed. “I can’t wait. It’s been so long since we gathered there together at Christmastime. Are you going to keep to all the old traditions, Niall? The ones I remember from my childhood? The Yule log, the carolers, dressing the house with rowan and evergreen?”
“The crab apple punch?” Arthur asked eagerly. “The hot buttered punch, the gin and ale punch?”
“The fruitcake,” Lady Gray added wistfully, “the plum pudding, the roast goose?”
“All of it. From the kissing bough to the mistletoe,” Niall said with a smile. “I’m bringing back the old place with everyone old and good restored to it as well.”
Joy’s happiness slowly ebbed completely away. She looked down at her plate. It wasn’t their fault. Why shouldn’t they rejoice? They’d just forgotten she was there. She’d been in this position before. It would be better if she were a servant and not expected to partake in such pleasures, then it wouldn’t have mattered what she overheard or how she was excluded from the conversation. But now she felt as she had so many times when the ladies in the bookshop spoke of their teas and balls and parties. She had to remain silent, hoping they wouldn’t notice. Because if they did, they’d remember that she wasn’t one of their kind, no matter how much she might seem to be. In such situations she wasn’t.
She was only like a fly on the wall. An underprivileged fly who dared not raise a wing or make a buzz lest she be discovered observing those who were experiencing so much more of life than she ever could.
Niall looked at his suddenly silent guest and throttled a groan. He’d erred, and badly. He started to speak, then held his tongue. There was nothing he could say. This wasn’t the time or place to discuss his plans or hopes for Christmas with Joy.
But his aunt didn’t know that.
“And what shall you do for Christmas, my dear?” Lady Gray asked Joy, making Niall wince.
“Oh, we make merry, too,” she answered, avoiding their eyes.
It wasn’t altogether a lie, she thought. She’d have the day off, and that toast with a jot of rum, and by nightfall, she’d probably be the proud owner of a brand-new handkerchief. She resisted the urge to bawl. “Oh, my, look at the time,” she said instead, rising from her chair. “If I sit any longer it will be Christmas day! Thank you so much, my lady, but I must go home now.”
“Niall will take you,” Lady Gray said. “I hope you enjoyed your dinner, child. And be sure, I’d love to have you visit again.”
So should I, but I’m not sure my heart can take it, Joy thought, but said, “Thank you.”
*
Niall took her home in his aunt’s carriage because now it was too cold to ride outside. Arthur sat with them, as merry a chaperon as any girl ever had—until he was firmly told that he wasn’t coming along on their adventure the next day.
“Aunt needs you home with her,” Niall said to stop his cousin’s outraged protests, having arranged that before he’d even left her house.
Arthur put his chin on his fist and brooded massively and poetically, a trick he’d perfected before the mirror in the last days. Joy didn’t notice, she was too busy looking at Niall. “I’ll come for you at ten,” Niall told her, “so we can track down the owner of your mysterious treasure.” “But you have a horse to buy,” she said. “I can see the others on my own.”
“The horse is bought. All I have to do is deliver the money, and that I can do at any time before I leave London.”
“Still, I can’t ask you to give up so much time for my quest,” she protested.
“You can’t ask me to stop. I love a mystery, and I’m as eager as you to solve it now. And who knows?” he added as he thought it. “It may be that the mystery was solved while we were gone. Maybe whoever lost whatever it was has already come back to the shop to claim it.”
They both fell still at that. Then they all sat quietly, Niall pondering recent events, Joy feeling as depressed as Arthur obviously was, all the way back to the bookshop.
*
The next day dawned iron hard and flint cold. But Joy woke early, threw back the covers, and rushed from her snug bed, never feeling the chill of the floor beneath her bare toes, because of the warmth in her heart. She’d asked Cousin Minch when she came in last night: No one had claimed the banknotes! And Niall would be coming to get her at ten. He’d be here, and he’d take her away with him, even if just for another day. But she was grateful for it. It wasn’t just that he was handsome and clever. Or maybe it was. Nor because looking at him set her blood bubbling and her pulses racing. Or was it? Who cared? Whatever it was, it was more than she’d ever known, and she would experience it again today. All day!
“I won’t take her out past teatime today,” Niall told Cousin Minch when he came to collect Joy at ten.
Joy, standing ready with her notebook in her hand and her bonnet already on her head, felt her spirits plummet.
“We can’t jeopardize her health,” he told Alfred, as naturally as if he was part owner of the shop. “It’s too cold for searching farther today. One ride, one visit, a fortifying cup of tea or two, and then home. Tomorrow is another day.”
“Indeed,” Alfred said smoothly, his hands rubbing together. “Too kind of you to involve yourself in this, my lord. But if the owner doesn’t show up at once we must keep searching, and there are many subscribers to our little library who would have to be consulted. We cannot inconvenience you for so long.”
Joy’s spirits sank further.
“You aren’t inconveniencing me,” Niall said. “I find the chase invigorating. I’ll be home in the country soon enough, where hunting only involves the body. It isn’t half as stimulating as the brain work before us here.”
“You’ll be leaving us soon, then?” Alfred asked silkily.
“In a few weeks,” Niall said. “It should do. I looked at your lending library list. I’ll have enough time to reach them all.”
A few weeks! Joy thought, her heart leaping up.
“Some of your patrons will doubtless come in the meanwhile, too,” Niall was saying. “Who knows? The case might solve itself before then. In any event, there’s no need to send Miss Ayres out by herself
. We’ll have your answer before Christmas. If the weather turns bad, I can take her in a closed carriage—with a housemaid from my hotel, hired for the sake of appearances, of course.”
“Of course,” Alfred said. “Well, carry on.”
Niall’s lips quirked.
“Now, you know he only meant ‘proceed,’” Joy told Niall as they walked to his curricle.
“Oh, bother. Does that mean we have to change all our nefarious plans?” he asked.
They laughed as they drove off. In fact, they enjoyed themselves even more than the day before, though neither of them thought that possible. They enjoyed every minute of their visit with the two Miss Ives sisters, too. Although not frequent visitors to Minch’s compared to the other women, the elderly twins had borrowed the book as well.
Both ladies were delighted with their unexpected visitors, but were unable to help with the mystery.
“Not I,” the elder Miss Ives announced at once. “Gemma, did you leave anything in the book?”
Her sister denied it. “Our father was a schoolmaster,” she told Joy and Niall, “he’d slay us for wrinkling a page, much less leaving anything in a book! Remember how he carried on when Mama tore a recipe out of a magazine?” she asked her sister. “Or when you put a rose to dry inside of Dryden? Oh, no, old habits die hard, we’d never deface anything in print or put anything into a volume.”
“But books do make good hiding places,” her sister said slowly, “and so occasionally rules must be broken.”
Her twin nodded. They exchanged knowing smiles.
Joy held her breath, Niall went on the alert. In spite of the sisters’ denials, it might be that they had an answer. And an end to their adventure. Because the women wore matching grins, looking less like elderly ladies than mischievous children.
“Gemma was being courted by a young man Father thought unsuitable,” her sister explained. “So she hid all his forbidden letters in a book.”
“And Father never found them!” Gemma laughed.
“Because you hid them in Female Complaints and Their Practical Cures,” her sister cried. Both ladies giggled and stole glances at Niall. “Excuse our crudeness,” Gemma said, “but it was so droll.”
“And the young man?” Niall asked. “What happened to him?”
“Oh,” Gemma said with a shrug, “he was unsuitable.”
Niall and Joy laughed over that later, when they were alone again, sharing tea at one of London’s most elegant tearooms. They felt like criminals who had gotten an unexpected reprieve. The game would go on!
They talked about books, they chatted about politics and the weather, and discussed favorite colors and foods. But with all the topics they covered, they conveniently avoided any mention of the thing most people were thinking about these days: Christmas. Neither wanted to bring up the subject. One because he deemed it still too early, the other because the thought of it pained her. It hardly mattered. They found a dozen other things to discuss, and stayed at tea until the afternoon grew too dark for them to pretend it wasn’t over.
*
Cousin Minch was still wearing the banknotes like a secret boutonniere when Niall came to get Joy the next day.
“Visiting Mrs. Holcombe today?” Alfred said. “Good, good. The lady has not come here of late, but then many of our customers are already off for the holidays. I hope you find her home. Off you go then, and good luck with ending this mystery!”
Joy didn’t wish for that. She tried not to even think of it. Instead, she told Niall about the lady they were going to visit as they drove to her house.
“Mrs. Holcombe is charming,” Joy said. “She may seem fluttery, maybe even scatter-witted, but that’s just her way. I assure you, she’s no fool. She reads voluminously. Unfortunately, she speaks the same way. In fact,” she sighed, “she chatters on like a magpie. But she has a very good heart.”
Niall grinned. “Ah, a good heart. That’s what you females say about really unfortunate-looking women you want to introduce us single gentlemen to, isn’t it? No matter, it’s what men say about other men we make excuses for, too. Did I ever tell you about my uncle—by marriage, I assure you—Richard, the fellow with a heart of gold and face of brass?”
He proceeded to, and they were laughing when they arrived at Mrs. Holcombe’s house. She was at home. The moment they announced their names to her maid, they heard a glad cry from inside. Mrs. Holcombe rushed out to the hall to warmly welcome them, ushering them in before they could even state their mission.
“Oh, I adore company!” Mrs. Holcombe said. She was a tall, thin woman who waved her arms constantly as she spoke, and she spoke all the time. “What a good idea that you came to visit. Why didn’t you think of it before? Or rather, why didn’t I? Oh, I ought to have thought of it, though I didn’t know you, Lord Paget, of course, but I’m so pleased you’ve come along with our Joy. Oh, why didn’t I think of this before?”
She gave them no time to answer. She kept talking as they stared with wonder and tried to edge inside her crowded parlor.
The house was filled to the brim with curios, cats, and oddments. The walls were so completely papered with pictures that it was hard to tell what color they were, if indeed they were walls at all and not just an amalgam of framed prints. It seemed as if every souvenir ever made in England along with every seashell that ever washed up on its shores was displayed on one of the many tables that filled the room. Joy had never heard Mrs. Holcombe speak of her husband. It was possible, she thought, looking around in awe, that the poor fellow simply couldn’t fit in the house anymore, or else he’d been papered over.
She and Niall caught each other’s eye as they sat down on the edge of their chairs, not moving their feet lest they kick a cat or upset a table. But their smiles vanished when they heard what Mrs. Holcombe had to say as soon as she heard the reason for their visit.
“Oh, something lost in a book?” she asked. “I’m so glad you let me know. It’s mine!”
Niall and Joy sat dumbstruck. He took in a sharp breath; her fair complexion turned to whey.
“So sorry to have sent you running all around London,” Mrs. Holcombe went on. “I should have sent a note round, but I planned on coming to the shop today. I couldn’t, at the last moment, but I’m sure I would have got there tomorrow.”
“Indeed?” Niall said, recovering himself. “So, if you please, ma’am, what exactly was in the book? I’d certainly like to know what the item of value was.”
“Well,” Mrs. Holcombe said, putting a finger to her chin, “I’m not completely sure. I’m missing a statement from my bank. And a letter from my cousin in America. And an invitation to the Swanson’s Christmas ball. Oh! And two pounds ten that I got in change from the greengrocer last week. No, I lie. I found the ten in my pocket, so that’s only the two coins, then.”
Joy let out her pent-up breath, feeling dizzy with relief. She shook her head. “It isn’t any of those things.”
“An emerald ring,” Mrs. Holcombe went on pensively. “Though I suspect my poor Midge et it by mistake,” she added, dimpling at a large gray cat that lay draped over a sofa. “And my opera glasses. Oh. And a program from the Opera, and…”
Joy and Niall looked at each other as Mrs. Holcombe rattled off a list of missing objects, most of them impossible to fit between the pages of a book, others not valuable by anyone’s definition but hers.
“Well, I declare!” she finally said when she ran out of missing items that Joy denied were the ones she’d found. “Whatever it is can’t be mine. Wait! I’ll have a look round and see if I can come up with more things that should be here but aren’t.”
Niall rose. “Yes, do that. But we must be off now. If you find more that’s missing, I suggest presenting a list to Miss Ayres or her cousin. Thank you for your time.”
“Oh, it’s nothing, and I shall,” Mrs. Holcombe said. “But that won’t be until after Christmas, because I forgot, Mr. Holcombe’s family will be here for the holiday and I simply won’t
have time to search until they leave. Be sure I will then.”
She followed them out, stood in the doorway, and called after them as they went back to his curricle. “Miss Ayres, you simply must come again, and bring your young man again, too!”
Niall darted a swift glance at Joy. Her face went ruddy as her cousin Minch’s. “You aren’t going to correct her?” he asked in a low voice as he took her hand. He was supposed to help her up to her seat, but he just stood, looking down at her, holding her hand.
Joy shrugged. “It isn’t necessary,” she whispered back. “She’ll forget what she said in an hour. She’d be horrified if she was told her mistake.”
He grew solemn. “Is it a mistake, then?”
Her gaze shot to his, it was blue fire. She put up her chin. “Baron,” she said stiffly, “I’m a bookseller. You’re one of the most eligible gentlemen in London. We have had a fascinating time together these past days, or, at least, I have. But I don’t deceive myself. I can’t. I may deal in fiction, but I know fairy tale from fact.”
“And what are those facts?”
She huffed a little sigh, as exasperated as she was saddened by his joking about something so important to her. “Please,” she said, “embrace reality.”
“I’d rather embrace you,” he said. She gasped. He ducked his head and brushed a kiss across her opened lips.
He moved back immediately, though only fractionally, his eyes searching hers. She stood staring at him, her lips still apart in shock.
Their mouths tingled with electricity, as though they’d touched after crossing a rug on a dry day, instead of standing stock-still on the cold cobbles of a London street. Her hand flew to her lips. His eyes followed. They stared at each other. He put a hand on her waist, slowly drew her closer, watching for the least sign of objection from her. There was none. She was as lost in the moment as he was. He lowered his head and kissed her again, this time slowly, searchingly and thoroughly. With her full cooperation.
Because after a second’s hesitation, she wound her arms around his neck and kissed him back. Her experience in such matters was limited, but her reactions were all he could have wanted and left them both wanting more. She hadn’t known that tongues were involved in kissing; he hadn’t fully realized how much hearts were. Both were wild to discover more. They’d found the warmest place on a cold day in a cold world, and stayed locked together seeking even greater heat and pleasure. They did.
