2. An Unscheduled Stop
CHAPTER 2
An Unscheduled Stop
T he coach rattled into the bustling yard of a sizeable inn, the driver shouting impatiently for a fresh team of horses. Rain dripped steadily from the brim of Shaun’s hat, and despite the good quality of his many-caped greatcoat, water had begun to trickle down his neck. He hunched his shoulders against the chill, feeling the dampness pooling between his shoulder blades.
He regretted, for the third or fourth time, his impulsive decision to surrender his inside seat to the fragile-looking older gentleman who had climbed aboard at the last stop. Yet even as he grimaced, Shaun knew he’d do the same again if presented with the choice. Really, he could be too soft-hearted for his own good sometimes.
“Hatfield!” someone shouted, and Shaun perked up slightly. Not far now to London. If his memory served, this would be the last change—or perhaps one more before the final push into the city. He could make it by tonight, if he wanted to.
But then what?
The thought tugged at him, heavy and unwelcome. London, cold and dark in the middle of December, would hardly offer a warm welcome. He’d find himself in an overcrowded inn, eating some dubious excuse for food, and likely still damp by the time he went to bed. There was no one waiting for him in the capital, no fireside with his name on it, no family or friends eager to greet him.
He glanced out at the inn, its windows glowing yellow through the rain with a promise of warmth. The yard bustled with activity—the burly post-boys, the stamping hooves of restless horses, and the smell of wet hay mingling with the promise of a hearty meal.
Shaun made his decision. He leaned out and called to the driver above the noise. “I’m getting down!”
The driver shrugged, indifferent, but Shaun wasted no time. Grabbing his bag, he descended into the muddy inn-yard, boots squelching slightly as they met the ground.
As Shaun stepped clear of the coach, he watched a burly man climb up and unstrap two heavy wooden crates from the roof. They looked sturdy and well-made, the kind of containers that might hold something valuable—or simply very heavy.
“For the bookshop,” the burly man said, shouting down to a spindly boy, “take one over, Ned, and I’ll be there in a moment.”
The boy did his best, but the crate was too much for his arms to get off the ground. If it was for the bookshop, it was probably packed with books. Stepping over, Shaun held out a penny.
“I’ll take the crate if you’ll mind my bag for me, lad.”
“Right good of you, sir! Bookshop’s just next door thataway.” The coin disappeared in a flash and the lad grabbed Shaun’s bag, hugging it tight to his chest.
“Thank you, sir,” the burly man called over, climbing back down and going to assist with the horses. “Please tell the Misses Baxters I’ll be there with the other crate in a moment.”
“Misses Baxter?” Shaun repeated to himself as he made his way toward the indicated shop. He hadn’t expected to be delivering books to ladies, but the notion intrigued him.
The crate was heavy, but well within Shaun’s capacity. Hefting it to his shoulder, he headed through the archway and turned to the right, in the direction the lad had indicated, immediately seeing the hand-painted sign announcing Baxter’s Fine Books hanging above the door of the neighbouring building.
A bell above the door tinkled softly as Shaun shouldered it open, stepping into the welcoming warmth. He paused just inside to let his eyes adjust to the dim, cozy interior. The scent of old paper and fresh glue filled his lungs, strangely comforting, and the crackle of a fire in a distant hearth added to the sense of quiet industry.
He caught a blur of motion near his feet and looked down just in time to see a sleek black cat attempting to dart past him. He gently blocked the animal’s escape with his boot.
A woman’s voice called out from somewhere nearby, sharp and urgent, though Shaun didn’t quite catch the words. He assumed it was a warning not to let the cat out. The animal glared at him for a moment, then turned tail and slinked back into the shop, clearly displeased at being thwarted.
Closing the door firmly behind him, Shaun took a moment to soak in the atmosphere. Like every bookshop he’d ever visited, it was a haven of wooden shelves crammed with bound volumes, illuminated by glass oil lamps hanging strategically throughout the space.
And then he saw her.
She was seated behind the counter, her dark hair swept up into a neat bun at the back of her neck, with long ringlets framing her pale face. Wide hazel eyes looked up at him, and for a brief moment, she seemed utterly startled.
Shaun was fairly used to people looking at him like that - standing six feet six in his bare feet made most folks stare when he crossed their paths - so he simply said, “Where should I put this?”
She blinked at him, still looking rather startled, so he used his free hand to gesture to the crate on his shoulder. “There’s another one coming. Where do you want them?”
The door opened again, letting a fresh blast of icy air in, and then closed, and the burly man from the inn said; “Good afternoon, Miss Louise.”
“Good afternoon, Mr Thomas.” She seemed to recover from her shock and stood up. Now it was Shaun’s turn to be surprised. She was quite the tallest young lady he’d ever met. He glanced down to see if she was perhaps standing on a platform behind the counter, but no, she walked past him and the top of her head very nearly reached his chin.
“Over here, please.” She pointed to a clear section of floor just beyond the counter. “Thank you, gentlemen.”
Shaun put his crate down, and Mr Thomas did too. “Yer welcome, Miss Louise!” Mr. Thomas touched his cap and headed off again, leaving Shaun to linger. He couldn’t quite decide what had drawn him to stay—the welcome warmth of the bookshop, the comforting smell of paper and ink, or the striking young woman. Perhaps it was all three.
“Can I help you get those open?” he offered, nodding toward the crates, which were both nailed shut.
“I’m sure I shall manage, thank you,” Miss Louise replied politely. She reached behind the counter and retrieved an iron crowbar, handling it with a weightless ease that caught Shaun slightly off guard.
He watched, intrigued, as she deftly positioned the flat tip of the crowbar beneath the lid of one crate. With a practiced movement, she leaned her weight onto the other end, eliciting a satisfying groan of protest from the wood as the nails began to pop free. Shaun raised an eyebrow, impressed.
It wasn’t just the casual competence of her movements and her handling of the tool, though that was remarkable enough. It was the contrast—the elegance of her dark hair coiled neatly at the back of her neck, the graceful line of her posture, paired with the sheer practicality of what she was doing. He had never seen a woman wield a crowbar before, and he would have been lying if he said it wasn’t rather fascinating.
Miss Louise continued her work methodically, prying up each nail with quiet determination until the lid finally came free. She tilted it upward just enough to glimpse the contents, nodded to herself as though satisfied, and then replaced the lid. Without so much as pausing, she moved on to open the second crate with the same quiet efficiency.
Shaun caught himself staring and cleared his throat, glancing away. He wasn’t fool enough to voice his admiration, though. A comment like “I’ve never seen a woman do that before” would likely earn him a sharp retort and a look of disdain—and rightly so.
“Can I help you, sir?”
The soft voice startled him, and he turned to find a much smaller figure standing at his elbow. It was another girl - this one barely more than a child - with fair hair and wide, nervous eyes that seemed to take up most of her face. She clutched her hands in front of her apron as she looked up at him, her gaze darting briefly to Miss Louise before returning to him.
“Are… are you looking for something in particular?” she stuttered, her voice trembling slightly.
“Just browsing,” Shaun said, realising with embarrassment that he’d actually been standing there staring in admiration at Miss Louise. Browsing indeed!
“Very good, sir!” The little blonde skittered nervously off among the shelves, reminding him rather of the black cat who’d done the same.
“Do you have a preference?” Miss Louise asked, replacing the top of the second crate and standing up.
Tall, competent women . He bit his lower lip to keep from saying the words, but it took him a moment to realise she was asking what kind of books he preferred to read.
“Novels, I confess,” he said. “Though at the moment, I’m travelling, and don’t have a home to keep them, so I’m afraid I can’t make any significant purchases. Something to read on my travels would be nice, though.”
“Novels are those two shelves behind you.” She gestured toward the far wall, then paused, looking him up and down with an appraising eye. A wide, bright smile lit her face. “ Gulliver’s Travels? You must feel rather as though you’re living in the land of Lilliput most of the time.”
Shaun gave a low chuckle, appreciating her quick wit. “I have read it,” he replied.
She tilted her head slightly, as though considering his words, but said nothing more. Instead, she returned to her seat behind the counter, leaving him to linger where he was. It was hard to tear his attention away from her, though. He was far more interested in the tall, capable young lady than in any of the books on the shelves.
He should go to the shelves and look at books, but instead he leaned casually against the counter. He was very out of practice at speaking with pretty young ladies—especially ones who smiled like that—and silently prayed he wouldn’t come across as too awkward. At least she didn’t seem intimidated by his height, which was a refreshing novelty.
“I noticed when I came in,” he ventured, “that your shingle from the fire company is crooked.”
“Is it?” she replied, not looking up. “I’m sure it won’t matter if we actually have a fire.”
Her tone was so dry that it caught him slightly off guard. He smiled, leaning a little closer, but she was already preoccupied, a quill in hand as she began adding numbers in what appeared to be a sales ledger. Shaun noticed her fingers flexing slightly, as though helping her keep track of the sums. Her focus was admirable, but as his eyes skimmed the page, he couldn’t help but notice something off.
“That’s not right,” he said instinctively. “You didn’t carry the two.”
She froze, her quill hovering mid-stroke. Slowly, she looked up at him, her hazel eyes wide with surprise. “I beg your pardon?” she said, sounding quite astonished. “How can you possibly see that upside down ?”
“I like numbers,” he said with a small shrug. “Always have. My father taught me when I was a boy, and I’ve had plenty of practice since. In the Army, it was part of my job to review ledgers—usually in poor light and at awkward angles.” He gave a faint smile. “It’s the fastest way to know if someone’s skimming the treasury.”
The astonishment in her expression softened, giving way to something closer to curiosity. “I see,” she said slowly, though she still seemed sceptical.
“I’d be happy to help?” he offered, stepping around the counter before she could protest.
But as he made his way to her side, something on the floor caught his eye. He stopped abruptly, glancing down to see the remains of half a rodent lying there.
Shaun grimaced. How the lady hadn’t stepped on it already was a miracle, given her recent flurry of activity. He took a step back, carefully returning to his original position on the opposite side of the counter. “You have a talented mouser,” he said dryly, gesturing toward the grisly evidence.
Her eyes followed his, and she sighed, making a rueful smile. “Very much so. Unfortunately, she’s also talented at leaving us… reminders.”
Louise turned the ledger around and pushed it toward him, clearly unbothered by the interruption. “If you insist on being helpful, you may as well make yourself useful,” she said, though her tone had softened considerably.
Shaun accepted the ledger and quill, unable to suppress a small smile. She really was a very unusual young lady. He glanced over the page, starting from the top to ensure he didn’t miss anything in his overconfidence. The numbers were straightforward, and it took little effort to correct the miscalculation—but he felt oddly compelled to take his time, if only to prolong the interaction.
When he was done, the numbers balanced perfectly. Shaun set the quill down and slid the ledger back to her side of the counter.
“There,” he said. “All sorted.”
Louise examined his work, her expression unreadable at first. Then she looked up at him, and for a moment, he was caught off guard by the sparkle in her hazel eyes.
“I thank you,” she said softly.
Shaun suppressed the urge to grin like a fool. “My pleasure.”