Seven
Ofcourse, the notion was utterly ludicrous. Ridiculous. Preposterous. Outrageous. Absurd.
Howcould Araminta entertain such a nonsensical idea for one second?
Halfa second?
Shetried to control the flush crawling from her neck, but her heated cheeks revealed she’d failed in her attempt. Thank goodness no one else occupied the coffeehouse, and her sisters remained absorbed in their books.
Evenif she and Darius shared a passion for books, he’d only ever interacted with her in a friendly but professional manner.
What about that dance you shared?
Itmeant nothing. He’d proven that when the minute Eudora arrived, he’d hightailed it to her side.
Aramintasecretly agreed with the MissesMulburys regarding Eudora’s intellect.
Heracumen rivaled a turnip’s—a very pretty and cosseted turnip, but a brainless root vegetable, nevertheless. It had always been thus. Araminta had known Eudora since childhood, and intelligence was not her strong suit.
Whatwas it Mama used to say?
You cannot turn a sow’s ear into a silk purse.
Norcould you turn a dimwit into a scholar or intellectual.
Displeasedwith her rambling musings, Araminta summoned a benign smile. “Please excuse me. I only have this afternoon to finish unpacking the books the Duke and Duchess of Latham sent.”
“Of course, my dear.” Garnet’s eyes twinkled as she raised her cup to her lips.
Hersister puzzled her already wrinkled brow. “You work too hard, Araminta. Someone so young should enjoy life.”
“I enjoy keeping busy.” AndAraminta did—just not quite as busy as she’d been of late. She still had to finish writing TheVicar of Langmere’sDaughter, and Mrs. Tenney had commissioned three more pairs of gloves, which meant more late evenings and less time with the twins before bed.
SirWaddlesby wasn’t the only one to suffer from Araminta’s overburdened schedule.
Afterglancing at her sisters and assuring herself they would be fine, Araminta took her leave of the Mulbury sisters and made her way back to the piles of books waiting to be shelved.
Asshe rounded the corner from the coffeehouse, Darius raised his dark head from whatever he was reading behind the counter and tipped the corners of his mouth upward a fraction into an enigmatic smile.
Aquiver of awareness skimmed over her, but Araminta firmly tamped it down, though she couldn’t prevent her mouth from bending upward in an answering greeting.
Hissmile held nothing the least alluring.
Itwas the polite smile an employer might give an employee.
Nothingmore.
If only that weren’t the case.
Aramintacontinued on her way, noting with a practiced eye the customers who meandered about the bookshop.
Twogentlemen, an elderly matron and her middling-age companion, and a young mother with two fresh-faced boys of perhaps six and seven years of age browsed the aisles with awed reverence. The patrons whispered to each other, uttering frequent exclamations of delight as they carefully perused the books that had captured their interest.
Asusual, there was no sign of LordCassius. He was probably off painting somewhere. He’d told her he had a gallery in Brighton but wanted to support his twin in his business venture and meant to stay in Woodhaven until the grand opening was over.
Aramintafound their good-natured, brotherly bantering amusing and charming.
Thoughshe adored her sisters, their age difference didn’t lend itself to the same comradery or emotional intimacy. She missed that the most about Mama—the companionship. And someone to share the workload. The twins tried to help, but after all, they were only ten.
Outside, a wagon pulled by a pair of draft horses lumbered past, causing the sun-streaked windows to shake.
Aramintastill hadn’t decided what to do about the grand opening festivities and Darius’s expectation that she would attend them. The notion of squeezing more activities into her already busy life and getting even less sleep made her head spin.
Shegrazed her fingertips over the handwritten sign listing the library’s operating hours, which hung from a rope hooked to a bookshelf at one end. They had affixed a similar sign to the wall near the coffeehouse’s entrance at the other end.
Gratefulshe had the rest of the day to complete the unpacking without borrowers interrupting her task, Araminta slid behind the simple but effective barricade, taking care to insert the braided burgundy and gold rope into the hook behind her.
Thebell above the door tinkled as the matron and her companion departed, each carrying a brown paper-wrapped parcel.
Fromwhat Araminta had observed, Westbrook’sBook CoffeeEmporium appeared to be flourishing. Hopefully, the library would as well. For certain, the book reservation list had grown significantly these past several weeks.
Acomfortable silence descended throughout the bookstore, interrupted occasionally by muted voices from the coffeehouse and the tick-tocking of the giltwood wall-mounted clock behind the counter.
Humming, Araminta lost herself in unpacking the books and placing them on the shelves. She never dreamed that her little library would contain just over three hundred books.
Thoseaccustomed to extensive libraries would no doubt scoff at Woodhaven’s small collection by comparison. Still, the same sense of purpose and accomplishment she’d experienced upon publishing her first novel made her stand a little taller.
Forthe next hour, the doorbell jingled in a steady rhythm as patrons came and went, and a boy delivered a package.
“MissWeldon?”
RecognizingDarius’s harmonious baritone, Araminta glanced over her shoulder. “Yes?”
Lookingentirely too pleased with himself, he lifted a rectangular package. “I took your advice. These just arrived. Ten editions of MadameQuillheart’s latest book—MissWimple’sMarvelousAdventures.”
Momentarilydumbstruck, she could only stare, her jaw slack.
Aramintacleared her throat.
“How wonderful. I assure you, you shan’t regret it.” She waved at her library shelves. “Since we began, people have consistently checked out her first three books, and there is a growing list of people waiting to borrow them.”
Helifted one book from the stack and sauntered over to her. “Here. Add this one to the library too.”
Thebell chimed again, announcing a patron either entering or leaving.
Shesearched his face. “Are you certain?”
Gentlenesscrinkled the corners of his eyes, and her tummy flip-flopped in the most disconcerting manner. Yes, indeed, she did very much admire this congenial Darius.
Perhapsa mite too much, which could prove dangerous for her romantic heart.
Unfortunately, though she’d chided herself thoroughly and presented every argument why she could not entertain such fanciful notions, something deep inside her refused to listen to reason. No matter how much she tried, she could not keep her feelings for Darius in check.
“I am quite certain.” He lifted a shoulder and gave her an endearingly boyish grin. Her heart did another somersault. “I plan on donating books to the library too.”
Shemust resist—put aside this silly infatuation.
But he is donating books.
How can I?
“That is very generous of you.” She accepted the book, the familiar feelings of pride and accomplishment sluicing over her as she grazed her fingertips over the title.
I wrote this.
Ifonly she could share her secret with the world.
WithDarius.
Perhapssomeday.
Not as long as Papa is a man of the cloth.
“Thank you, my lord.”
Cuppinghis nape, Darius puffed out his lips in a little sigh.
Oncemore, she noted how the GoodLord had outdone himself when he’d sculpted Darius’s kissable mouth.
“I suppose you should call me Darius, and I shall address you as Araminta since we are to work together closely.”
Aramintaquite liked the sound of that—working together—not addressing him by his given name. Heavens. Papawould have an apoplexy.
Whatwould people say?
DaringMadamQuillheart would do it—call him Darius, that is.
ButMadamQuillheart wasn’t real.
Shedidn’t have to deal with scandal and disgrace.
Norcould Araminta risk even the hint of a scandal. It could ruin everything she had worked so hard for, not to mention what it would mean for her sisters’ futures. No, scandal was best left to the pages of her books, where she could control the story and contrive a happy ending.
“I don’t think that would be appropriate.” Still clutching the book, Araminta shook her head. A rebellious curl slipped loose of her hairpins and pirouetted near her temple.
For pity’s sake.
Whycouldn’t she have inherited Mama’s sleek, shiny locks?
Whymust she possess Papa’s curly hair? He kept his shorn short, but Araminta didn’t have that option.
Darius’smouth twitched in amusement, and he gave the errant tress a flick with his finger.
Herbreath left her lungs in a whoosh.
“It’s only a name, Araminta.”
“True. Nevertheless, I must respectfully decline, my lord.” Though a little thrill pulsed along her veins at the suggestion. “People might misunderstand and have the wrong impression if we are so informal.”
“I should say they would!”
Aramintaand Darius jerked their attention toward the aisle behind them.
EudoraClarke, resplendent in a sea-foam green and ivory walking ensemble, stood there, impatiently tapping her fine leather shoe on the polished wood floor. She looked like she’d just stepped from a fashion plate. Exquisite and poised. A confection of elegance, except for the frown of annoyance distorting her pretty features.
Aramintabarely restrained herself from self-consciously smoothing the front of the sensible white apron she wore over her worn gingham gown.
Shewas not jealous.
Shewas not.
Well, perchance the teeniest bit envious. But the very merest, minuscule amount.
Eudora’soverly protective mother was noticeably absent—a true rarity.
Somuch so that Araminta didn’t doubt Eudora had contrived to be alone with Darius. Or as alone as she could be in a public venue.
“’Twould be most unseemly for a vicar’s daughter to eschew propriety and presume to use a duke’s son’s given name.” Eudora’s tone held the chill of an arctic winter.
Therewas the sharp-tongued harpy she’d been hiding under a demure demeanor.
Thecold ire in the haughty gaze she leveled at Araminta could have frozen molten lava. However, when she turned those big brown eyes on Darius, she appeared wounded and delicate, even turning her plump mouth downward into a pout.
How many hours had she practiced that artifice before the looking glass?
Whata consummate actress.
Aramintacould not regret her uncharitable thoughts.
Itwas as obvious as night from day what Eudora was really like.
Whycouldn’t Darius see the truth when it battered him in the face?
“What can you be thinking, LordDarius?” Eudora asked, laying her palm on his forearm and brushing her hand up and down its length. “Araminta is not worthy of such an honor.”
What a hypocrite.
Angerburgeoned behind Araminta’s breastbone.
Shecouldn’t use Darius’s given name, but Eudora could caress him in public?
Displeasuredrew his raven brows together, and something that might’ve been distaste or scorn turned his navy blue-eyed gaze flinty.
“I assure you, MissClarke, that if I give someone leave to use my given name, they have earned the privilege.”
Aramintashouldn’t have grinned at his declaration or, at the very least, only permitted the merest nascent smile. ButDarius coming to her defense was truly marvelous, as was observing the flabbergasted expression whisking over Eudora’s features.
Regardless, gloating was a sin.
Itseemed Araminta had much to repent of tonight, so why did today feel like such a glorious triumph?
“Come, MissClarke. Let us make our way to my office, where we can converse privately.” Darius’s expression remained unperturbed, but censure still flashed in his eyes.
Aramintawould bet SirWaddlesby it wasn’t toward her.
Thatknowledge sparked highly unchristian-like gratification. She’d atone for her pride later. At this moment, she wanted to enjoy the satisfaction of seeing Eudora put in her place.
Eudora’sstation was no higher than Araminta’s, yet she behaved as if she were nobility, and Araminta was a workhouse pauper born on the wrong side of the blanket. Such haughty and superior airs, Eudora and her intimidating mother put on.
La di da.
“MayI impose upon you to oversee the bookshop for a few minutes, Araminta?” Darius asked, as if she would be doing him the greatest of favors.
Eudorapursed her pink lips at his deliberate use of Araminta’s given name.
“Of course…Darius.”
Hisanswering grin could’ve lit a midnight sky.
Eudorascowled openly, not attempting to hide her displeasure. Her heated glower—meant to incinerate Araminta—merely amused her.
Whata petulant, spoiled chit.
Mayhap, the MissesMulbury were correct.
Dariusshould know about Eudora’s true nature. Although it would be far better if he recognized her shortcomings on his own.
Hegrasped Eudora’s elbow and guided her away but halted after a handful of steps.
“I nearly forgot, Araminta. I think you’ll be pleased to know that MadamQuillheart’s publisher responded to my invitation for her to join the other authors at the grand opening. They think it is a splendid idea and promised to notify her of the date and time and strongly encourage her to take part. One of her publishers even offered to venture to Woodhaven himself.”
SweetJesus on Sunday.
Araminta’sheart and stomach plummeted to her feet.
Whata fine pickle she was in now.