Chapter 10
The bell above the door jingled the next morning, and Vicky looked up from the ledger to see Beatrice sweep in, cheeks pink from the cold, Nathan close behind with his steady air of calm disapproval.
Four children were bundled like parcels in the carriage outside, leaving foggy handprints on the window.
“Ah, there you are,” Bea said in the tone of one who expected to find her sister in a compromising position and was mildly disappointed not to. “We came for books. The children are clamoring for fairy tales.”
“And I,” Nathan said, “came for account books, though I suspect your shelves are overrun with romantic nonsense instead.”
Vicky arched a brow. “You wound me, brother. There are histories and sermons aplenty, should you wish to bore yourself insensible.”
Before Nathan could retort, the bell chimed again.
Hubert Stouts entered, stamping snow from his boots, his broad shoulders filling the doorway as though he meant to block the world beyond.
He inclined his head politely to Beatrice and Nathan, then turned toward the counter as if nothing were amiss.
But Bea’s brows lifted. “Why, Mr. Stouts. You look positively at home here.”
Vicky’s stomach plunged. “He has only been kind enough to keep watch,” she said quickly.
“Keep watch?” Nathan echoed.
“Indeed,” Hubert said evenly. “The thieves have grown bold. Until the watch secures the lane, I will remain nearby to protect Miss Abbott and her assistant.”
There was a silence thick enough to spread on toast. Bea looked at Vicky with a mixture of sisterly amusement and suspicion. “Remain nearby? As in… within the shop?”
Vicky’s cheeks burned. “He sleeps on the settee.”
Bea pressed her lips together, clearly battling laughter. Nathan, ever the elder brother, only cleared his throat. “A most generous arrangement. Do you consider it wise?”
“Yes,” Vicky snapped, before Hubert could answer. “I am hardly so delicate that my virtue will shatter like porcelain if guarded by a neighbor.”
Nathan’s ears went pink, and Bea smothered a laugh behind her handkerchief.
**
Later, while Nathan browsed the ledgers with his usual severity, Bea caught Vicky in the alcove by the children’s books. She lowered her voice, eyes sparkling with mischief.
“Do be careful, darling. Men have their… needs.”
Vicky nearly dropped a copy of Pilgrim’s Progress onto her toe. “Bea!”
“Well, it is true. Your independence is admirable, but proximity breeds temptation. I should know.” Bea leaned closer, her tone conspiratorial. “There were weeks after my marriage when I thought Nathan would never leave the bedchamber at all.”
“Stop.” Vicky pressed both hands to her ears. “I beg you.”
“Don’t pretend innocence,” Bea said, wicked as a cat. “If he is sleeping under the same roof, you cannot help but notice him. And if you notice him, well—”
“Enough!” Vicky hissed, mortified, though her blush betrayed her. She was far too aware of Hubert’s needs, having spent half the night discovering precisely how little distance there now was between them.
Bea only patted her arm smugly. “Follow your heart, dearest. But do remember your reputation. Men are not always as constant as they appear.”
The words pricked sharper than they should have, and Vicky found herself watching Hubert with new, uncertain eyes as he spoke quietly with Nathan.
**
The unease grew worse two mornings later, when a sharp knock rattled the shop door. A young woman stood there, bundled in a worn cloak, cheeks red from the cold.
“Mr. Stouts,” she said breathlessly when Hubert appeared. “You must come. Mother is ill. She asks for you.”
Hubert’s face softened at once. “Of course.” He glanced at Vicky, his expression unreadable. “I shall be gone only a few days.”
She managed a stiff nod, though her chest squeezed painfully.
When the door closed behind him, silence filled the shop like a weight. Vicky stared at the empty space he had left, her throat tight. She told herself it was nothing—an errand, a duty—but the echo of Bea’s warning whispered cruelly: Men are not always constant.
By evening she had given up pretense. Gracie found her behind the counter, head bent, tears slipping hot and silent onto the ledger pages.
“Oh, love.” Gracie hurried around and folded her into a brisk embrace. “What foolishness is this?”
“I thought—” Vicky choked. “I thought perhaps he cared for me. But he is gone at the first call. Perhaps I was only… convenient.”
“Convenient?” Gracie snorted. “You, who argue with him at every turn and ruffle his composure daily? If that is convenience, I cannot imagine what inconvenience looks like.”
Vicky gave a watery laugh, but it broke into another sob. “Then why does it feel like abandonment?”
“Because you let him in,” Gracie said simply, smoothing her hair. “And when we let someone in, even a brief absence feels like a wound. But mark my words, he will come back. The man looks at you as if you’ve set the stars in his sky.”
Vicky clung tighter, though her doubts whispered on.