“I had no idea,” he said, cocking an eyebrow. For a moment she thought he was toying with her, except for the crease along his brow as he examined it that suggested he was actually interested. “What makes this one so special?”
“Because this is one of the few known original copies of this work—there were only twenty-four made, and some of them even had his corrections in them. This one does. This was a gift to one of his benefactors and his wife, who supported him. You should see the inscription in the front cover,” Maddy said, her heart racing at the very thought of so generous a gift. It was so romantic. “He didn’t have much money at the time, so he gave the only thing he had of any value—his poetry.”
She paused, realizing perhaps that she’d never spoken with a stranger in such a familiar way. Her heart pounded in her chest and she didn’t know whether it was nerves or simply the heat of the crowd. But somehow, the noise faded into the background along with everyone else. It was just him and the slim volume in his hands. She reached for it, but he made no effort to return it. Instead, he seemed to hold it closer, forcing her to reach toward him. Pulling her body closer.
At any other time, she would have walked away, but there was too much at stake. She needed this book. And the fact this man so carelessly toyed with a precious work that was also the key to another woman’s security flared her anger.
“Please,” she said, holding out her hand. “It’s very precious.”
“Can I buy it for you?”
Maddy blinked. Now he was absolutely toying with her.
“It’s worth more than most men make in a lifetime.”
At that, he leaned into her, like a tiger she’d seen once at Downs Zoological Gardens. He lowered the book, putting it in easy reach. On reflex, she reached out for it, but he did not release his hold.
“I am not most men.”
The next moment, Maddy was unable to do anything but watch as he—for she had no idea who he was—hailed the clerk and advised him of the sale. The clerk’s eye’s widened, apparently just as taken aback as Maddy. Old James MacAskill himself was summoned away from his authorial guest, and payment arranged. Maddy turned to Elouise and Rimple, still in the autograph line, giving them the signal to abort the diversion Elouise had planned to employ that would have allowed Maddy to make the switch with the counterfeit.
She turned back just in time to be handed the book, carefully packaged. A job they’d spent two weeks planning had been upended by one deep-pocketed stranger.
“Why are you doing this?” she asked, instantly suspicious.
He nodded, his face lighting up with an expression of bemusement that appeared genuine.
“To see you smile.”
He put the book into her hands and she gripped it, desperate to hold onto something. Everything about this experience was utterly unexpected and she needed to escape. Suddenly all the heat and noise that had disappeared was back. For the first time in nearly twenty years, a man was smiling at her. And it felt real. And terrifying.
“I have to go.” Maddy turned on her heel, ready to flee with Elouise and Rimple in tow before this stranger realized his mistake and demanded his book back. She took a step, coming face to face with none other than Veronica Turnbull. Diminutive in stature, the last time Maddy had seen the brew-king’s wife was in the hallowed halls of Government House, where she’d inflicted the crowd of a charity event with her singing.
Though Maddy was easily a head taller than Mrs. Turnbull, the woman looked past Maddy as if she wasn’t even there.
“There you are, Beau,” she said, smiling at the gentleman with affection. “I wondered where you had gone off to.”
“Hello, Aunt. I was just making my acquaintance with some of the more scholarly patrons,” he said smoothly, nodding his head in Maddy’s direction. He seemed like something out of another time, this Beau, with his smile that could melt butter in winter and a cocky sort of confidence that somehow didn’t manage to be completely obnoxious.
Mrs. Turnbull’s eyebrow shot up in a perfectly formed arch. Clearly, she did not care for her nephew’s answer—but then, Maddy couldn’t be bothered with either of them. Instead, she clutched the book tightly under her arm, ignoring the sensation that he was watching her every step. She only took a breath when she left the store, where Rimple and Elouise were waiting.
“What happened?” Rimple asked.
“I have it,” Maddy said, gesturing to the package under her arm.
“It’s wrapped,” Elouise said, not bothering to hide her shock. “How on earth did you manage to sweet talk them into doing that for you?”
“I didn’t,” Maddy said. “Someone bought it for me.”
Elouise and Rimple exchanged a glance, then the three walked along Spring Garden Road up to the Public Gardens while Maddy recounted the entire story.
“Beau,” Elouise said, tapping a finger to her lips as she was thinking. “I think that’s Beau da Silva. He’s the scion of the Silver Lumber Company founder in New Brunswick. No wonder he could buy that for you—they own half the province. I had no idea he was related to the Turnbulls. Of course, money travels in small circles, and in this part of the world, those circles are even smaller.”
Elouise and Rimple continued to chat, leaving Maddy lost in her own thoughts. Before long they’d reached the Public Gardens, lush from the hundreds of trees that had been planted there over the past few years. It was a place Maddy usually enjoyed visiting, but she was too preoccupied by the events at MacAskill’s to show much interest.
“Elouise and I will go find Reg,” Rimple said, referring to Reg Knickle, an associate of Everwell who sometimes helped out with the occasional bit of Scandalous Spinsters business. “We’ll return in a moment.”
The two left, and Maddy sat on a nearby bench, enjoying the shade from the soaring oak trees, when she heard Victoria Turnbull’s voice from behind her. Maddy stilled, tilting her head away so as to not catch their attention.
