Page 27 of Married Off by the Duke

The lady in question followed her closely.

“Aren’t you worried you’ll spoil the children with entertainment, rather than emphasizing education?”

Emma whirled on her heel.

“No. I firmly believe that children learn best through storytelling. Have you ever listened to a young child? They are full of imagination and curiosity. If we can harness that to the dull mechanics of literacy, we shall raise generations of enthusiastic readers. After all, a child who never opens a book can’t learn anything from its contents.”

Mrs. Pindell’s eyebrows rose. Emma tried to rein in her enthusiasm.

“Allow me to rephrase. If I did not believe books were an enriching experience for children, I wouldn’t have opened a bookshop dedicated to literature specifically for them. I could spend my time on any other pursuit I fancied, but this one is dear to my heart. For what it’s worth, the Queen herself agrees with me.”

Emma had never expected to become friendly with Victoria, but it turned out that Society was far more forgiving of her outspokenness than she’d ever dared to hope.

Across the noisy, crowded store, she spied her very tall husband as he chased after their very small, very quick, eighteen-month-old daughter.

“Samantha Tremaine, get back here, you scamp!”

A squeal of delight echoed through the room. Emma bent awkwardly to scoop up her daughter and bussed a kiss to her chubby cheeks. Samantha kicked her burgeoning stomach. Wincing, Emma handed the little girl off to her father.

“Oof. Getting kicked fore and aft is not nice.”

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “That one is going to run circles around the gents one day.”

“And us.”

“Your Grace, if you don’t mind, I’ve a gift to choose and I’m in a hurry.” Lady Pindell’s lips twitched in an indulgent smile.

“Yes, of course. Mr. Gill will assist you.”

Emma brought the expensively bound volume to the front counter, where she handed it to her former boss to ring up and wrap in paper. After his uncle’s bookstore closed due to low sales, she’d leased the space and hired him to run her bookstore.

What she originally intended to be a charity shop partially supported by sales had succeeded beyond her wildest expectations. The dusty, dour leather volumes waiting futilely to find homes among aspiring erudites had been replaced with shelves full of colorful children’s literature, toys, and an eclectic selection of books Emma happened to enjoy. Works by Jane Austen sat alongside more adventurous fare by Henrik Ibsen and Elizabeth Gaskell.

The combination of playful items for children and adults alike had proven to be a winning business. Even if Max were to go bankrupt tomorrow, Emma would still be able to support her family. Her work was a source of pride and purpose, and Max never complained about how much of her time it absorbed. If anything, he liked to embarrass her by bragging about her success.

Mostly, she left the day-to-day management to Gill, for she had more important priorities—such as keeping Samantha’s wiggly little body from toppling off the counter where her father had placed her.

“No testing the gravity,” she scolded.

“Only her papa’s patience,” Max grumbled affectionately. “Are you ready for lunch?”

“More than ready.” She was always hungry during this stage of pregnancy, although she could rarely eat very much. “The afternoon clerk will be here at one to relieve you for your midday break.”

Emma, having experienced the unfairness of poor management, ensured that she always had sufficient, well-paid staff to cover the store during its operating hours.

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“And stop with the ‘your grace’ nonsense,” she ordered, not that he would listen. Not once since her marriage had he failed to address her formally.

“I have found just the place,” Max said with pride, tucking Samantha into the crook of his arm. “You’ll love it. Last time we were there, I believe you declared it the best ham sandwich in all of London.”

Emma laughed. Max loved to tease her by making a reservation at the tea shop where she’d wolfed down her lunch that day after confronting Mr. Gill on the street. Every time he made this joke, she claimed it was the best she’d ever eaten, despite the fare being rather mediocre. Unexciting food served both of their stomachs better than finer dining whenever they were obliged to ride in the carriage.

He drew her close and kissed her brazenly, in full view of anyone who cared to look. She threaded her hands through his hair and smiled against his mouth when Max whispered, “And I shall have you for dessert.”