Chapter Eleven #2
Then Justina spoke again. “I also had an idea which might involve a more current book. What if every month you selected a book for lending library members to read? You could have four or five copies of it so that if it took someone longer to read, others could still have access to additional copies. At the end of that month—or the beginning of the next one—you could host a time for everyone who had read that particular book to come and discuss what they thought of it.”
He beamed at her. “That is a marvelous idea, Justina. But depending upon the turnout, I might not have room enough for those who showed up.”
She thought a moment. “Then speak to Mr. Winkler about it. Perhaps his inn could host the monthly event, and readers could have ale or wine and something to eat as they discussed the book. Of course, you would have to also read these books and then lead the discussions.”
“Me?”
“Well, someone would need to step forward and take charge, asking questions and steering the conversation along. People can be quite shy, but if they had you guiding their discussion, I am certain they would open up more and freely share their opinions.” She chuckled.
“And you might even have to act as a sort of referee, in case the discussions grew heated.”
He frowned. “You believe people would argue over a book? I find that idea preposterous.”
“Until the first time it occurs,” she quipped.
“Think on it. You could have a few questions asking about the plot. Guide others to talk about their favorite parts of the story. Whether they thought the ending satisfying or believable. You could ask readers who their favorite characters were and why they liked that particular one. I think these discussions might be very stimulating and draw more people to your bookshop.”
He reached for her hand under the table. “Would you consider leading them?”
“Me?”
“At least the first one. Model for me how a session should unfold.”
She bit her lip. “I suppose I could try to do so. But I would need your input as to what book is to be read. And you would also need to have an adequate number of copies to be circulated to those who might wish to participate.”
“Then perhaps we should begin the monthly book discussions at a future date. Make the selection now and let others know they should read the choice during November and December. Then we could discuss it at the end of that month or the start of the new year.” He paused.
“Actually, I know what the first book should be. It was published only this year and is called Sense and Sensibility. The author is anonymous. It merely reads By A Lady beneath the title.”
“Why would you choose that?”
“Because almost every customer I spoke with in London bookshops had read it—or wanted to read it. I bought a copy of it and have since finished reading it. I will bring it to tea tomorrow so that you might do the same.”
“Thank you. If I am to lead a talk about a book, I want to read it more than once to become familiar with it. What is it about?”
“Mostly, the three Dashwood sisters and their widowed mother. The two eldest, Elinor and Marianne, experience first love—and then heartbreak. It goes from the country to town and back. The older sisters are quite resilient. Margaret, the youngest Dashwood, is a clever girl. A very appealing character.”
“It sounds most interesting. I look forward to reading it.” She paused. “Perhaps you and I could discuss it once I have finished. Practice how a discussion of readers might unfold.”
She took another slice of the bread and buttered it. “Oh, I know the Bible says that man cannot live by bread alone, but this woman would be perfectly happy doing so.”
As she bit into the slice, she saw his eyes on her. Watching her.
Hungrily . . .
“We should finish up here and return to your shop,” she suggested. “Perhaps you can come upstairs and see the progress I have made.” She bit back a smile. “Since your last trip up the stairs.”
“You are teasing me now, Justina.”
“I just may be, David,” she flirted.
They left their table and thanked Mr. Winkler for the excellent lunch. As they crossed the street, David told her that he ate regularly at the inn.
“I have no knowledge of cooking,” he admitted. “I can make tea and toast, and that is my breakfast every morning. I eat at the inn during the day, usually a hearty meal, and then sometimes for dinner I go to Norwood, or His Grace’s cook sends me something to eat in the evening.”
He unlocked the door to his shop, and they headed up the stairs.
“How is it, living alone? I cannot imagine doing so. I had Mama, Verina, and Tray for so long. My governess and our servants. Now, Mama is in her grave. Verina lives more than two hundred miles away. And I am too old for a governess. At least I still have Tray.”
“It is different. I have never been on my own. At home, I had my parents and my brother, at least until my mother passed. At school, I had Henry and other friends. In the army, I was surrounded by others. There was never a private moment, not even for an officer. I am finding living in a cottage by myself a bit challenging.”
“Why are you not living at Norwood?” she asked. “You are close to Lord Marbury. His Grace seems to think a great deal of you.”
“They are good to me, but I do not wish to take advantage of their generosity, especially since my station in life is vastly different from theirs, Justina. I did not want to overstay my welcome. Leaving the military, I knew I would have to earn my living. That also meant being on my own. If His Grace had not so generously given the cottage to me, I suppose I would be renting a room with some nearby farmer. Or I would not be turning upstairs into a bookshop and living above my shop instead.”
“You could always come and live with us at Traywick Manor.”
“No,” he said sharply. “That would not be a good idea. You have a reputation to maintain. My presence might cause gossip. Besides, I have a home of my own. I am simply going to need to learn how to make it my own. Perhaps I will be able to afford a desk at some point. Then add a chair or two. Even plant flowers in front. Do you know anything of flowers?”
“I adore gardening,” she assured him. “I can help you decide what to plant.”
“Good.”
He was looking at her again, as if he were about to kiss her. Still, he held back.
So, Justina took matters into her own hands.
She placed her hands on his shoulders, causing his eyes to widen, and then stepped closer to him. So close that their bodies touched. Her breasts brushed against his chest. Her belly pressed against his.
“This is not a good idea, Justina,” he warned, his jaw tightening.
“Why, I think it is an excellent idea, David. Something that I have been looking forward to since the last time we kissed.”
She slid her hands up the side of his neck, her thumbs caressing his jaw. His eyes turned stormy as he looked down at her.
“Oh, hell and damnation,” he uttered softly.
Then lowered his mouth to hers.