red-haired lass!” Mr. Wellesley says, giving me a roguish wink behind the counter. He’s at least fifty, with his wrinkles and graying hair, but he’s more flirtatious than the young men at socializing events. I guess age removes some inhibitions on propriety. “Lovely dress you have on today. It matches the color of your hair.”
“Good morning.” I smile and remove my bonnet. “Where is Billy?”
“He’s gone to buy me some new pens. They’re getting quite worn.” Mr. Wellesley comes out from behind the counter, dusting his hands on his green apron. “What can I do for you today, lassie? Some manual on how to attract the man of your dreams? Tell me, how many men have you bagged this season so far?”
He sounds just like Krev in human form.
“Have you got the sequel to The Mystery of Castle Eynsworth ?” I choose to ignore his question.
“Ah, it won’t be out for another month, I reckon.” Mr. Wellesley shakes his head. “Rumor has it that the author had a row with her publisher on the royalties. Until they are settled, I doubt we’ll be seeing the sequel soon.”
“Damn.” If only the author had a website or newsletter. Another pesky inconvenience of this old-fashioned world.
Mr. Wellesley adjusts his spectacles. “Pretty strong language for a well-bred young lady, huh?” Then, when I fret that my tongue slipped again, he smiles and says, “But I like you just fine. You’re a lass with a good heart, and that’s all that matters.”
I blush. So often I receive a tongue-lashing from Lady Bradshaw and Pierre that it’s nice to be complimented.
“So how’s your progress with the Season?” Mr. Wellesley grins crookedly. He sure is persistent. “If no man has made you a proposal, I’ll round up a list of contacts and…”
The daylight is temporarily blocked when a tall young man enters the shop. He’s tall for sure, though his facial features remind me of a hobbit, with hair so curly that I doubt he ever needs a hairbrush.
Duke Henry, cousin of that infuriating Prince Edward. Crap, I hope he didn’t hear Mr. Wellesley speaking.
“Miss Katriona!” Henry exclaims, a grin spreading from ear to ear. “How are you this bright morning? So delightful to have a chance encounter with you.”
“Trying to survive the Season, Your Grace,” I answer with a sigh. “There’s so much to do, it wears me out.”
“Well, I cannot admit with candor that I enjoy attending huge events with hundreds of people either,” he says cheerfully. “Except for the cricket matches. I always wanted to be a cricket player, before I turned to medicine.”
“Why did you give up?” Being a royal cousin, he must have all resources on hand.
“Broke my arm once, and my strength never returned. Not enough for professional playing, anyway.” Henry runs his forefinger over a row of books, takes one out, and places it on the counter. “Where’s Billy?”
Mr. Wellesley repeats what he told me, then asks, “Want to add a copy of the Home Garden Journal ? The newest issue just came out yesterday.”
“Wow, so you do gardening as well?” I say, impressed.
“No, it’s for Edward.”
“Him?” My jaw drops open. “I…can’t imagine that.”
Henry grins. “You’re not the first one. He has his own private garden that he rarely lets anyone enter.”
I picture the prince with a garden rake and can’t help giggling. No, it’s too plebeian. I really can’t imagine it. “By the way, how is Mrs. Thatcher? Elle says you’ve been up to see her every other day.”
“I’m pleased to report that she’s much improved,” Henry says, smiling down at me. “She is still frail and her recovery is gradual, but she is well enough to leave the bedside and get herself bread, water and oatmeal porridge.”
My heart soars. “I must tell Elle.”
“She knows already. She was tending to her mother when I arrived, trying to arrange things for her mother to take care of herself while her brothers are gone for
“Good morning.” I smile and remove my bonnet. “Where is Billy?”
“He’s gone to buy me some new pens. They’re getting quite worn.” Mr. Wellesley comes out from behind the counter, dusting his hands on his green apron. “What can I do for you today, lassie? Some manual on how to attract the man of your dreams? Tell me, how many men have you bagged this season so far?”
He sounds just like Krev in human form.
“Have you got the sequel to The Mystery of Castle Eynsworth ?” I choose to ignore his question.
“Ah, it won’t be out for another month, I reckon.” Mr. Wellesley shakes his head. “Rumor has it that the author had a row with her publisher on the royalties. Until they are settled, I doubt we’ll be seeing the sequel soon.”
“Damn.” If only the author had a website or newsletter. Another pesky inconvenience of this old-fashioned world.
Mr. Wellesley adjusts his spectacles. “Pretty strong language for a well-bred young lady, huh?” Then, when I fret that my tongue slipped again, he smiles and says, “But I like you just fine. You’re a lass with a good heart, and that’s all that matters.”
I blush. So often I receive a tongue-lashing from Lady Bradshaw and Pierre that it’s nice to be complimented.
“So how’s your progress with the Season?” Mr. Wellesley grins crookedly. He sure is persistent. “If no man has made you a proposal, I’ll round up a list of contacts and…”
The daylight is temporarily blocked when a tall young man enters the shop. He’s tall for sure, though his facial features remind me of a hobbit, with hair so curly that I doubt he ever needs a hairbrush.
Duke Henry, cousin of that infuriating Prince Edward. Crap, I hope he didn’t hear Mr. Wellesley speaking.
“Miss Katriona!” Henry exclaims, a grin spreading from ear to ear. “How are you this bright morning? So delightful to have a chance encounter with you.”
“Trying to survive the Season, Your Grace,” I answer with a sigh. “There’s so much to do, it wears me out.”
“Well, I cannot admit with candor that I enjoy attending huge events with hundreds of people either,” he says cheerfully. “Except for the cricket matches. I always wanted to be a cricket player, before I turned to medicine.”
“Why did you give up?” Being a royal cousin, he must have all resources on hand.
“Broke my arm once, and my strength never returned. Not enough for professional playing, anyway.” Henry runs his forefinger over a row of books, takes one out, and places it on the counter. “Where’s Billy?”
Mr. Wellesley repeats what he told me, then asks, “Want to add a copy of the Home Garden Journal ? The newest issue just came out yesterday.”
“Wow, so you do gardening as well?” I say, impressed.
“No, it’s for Edward.”
“Him?” My jaw drops open. “I…can’t imagine that.”
Henry grins. “You’re not the first one. He has his own private garden that he rarely lets anyone enter.”
I picture the prince with a garden rake and can’t help giggling. No, it’s too plebeian. I really can’t imagine it. “By the way, how is Mrs. Thatcher? Elle says you’ve been up to see her every other day.”
“I’m pleased to report that she’s much improved,” Henry says, smiling down at me. “She is still frail and her recovery is gradual, but she is well enough to leave the bedside and get herself bread, water and oatmeal porridge.”
My heart soars. “I must tell Elle.”
“She knows already. She was tending to her mother when I arrived, trying to arrange things for her mother to take care of herself while her brothers are gone for
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