by Jo Beverley
“Of course.” Trying to sound more businesslike, Colette asked, “Are you seeking a book as a gift for a special occasion?”
“No. Unfortunately, my father is not well and confined to bed. I thought I would bring him some new reading material.”
“I’m so sorry to hear about your father,” she murmured. She could not help but wonder what was wrong with him. “What does he like to read?”
“Well, your father had chosen a collection of fiction books for me last time. I ended up reading them to my father and he enjoyed them. But I believe he would like something a little more historical.”
Juliette groaned audibly and made a face of pointed disgust.
“Don’t you like to read about history?” Lord Waverly asked her.
Juliette shook her head adamantly, her dark black curls shaking. “I’d rather have my fingernails pulled out.”
A faint smile tugged on the corners of Lord Waverly’s sensuous mouth, yet his expression remained serious. “That’s a rather drastic alternative, Miss Hamilton. Are you afraid that by reading history you may actually learn something that might benefit you?”
Juliette’s face grew scornful at his condescending words. “I have read enough and learned enough to know that men have caused all the misery in this world—”
Recognizing the tone in Juliette’s voice that meant she would soon fly into one of her little tirades, Colette quickly intervened. “Juliette is not the scholarly one in our family.”
“That much is obvious.” Lord Waverly turned his eyes on her, and Colette had to catch her breath at the force of his green-eyed gaze. “I suppose that the title of the ‘scholarly one’ falls to you?”
“Only by relative comparison,” she explained lightly.
At that moment Paulette entered from the backroom of the shop, carrying an armful of her hand-painted placards. The violet dress she wore carried the evidence of the black paint she had used, and much of her long blond hair had been loosened from the thick braid down her back.
“This has to be another sister,” Lord Waverly declared with some astonishment.
Startled, Paulette looked up at the sound of a male voice. “Good afternoon.”
Intensely proud of all her sisters, Colette made the introductions. “Paulette, this is Lord Waverly. We met at the Hayvenhursts’ Ball last night. This is my younger sister, Paulette Hamilton.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He held out his hand to Paulette, who seemed more than awestruck by his handsome presence.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Paulette echoed in a faint whisper, awkwardly balancing wooden placards in her left hand in order to take his with her right.
Lord Waverly smiled at Paulette’s nervousness and gallantly took the signs from her and shook her hand. He turned back to Colette once again, his expression astonished. “It’s uncanny. Do you all look this much alike?”
Colette nodded, accustomed to this type of question when people met her sisters for the first time. “I’m afraid so. We have varying shades of hair and eye color, but we do tend to resemble each other a little.”
“That’s an understatement.” Lord Waverly could not stop glancing between her, Juliette, and Paulette.
“The rest of the signs are dry now,” Paulette announced excitedly, regaining her composure and pointing to the stack that Lord Waverly held.
“What are they?” he asked, his expression curious.
“New signs for the shop. They will help customers know where to find books,” Paulette explained, her face flushed with pride. She took a sign from him, one at a time. “This one says ‘Science’ and we shall hang it over there, where the scientific books are shelved. And this one, ‘Divinity,’ and this one is ‘Geography,’ and this one is ‘Literature,’ and this one—”
“We all know how to read, Paulette,” Juliette interrupted in exasperation. “You needn’t recite each one for us.”
Fifteen-year-old Paulette stuck her tongue out at Juliette. “You are merely jealous because I actually know how to spell these words and you’re lucky if you can read them.”
“I think you’re exactly right about her, Miss Paulette. Your sister seems to dislike the very things she knows the least about,” Lord Waverly said with a slight wink. “However, I think your signs are splendid.”
Paulette’s stunned expression turned to one of utter delight at finding an unexpected ally against her antagonistic sister in the handsome gentleman she just met. Colette laughed to herself as Juliette received the slight comeuppance she deserved. Juliette’s personality was such that she provoked most people by either her comments or behavior. Colette enjoyed seeing Lord Waverly give Juliette a little taste of her own medicine.
Juliette rolled her eyes in disgust, keenly aware at this point that she was outnumbered. “I shall not even dignify that remark with a response, and I shall take my leave of you all now. Good day, Lord Waverly.”
“Good day, Miss Hamilton,” he said, amusement twinkling in his green eyes.
Juliette flounced from the bookshop with an exasperated air, exiting through the door that led to their living quarters upstairs, slamming it behind her for emphasis.
Paulette declared to Lord Waverly, with a beaming smile, “I like you!”
“Thank you,” he responded quietly. “I like you, too.”
Colette noted that he seemed taken aback by Paulette’s compliment and thought she detected the hint of a blush on his clean-shaven cheeks.
“I’ve worked on these signs all week and we’re going to hang them with this cunning green ribbon. Won’t that look wonderful?” Paulette chattered excitedly. “Colette and I are redoing the entire shop!”
“So I’ve noticed.” Lord Waverly gave Paulette a charming smile and then turned his attention to Colette. “Are you responsible for all these changes?” he asked her.
Colette nodded with pride, thinking of all the late nights that she and her little sister had sorted and alphabetized every book in the store while Colette created an extensive inventory list. For as long as she could remember, her father had arranged the books in some sort of system only he understood, making it almost impossible to find a particular book without his help and guidance, which was most likely the reason he would allow no one to learn his secret system. Some books were grouped by size, some by color, and some by topic. He even had a section filled with books he considered unfairly criticized or discarded by the reading public. There was no rhyme or reason to their categorization. Her father’s disorganization was a never-ending source of frustration for Colette. With her new freedom, she was finally able to arrange the books by subject area, and then alphabetically by author. A system that made complete sense to her.
“Yes, but Paulette helps me the most.” Colette beamed.
“But we practically have to tie Juliette up and drag her down the stairs to get her to help us,” Paulette couldn’t help but add.
Lord Waverly laughed, and the smile lit up his face, making him appear even more handsome. A charming dimple at the corner of his mouth softened the graveness of his face. The result was astonishing.
“Why am I not surprised to hear that? What about the other sisters?” he asked.
Recovering from the effect of Lucien Sinclair’s smile, Colette caught her breath and explained, “Lisette is busy taking care of our mother, who is ill, and Yvette is too young and uninterested to be of much help.”
“So Colette and I do most everything in the bookshop on our own,” Paulette confided, obviously thrilled with her newfound friend.
“And your uncle I met at the ball?” he asked.
“What about him?” Colette questioned.
“Doesn’t he have anything to do with the shop at all?”
Uncle Randall would rather be caught dead than to be seen working in a bookshop. Colette shook her head. “No, my uncle would love nothing better than to see Hamilton’s Book Shoppe sold.”
“Then why does he allow you to have the shop?”
/> “Allow me?” Colette echoed in disbelief.
“Yes,” he said simply, as if his question were acceptable.
“He has no right to sell it because it is not his shop to sell. It is my mother’s. And someday it will belong to me.”
“I see,” Lord Waverly stated carefully. With an interested expression, he looked around the shop as if seeing it for the first time. “You have made some definite changes since I was here last.”
“Good or bad?” Colette asked somewhat anxiously, not sure why his answer mattered so much to her.
“I first came to this shop a year ago and I remember it being rather dark and cluttered. And now, well, the light color certainly brightens up the place. It’s much more organized with the books neatly arranged. And the signs designating the different areas are an excellent touch.” He gave a warm grin to Paulette. “I could probably find the books I needed without any assistance at all. I would have to say that is a positive change.”
Thrilled with his response, Colette felt all her hard work had been validated. “That was exactly my intention! A customer should be able to wander about and peruse the shelves if he wants. Or ask for assistance.”
“You make a good point, Miss Hamilton, but I still think you should not be managing the shop without a man’s help.”
Colette folded her arms across her chest. “I’m doing just fine without one.”
“So far,” he challenged her. “But this is not work for a woman alone. A man is better qualified for making rational business decisions.”
“That’s ridiculous!” she declared hotly. Statements like his made her furious.
“That’s outrageous!” Paulette chimed in, coming to her sister’s defense.
With a smug expression, Lord Waverly stated very calmly, “Men are better at business. It is a proven fact, ladies.”
“Proven by whom? Men?” Colette protested against his ignorant belief and rolled her eyes. “As if that means anything! I’m running this shop better than my father ever did, and if I just had more time I could—”
He peered at her inquisitively. “If you had more time, you could do what?”
“Nothing.” She pursed her lips and shook her head. If she had more time she could make all the changes she instinctively knew would increase profits. If she had more time she could pay off her father’s debts before the store had to be sold instead. If she had more time she and Juliette would not have to marry for financial reasons. But she needn’t go into that with Lord Waverly.
Colette took a deep breath to steady her nerves. “I shall not waste my breath explaining what I could do when you obviously have a preconceived notion about the capabilities of women, and you are not open to any new ideas.”
“In that case,” he said, bowing gallantly and flashing a heart-melting grin, “Perhaps you could help me choose some books that would appeal to my father?”
“I would love to,” she said in answer to the sudden change in his demeanor. Caught off balance by the contrasting personalities of the condescending nobleman and charming rogue that he encompassed, she felt her cheeks warm under his regard. “You mentioned that your father likes historical works, so we should begin our search over here.”
He followed her toward the history section of the shop with Paulette trailing behind them, listening avidly to their conversations and anxious to hang her hand-painted signs.
Chapter Five
Surprise, Surprise
Lucien finished reading aloud to his father one of the books Colette Hamilton had chosen for him during his last visit to the shop and realized that not only was his father pleased by the story The Count of Monte Cristo, but he had thoroughly enjoyed the book by Alexander Dumas as well. The woman had excellent taste. Normally such a thing would surprise him, but somehow with her it didn’t. She would have a fine sense of literary style. It suited her image.
Lucien’s father smiled lopsidedly at him and slurred his words. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” he said wearily and closed the book, placing it on the polished cherry table. He stood and poured his father a glass of water from the Wedgwood china pitcher on the sideboard. He had been spending a great deal of time in his father’s massive bedroom suite lately and felt somewhat confined.
Seeing his father bedridden and ailing had shaken Lucien. While he was growing up, his father had not always been the strong athletic type, but he had not been an invalid either. However, this apoplectic attack drained Simon Sinclair, the Marquis of Stancliff, of all life, and the doctor had confirmed Lucien’s fears. There was no indication that he would recover the full use of his right leg, right arm, or his speech. In his weakened condition, his father seemed to have lost the will to live.
“You should rest now,” Lucien suggested, holding the glass of water to his father’s lips.
Simon took a small sip and then shook his head in a feeble gesture. “No…I t-talk.”
“Of course we can talk if you like.” Over the last months Lucien had learned to understand his father’s garbled speech. And in spite of Dr. Garver’s pessimistic predictions of recovery, Lucien believed Simon’s pronunciation was improving. Slightly. He sat back down on the leather armchair and waited patiently for his father to speak.
“Y-you…d-don’t…h-have…t-to…marry.”
Racked with guilt, Lucien said, “Father, I have already made up my mind.” He owed it to his father to be married and settled down while he was still alive to see it happen.
Ever since the debacle of his engagement with Lady Virginia Warren five years ago, Lucien had lived his life like a bat out of hell, earning a notorious reputation for himself, taking no responsibility for anything, not caring about anyone but himself, and causing his poor father more stress than he deserved to bear. His father’s illness opened his eyes to how selfish he had been behaving.
Yet his father had never reproached him. Not once. And at times Lucien more than deserved to be reproached.
Again, Simon shook his gray-haired head in protest, his wrinkled face furrowed. “N-n-no! D-don’t…m-mar-ry…f-for…me-e.”
“I’ve already chosen someone suitable,” Lucien stated calmly. “It will be fine.”
His father became more agitated and shook his head again. The watery blue eyes that had seemed vacant suddenly flashed with a spark Lucien had not seen in years. “No. F-for y-you, y-yes. F-for m-me, no!”
“Father, it is beyond time that I was married and had a family of my own. I realize that now.”
A single tear dripped down his father’s wrinkled and withered cheek. “M-motherrr…”
Good God! They had not spoken of Lucien’s mother in years because his father could not bear to have her name mentioned. Lucien’s stomach churned at the thought of his mother. Hazy images of a dark-haired woman with sparkling eyes, a lilting laugh, and the scent of roses washed over him. Childhood memories of his mother were few and far between, but he distinctly recalled that Lenora Sinclair’s presence lit up any room she entered. Elegantly gowned and sweetly perfumed, she would visit the nursery in a dramatic fashion and gather Lucien in her arms and smother him with kisses before leaving for whatever fabulous party she was attending that evening. Although he’d rarely spent time with her, Lucien had adored his mother and so had his father. Apparently that was not enough for Lenora, who wanted more from life than either Lucien or his father could give her.
She left them when he was only ten years old, and the crushing pain of losing her had devastated both of them.
“P-please, don’t. D-don’t do it,” Simon managed to sputter. “N-not, n-not like your mother.” The effort it took to articulate those few words drained him. He closed his eyes and breathed heavily, wheezing and hoarse, but he continued to shake his head in protest. “Don’t.”
Lucien did not want to talk about his mother now, nor ever, truth be told. She had made her choices and she was gone from their lives for good. He had buried his grief with her when he was a child. His father, unfortun
ately, had not been able to do the same even after all this time.
“It’s all right. I think I’ve finally found a lady whom I believe will be perfect for me,” Lucien explained in a calm and rational tone, attempting to ease his father’s stress. “You will like her, Father. I promise that I’ll marry her before autumn. You will attend my wedding, and we shall have children, your grandchildren. The Marquisate of Stancliff will not end up in the hands of cousin Edmund. I give you my word on that.”
“D-don’t do it f-for m-me.”
Lucien could not fathom why his father kept repeating this when Lucien was finally giving him what he wanted at long last. He realized it was time to settle down and take up the reins of responsibility and manage the estate, especially because his father could no longer do so. Lucien’s marriage would give his father a modicum of peace, knowing the family line would continue with the Sinclairs and not end up with the Blackstones.
Simon made a feeble attempt at a dismissive wave with his good hand.
Lucien recognized the weary signal as the time to leave his father, who was obviously exhausted. His furrowed brows indicated his frustration at not being able to express himself clearly. Simon seemed to have aged twenty years in the last few weeks, becoming almost unrecognizable from the man he once had been.
“Yes, I’ll go now and send Nurse Fiona up to help you. You should get some sleep,” Lucien said, patting his father on the shoulder. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
He left with a heavy heart and an increasing sense of unease.
Later that evening, as Lucien arrived at Lord Hutton’s party, he still puzzled over his father’s vehement protests to his plans for marriage. The illness must have affected the old man’s thinking. Left him slightly unbalanced. Of course Simon wished his only son to marry. Every noble patriarch’s ambition was to continue the family line, and Lucien was determined fulfill that dream for him.
He glanced about the crowd as he made his way through the receiving line, but did not yet see Jeffrey Eddington. Which was a good omen. Jeffrey would only try to dissuade him from his mission that evening.
