Chapter Five
The next day, Sibyl awoke but kept her eyes closed, in that lull of idly dozing before rising for the day.
She wiggled her toes in the thin blanket across her body and wondered what waking up next to a man might be like.
To see Mr. Heyter’s dark hair mussed on the pillow next to her.
To breathe in the scent of his skin and feel his warmth beside her.
They might read books together in bed or keep each other warm.
It was a tantalizing thought. She briefly thought of Mr. Heyter’s warm smile and imagined what he might look like without his shirt on.
Her eyes opened wide. She had no business thinking of him. Not if Miss Harvey was to be believed.
She yawned, stretched, and got out of bed, attending to her toilette. Once her face was washed, her hair brushed, and with Greene’s help, had dressed in a smart day dress of blue, she went down to breakfast.
Her mother and Lucy were already there, and had a note next to her plate of kippers.
“Well Sibyl, it seems your idea of some fresh air is a good one. I’ve had a letter from Mrs. Dove-Lyon, who suggests you may wish to peruse the books and periodicals at Booth’s bookshop on Duke Street, by Portland Place.
It’s not what I would recommend, of course, but you may find it entertaining, she says. ”
Sibyl blinked and sat down at the table. She read the note but could take away nothing more. Just a suggestion from Mrs. Dove-Lyon. And she did love to read. Perhaps the matchmaker had found a fellow reader for her to meet. “All right. I’ll go.” She shifted in her seat.
“Have some breakfast first,” Mrs. Clifton said. “I’ve never seen a young woman so keen,” she said to Lucy, who looked bored over a cup of tea and sat nibbling toast. “Take your sister with you.”
“Oh, Mama, do I have to? Books are so boring,” Lucy said.
“We’ll go for tea afterward,” Sibyl said. “Or a walk in the park.”
“Fine. But you say that, and it will likely rain.” Lucy crossed her arms over her chest.
After a spot of breakfast, the young women dressed in their smart boots and walking coats, with gloves and straw bonnets tied beneath their chins with thick ribbons.
Lucy looked very pretty in a beige walking dress and yellow coat, with a straw bonnet and yellow ribbon, while Sibyl wore a tan walking coat over her blue dress with brown boots and light-gray gloves.
Her bonnet was a dark brown, with a blue ribbon.
It was her one attempt to match the colors and look stylish, but she did also wonder if she appeared as though she were trying too hard.
Was this what a tastemaker wore? She didn’t know.
Reaching up to nibble her nails, she remembered she was wearing gloves.
“Come on,” Lucy said. “Let’s go already.”
Sibyl adjusted her gloves and they set off, taking the family carriage on what promised to be a sunny day with a bright-blue sky and a few white clouds.
And yet, as they traveled through the London streets on the way to Duke Street, the weather shifted, and it became cooler.
The nice weather looked promising still, but more clouds drifted overhead, and some held a grayish tinge that Sibyl disliked.
It was a relief when the carriage pulled up outside the bookshop in question and their footman agreed to wait.
Sibyl and Lucy went into the shop, which boasted a great sign with prominent gold lettering, and looked at the impressive window displays of many fine volumes.
As they stepped inside the shop, Sibyl closed her eyes and breathed in the air.
“I love the smell of books,” she said.
“I don’t. They always smell like paper, or dust, and it makes me sneeze.” Lucy rubbed her nose and sniffed.
Sibyl smiled. She loved her younger sister, even if Lucy was often grumpy.
She nodded to the proprietor and began to wander into the shop, walking through the aisles of books.
There were not hundreds, but there were enough.
The shop itself was comfortable, with bright light coming in from the outside and with windows against the far walls, there was plenty of natural light streaming in and the floorboards creaked with every step. Sibyl rather liked the sound.
For a moment, she was quiet. She took in the sounds of silence, and the quiet sound of pages being turned as people read.
There were many wooden benches and seats scattered around the place, so while they were not arranged in a haphazard fashion, they were most convenient, and if a person found themselves particularly entranced by a book, they could easily find a seat.
Sibyl wandered to see the latest novels and offerings from poets. She traced her hands over the fine titles, when she sensed a presence nearby. She ignored it, humming a little offkey tune to herself, when a voice said behind her, “Miss Clifton.”
She turned and swallowed. “Mr. Heyter.”
He bowed. She curtsied. As she rose, her gaze took in the sight of his masculine form.
Today, he wore black, shined boots that hit the knee, tan breeches, and a tan walking coat and black top hat, with a white cravat, fussily tied, and a beige waistcoat decorated with embroidery.
He looked very smart, indeed, even just for walking out of doors.
But then her gaze traveled up to his face. Mr. Heyter was staring at her, which made her blush. She’d been eyeing him the entire time, not appreciating he might be waiting for her to start a polite conversation.
“I thought I might find you here,” he said.
“Oh?”
“This was a popular bookshop. It is a haunt of mine. I wondered if you had ever seen it before.”
“No. This is my first time. I’d heard of it but have never been.”
“Why is that?” he asked.
“My family is relatively new to town. We’ve only been here a few months. So I am still finding out the best places to visit.”
He stepped closer. “Then I hope you will allow me to show you. I wouldn’t want a reader like you to be visiting inadequate bookshops.”
Was he teasing her? She couldn’t tell.
“I had an idea. What do you say about a wager? A literary one,” he said.
“Go on.”
“We choose a book for each other to read. Then we discuss. If you like my choice, you agree to have your eyes opened.”
“And what if you like what I choose for you?” she asked.
“Then I too will see my horizons broadened. Although I do not think you will succeed in such a feat.”
“Why, then, do you suggest such an experiment, Mr. Heyter?” she asked.
“Isn’t it obvious?” he said, shooting her a warm smile. His eyes grew dark as he eyed her lips, his gaze drifting down to her throat.
She swallowed.
He turned the corner.
She went after him. She walked around and smacked right into him. “Oh, I’m sorry.”
“No, please, it’s my fault, I was—”
They stopped. She looked up at him. His eyes were brown, with golden flecks in them that caught the light. But now they darkened and grew wider, darker. She could smell him.
Mr. Heyter smelled of clean men’s cologne, books, and a clean, freshly bathed scent that was all him.
Her gloved hands were on his torso. His hands were on her arms. His fingers felt warm and gentle against her.
Her skin, even clothed beneath layers of cotton and wool, still danced beneath his touch.
His eyes darted to hers, then her lips. “I…”
“Sibyl, there you are. Oh!” Lucy stopped and stared, her eyes wide.
Sibyl and Mr. Heyter stepped back from each other. Sibyl blushed furiously. “Oh, I’m sorry.”
“My mistake,” he said, turning. “Is this your sister?”
“Yes.” Sibyl’s voice came out slightly higher pitched than normal. “Mr. Heyter, Miss Lucy Clifton. Lucy, may I introduce Mr. Neville Heyter?”
Lucy gave a polite curtsy and received a bow in return. She put her hands to her mouth and giggled.
Mr. Heyter let out a small sigh as Sibyl rolled her eyes. He said gallantly, “A pleasure to meet you, Miss Lucy. And are you enjoying the bookshop?”
“Not at all. I don’t like books. I leave the reading to Sibyl.” She tossed her head and sniffed.
“Ah.” He glanced at Sibyl. “Perhaps we might look around the shop and see if we can find something to change your mind.”
Lucy said, “You can try, but I doubt it.” She walked away, and Mr. Heyter fell into step beside Sibyl. He laughed.
“What is so funny?” Sibyl asked.
“You said almost the same thing a moment ago. So, what do you think? We exchange books and see if we might change each other’s point of view.”
“All right. But what do I get if I win?” she asked.
“You’re so confident you’ll change my mind?” He grinned.
“I’m optimistic.”
He laughed. “Fine. If you win—”
“I know.” Sibyl clapped her hands. “If I win, at the next social engagement at which we are together, be it a ball or a concert, you tell three different people about my superior taste in literature.” She rubbed her hands together.
“And if I win?” he asked, arching a brow. It was a very handsome brow.
“I… I don’t know. What is it you want? A book? I have a little pin money, but not much. I…”
He shook his head. “I don’t want your money.”
“Then what?”
“I want to read to you.”
She stared at him. “Pardon?”
“I want to read to you. From a book of my choosing. It might be a newspaper, a gentleman’s magazine, or a novel. Maybe even a play or poetry. Either way, that is what I choose. Do we have a deal?” He extended his hand.
“All right.” She shook his hand.
The steady firm weight of his hand around hers made her feel warm inside, but it was his gaze that sent a shiver down her spine.
Lucy said, “Can we go? I’m tired of this.”
“Just a moment, Lucy,” Sibyl said.
She chose Ann Radcliffe’s The Mysteries of Udolpho. He chose Johann Wolfgang Goethe’s The Sorrows of Young Werther. He paused. “And in the original German. Do you know the language?”
“No, only a bit of French.”