Chapter Nineteen
Arden left the Abalone, the taste of whiskey and Mavis still clinging to his lips, and his mind feeling like a fractured mess.
He hated her—how could he not?—but he could still feel the way she arched against him.
He could still hear that little sigh she gave when he slipped his tongue into her mouth, just as she had five years before.
He could still hear her breathy voice in his head, saying his name.
None of it’s real, Arden. I thought you would have learned that lesson by now.
Arden was sure he had, but then one kiss proved to be enough to make him forget his own name, let alone any lessons in self-preservation.
He wandered for a while, making his way into town, not trusting himself to go back to his aunt’s house.
He was sure she would see straight through him, just as she always seemed to, and the last thing he needed was for her to know the sheer scale of his stupidity.
Never mind Oriana Mayles. If his aunt knew he’d just been kissing Mavis, let alone who Mavis really was, she’d have him on the next train back to Strall without so much as pocket money to pay for dinner.
There was no denying that the condition she’d given him for inheritance was mercenary, that she was treating both him and Oriana Mayles the way a child treated their dolls, but he understood the reasoning behind it as surely as he understood that he was not entitled to his aunt’s estate and it was her prerogative to do as she wished with her money.
She could do whatever she wished with these last weeks of her life as well, and she had chosen to spend them with him.
With that thought magnifying his already guilty conscience, Arden followed his feet down beachside paths that turned to cobblestone streets as he reached the shopping district.
The sun was almost completely set, and most shops were beginning to close for the night, curtains drawing closed, doors locking, lights dousing as the shopkeepers readied to head home.
Arden knew he should head home too, but before he could turn around he caught sight of a shop on the corner, marked by a wooden sign over the door that swayed in the ocean breeze: Villier’s Books.
It was still open, so Arden stepped inside, finding a small shop where every available surface seemed to be covered in books.
They lined the shelves that took up every wall, piled on top of tables, stacked on a spiral staircase that led to a second level, even covered the surface of the table the shopkeeper stood behind, deeply engrossed in the book he was currently reading—so much so that he didn’t notice Arden’s approach until he cleared his throat and the man jumped nearly a foot in the air.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” Arden said with a sheepish smile.
“Not at all.” The man set his book aside and straightened up. “Can I help you find something in particular?”
Arden thought about how deeply engrossed his aunt had gotten in Affair of the Darkest Heart. Perhaps finding another book for her to get lost in would ease his guilt, if only a little.
When he gave the author’s name, the shopkeeper’s polite smile soured slightly.
He gave an exasperated sigh before directing him to a dimly lit corner of the shop, half hidden behind the spiral staircase.
Despite the less-than-prime location, Arden counted six copies of Affair of the Darkest Heart and only one of a book called A Love for All Time, with the name Ariel Ann Symone just below it, though the empty space beside the last remaining copy suggested that the shelf had once held many others.
He brought the book to the counter just as a trio of young women hurried through the door, eyes bright.
“Is it here?” one asked, breathless in her excitement.
“Apologies, Miss Lin,” the bookseller said, his exasperation growing. “I’m afraid this gentleman has just claimed the last copy.”
The woman—Miss Lin—glowered at Arden, but one of her friends reached into her pocket.
“I’ll give you double whatever Mr. Villier charges you,” she told Arden, her voice frantic.
“I’ll give triple!” the other girl added.
Arden looked down at the book in his hands, and his confusion must have been evident because Miss Lin let out an annoyed sigh.
“We’ve been waiting half a year for Ariel Ann Symone’s next book. But it published last week, and Mr. Villier continues to order too few copies because he thinks it’s trash.”
The bookseller, who must be Mr. Villier himself, looked chagrined. “I don’t think it’s trash. I simply didn’t account for her sudden popularity—and neither did any other shop, it seems. Our orders keep getting delayed.”
Apparently Miss Mayles and Arden’s aunt weren’t the only fans of Ariel Ann Symone’s books.
“Apologies, ladies.” Arden bowed his head toward the young women. “The book is a gift for my aunt, who would skin me alive if I let it slip through my fingers.”
The trio grumbled as Arden arranged to have the book’s price added to his aunt’s account.
When that was done, Mr. Villier looked toward the women. “I was going to save this news until the notice went out in the paper tomorrow, but we will have plenty of copies of Ms. Symone’s books in stock when she visits the shop next week.”
That news was met with squeals of joy and excited chatter.
“Ms. Symone is visiting Garlin?” Arden asked.
“Yes, she sent a letter saying she was passing through town and offered to stop by to read aloud from her newest book,” Mr. Villier said before giving Arden the date and time. “Will you be bringing your aunt?”
“Yes, I’m sure she would love to attend, and I have a friend who loves Ms. Symone’s books as well.” Arden didn’t need Mavis to tell him that bringing Oriana to meet her favorite author would help his courtship efforts more than a dozen balls, pageants, and regattas could ever hope to.
Arden departed the shop, leaving the young women to harangue Mr. Villier for not taking their advice and ordering more books to begin with.
When Arden arrived back at the house, the housekeeper informed him that his aunt was enjoying a glass of sherry in the parlor before supper, as she usually did. When Arden asked if that was wise, given her health, the housekeeper fixed him with an exasperated look.
“I’m not a doctor, Mr. Ryskamp, but I do know that I’d have a far better chance of becoming one than succeeding in telling Mrs. Gellis no.”
Arden had to acknowledge the wisdom of that.
When he stepped inside the parlor, he found his aunt seated in her favorite high-backed armchair near an open window, dusk visible outside and a soft breeze ruffling the white curtains and his aunt’s silver hair, though she didn’t seem to notice.
She held a half-empty glass of sherry in one hand and Affair of the Darkest Heart open in the other.
“Don’t tell me your memory is beginning to fail now? You’ve read that book already,” Arden said, keeping his voice light as he took the seat across from her, setting the brown parcel containing the new book on the table between them, though she didn’t so much as glance at it.
His aunt was neither offended nor amused by his quip. Her eyes didn’t even leave the page. “I’m rereading it. I thought I might catch more subtle details that hint at the twist at the end. I confess, I didn’t see it coming.”
Arden smiled, nudging the parcel toward her. “Perhaps you’ll see this one coming?”
His aunt’s shrewd gaze finally moved to the parcel.
She set down her glass and closed her book before reaching for it.
When she unwrapped the new book, she let out a squeal of delight that made her sound seven decades younger—not unlike the women at the shop—and flipped to the first page. “I didn’t realize there’s another.”
“It’s incredibly in demand, it turns out,” he told her. “A group of women were very upset that I’d purchased the last copy—I fear if I’d lingered a moment more, the three of them might have attempted to take it from me by force.”
“Mmm.” His aunt was already thoroughly distracted.
He felt more ghost than human, but she was happy, and that was all he cared about.
After a few seconds, though, she frowned, going back to the first book and opening that one too, so they lay side by side together.
Arden peered over the table to see she’d opened to the dedication of each book—both written out exactly the same.
For Jonas—until we are reunited, may these stories keep us warm.
“Unfortunate, that.” His aunt clicked her tongue. “I’d hoped some progress would have been made.” She closed Affair of the Darkest Heart and turned her attention back to A Love for All Time, but Arden couldn’t help laughing.
“You’re turning into quite the romantic, Aunt Phi.”
She scowled, keeping her eyes on the page. “I’ve always been a romantic. If I hadn’t been, I’d have never left my home and everything I knew to follow a near-stranger here to Garlin.”
His aunt had spoken of her late husband in a way that made it clear there had been strong affection between them, but she didn’t strike him as someone prone to romantic fancies, or the sort of impulses that would compel her to agree to marry a man she’d barely known.
Before his aunt lost herself completely in the new book, Arden cleared his throat.
“I don’t suppose you’d like to meet Ms. Ariel Ann Symone? ”
His aunt’s gaze darted up from the page, eyebrows arched, and Arden took that as an invitation to continue.
“She’s visiting Villier’s shop in three days’ time,” Arden said. “Mr. Villier told me himself—signing books for anyone who wants to meet her. I take it you would like to?”
His aunt tilted her head to one side. “Yes, I daresay I would. I intend to ask her what she could have possibly been thinking, ending the book in such a suspenseful manner.”
Arden smiled and inclined his head toward the book in her hands. “I imagine she was thinking it would have you clamoring for the next one.”
Aunt Phi scoffed, eyes moving back to the book.