Chapter Two
Philadelphia
It took the man several tries to get Alexandra Hampshire’s attention.
She was perched on a stool behind the counter of her aunt’s book shop, a copy of Pride and Prejudice all but glued to her face.
The shop had been quiet all day, so she’d decided to read a few lines between customers.
And if she was going to read a few lines, she might as well make it a page, or two, or three, or a whole chapter.
The man cleared his throat loudly, and her eyes slid up to find a handsome fellow of about twenty-five smiling at her. He had dark blond hair combed into perfect waves and a neat little mustache, and his suit was well cut, emphasizing a trim waist.
Alexandra stared. He raised his brows, and she came back to herself all at once, straightening and jumping to her feet and dropping her book. She tried not to wince as it fell closed, losing her place entirely.
“Are you quite well?” the man asked, his voice as smooth as his satin cravat.
“I—yes, that is, I—yes, thank you,” Alexandra stumbled, lowering her eyes. Self-consciously, she tugged at her bodice, trying to ensure it was lying right. “May I be of assistance, sir?” she asked, sliding into the voice that she used with customers.
“I certainly hope so,” the man said. “You see, I’m in need of a book of verse.”
“Verse, sir?” she repeated. “What sort of verse?”
“Something that might take the fancy of a pretty lady,” he said, putting his hands on the counter. He leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice. “I wonder if you might have any recommendations on the topic.” He offered up a smile from one corner of his mouth, looking her over from head to waist.
Alexandra stared at him blankly. Her mind produced no thoughts at all, let alone words. He went on gazing at her, pleasantly amused, and then, bold as you please, winked. Alexandra inhaled sharply through her nose.
She was used to men coming in and assuming they could take liberties with a counter-girl, but this was different. He was handsome enough to be an advertising illustration, and he wasn’t pawing at her, only making his interest clear. Very clear.
His suit was fine stuff, a wool so smooth it nearly glistened, and his top hat was brushed beaver. His collar points were high and so pristinely starched she wondered idly whether they could cut his jaw. A young man of means.
Wouldn’t that be something? Alexandra mused dreamily.
It would be a wonderful thing indeed to be whisked away by a rich, handsome young man.
Her gaze slid automatically to the book that she’d been reading.
It was almost too much to consider, but she couldn’t stop herself hoping that this man might be her very own Mr. Darcy.
“So, how about it?” he asked finally.
Startled from her reverie, Alexandra shook herself slightly and blinked up at the man from behind her spectacles. “I—I’m sorry,” she said. “I believe we have some Keats just in the back there, third shelf from the bottom,” she said, pointing the way.
“Keats, hmm?” the young man said. He leaned closer, close enough that she caught his shaving soap, which she suspected had cost more than the Keats. “And what if I want something with a bit more… heat in it?”
Alexandra swallowed hard. “I—that is, you might enjoy the works of Aphra Behn,” she said. “Same corner, but… uh, nearer the playwrights.”
“You like her works, do you?” he said, leaning so close that Alexandra leaned back.
“Yes,” she whispered, the word barely out before she began to blush. It was a scandalous thing to admit to, to acknowledge that she’d read someone as racy as Behn.
The man’s lips pulled back in a wolfish smile, revealing his teeth. “Of course you do,” he said with the air of a master congratulating a dog on sitting up when told.
He withdrew and sauntered to the corner she’d indicated. He disappeared behind the shelves, but she could follow him through the shop by the tune he whistled.
He reappeared a moment later, a small volume in his hand. Alexandra stood up straighter.
He’s just a customer like any other, she told herself. Get a hold of yourself.
“Did sir find everything that he was looking for?” she said, her voice light.
“Well, there is one more thing you could help me with,” the man said. He gave her a look that was just shy of a leer. “I’m looking for a pretty young lady to read some of these verses to. Would you happen to know where I might find one willing to listen?”
“I couldn’t really say, sir,” Alexandra said. Despite her determination to remain unfazed, her cheeks were coloring again. She looked down at the counter, her hands clenched tightly together at her waist.
“How about I call on you again, and we can discuss the matter further?” he asked.
“I—I couldn’t—that is, I…” she stammered.
“Oh, come now,” he said. “I’ll call back around tomorrow, and I’ll take you out for a fizzy drink.”
Alexandra didn’t dare look at him. Her heart was going so loudly in her ears that she almost missed the young man’s throaty chuckle. She looked up just in time to see him touch the brim of his hat before he departed, the bell over the door sending him merrily on his way.
Did I just agree to let a young man walk out with me? she wondered. She reached up and pressed a hand to her cheek, trying to press the warmth back into her skin. Not a bad afternoon after all. A sale and a suitor in the same hour. She straightened up suddenly.
“Wait,” she said to the empty shop. “He didn’t pay for the book!” She quickly sidestepped out from behind the counter, reaching for the door and yanking it open. It was just an oversight, she told herself. He was just too excited for tomorrow, that’s all.
She stepped out of the doorway, one foot on the sidewalk.
People passed by in a constant stream, laborers, clerks, soldiers, rat catchers, all of them jammed together.
Alexandra stood on her tiptoes, wishing that she wasn’t so short for about the thousandth time in her life.
She looked up and down the street and finally spotted the young man by virtue of his top hat.
“Sir!” she called after him, raising her hand to wave. “Sir!”
He was walking toward a carriage, a brougham with several other fashionable rakes draped over it. They spotted Alexandra and called to the young man.
“Oh, Topsy,” one said, his dark curls falling artfully across his forehead. “Your little woman is calling for you!”
The young man in the top hat paused when he was nearly across the street to the carriage and threw a look back at Alexandra. “What can I say?” he said, his voice carrying across the street, as was clearly the point. “The ugliest dogs are always the most loyal.”
The other young men laughed.
Alexandra froze, her hand still in the air.
Her face went hot and then cold, and she understood that she had spent the whole afternoon being a joke that hadn’t been told yet.
It wasn’t even a new joke. Last fall’s had simply been told more politely, and with fewer people watching.
Tears stung at her eyes, which made her angrier still.
The young man climbed aboard the carriage and took up the reins, giving her a sardonic look. It was the performance of someone who had never once faced a consequence.
Anger drowned out embarrassment. Alexandra closed her raised hand into a fist. “You—you bounder!” she yelled after him. It amused them further. The young man whipped the pair up and turned about in the middle of the street, heedless of the traffic.
Infuriated, Alexandra reached back into the shop and grabbed up the broom from just inside the door. She held it before her, brandishing it like a weapon. “I’ll give you such a wallop if you ever set foot in my store again! Don’t you think I won’t!” she cried after them.
People on the street were staring, including the shopkeepers of the neighboring stores. Alexandra let out a harrumph, turned, and found her Aunt Lisa coming up the sidewalk behind her, her face perplexed.
“Alex? What on earth is going on?” she asked.
“Those—scoundrels!” Alexandra said, nearly spitting the words. “He stole a volume of Aphra Behn!”
Aunt Lisa absorbed this. “Seems a bit much for just a pinched book of poetry,” she commented mildly. Gently, she took Alexandra by the elbow and turned her back toward the bookstore door. “Why don’t we go inside and discuss it?”
Alexandra allowed herself to be guided back inside, dropping her broom back in its nook behind the door with a sigh.
Lisa, meanwhile, was pulling off her gloves, dark brown burnished leather, which perfectly complemented her burnt orange polished cotton polonaise.
With her dark hair and eyes and pale skin, she looked like she’d stepped out of a fashion plate.
Some said that Lisa’s face was “too strong,” whatever that meant.
Alexandra couldn’t understand it; her aunt’s face suited her exactly.
She was a woman of action, fond of hiking and bird watching, tall and slim with uncommonly long fingers.
Alexandra sometimes fancied that her aunt would have made a wonderful Amazon in centuries past.
Alexandra felt short, round, and awkward next to her aunt, especially in her plain black shopgirl dress.
Her hair was neither dark nor light, but some sort of middling brown, and had a propensity for escaping hairpins.
She was twenty-six, and she had lately noticed that people had stopped asking her when she meant to marry.
Aunt Lisa always knew just what to say. Alexandra rambled, or said nothing at all.
Aunt Lisa gave her a level look. “So, what happened?”
“I told you,” Alexandra answered, a little petulant. “He stole a book.”
“I really don’t think you were this worked up over a petty thief,” Lisa said, folding her arms and giving Alexandra a knowing look.