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A house blissfully free from mothers.
Wright leaned back in his chair, looking as confident and at ease in this frowsy parlor as when he was constructing pergolas on her brother’s estate. He carried his confidence with him everywhere.
“Your aunt definitely knew what she was doing when she left you this shop,” said Viola. “She knew that you would love these books as family.”
“From a bibliophile’s perspective this house might be enchanting, but from a carpenter’s perspective it’s a serious project,” said Wright. “The roof leaks, I saw evidence of rats—they’re probably running amok in the basement, coming up from the river. The floors in the front room need to be completely replaced, and there are probably more issues on the upper floors.”
“Make a list, Wright. I’ll hire someone to do everything,” Beatrice said.
“But Beatrice, will your mother allow you to keep the shop?” Viola asked.
Isobel tsked her tongue against her teeth. “It’s not a question of allowing. Beatrice is a grown woman. If she wants to keep the property then it’s hers to keep.”
“She’d never allow me to enter into trade, but I can’t just leave these books to rot, or to be disposed of by the new owner. I’ll need time to inventory the books and manuscripts and decide what to do with the collection.”
“I was thinking . . .” Isobel glanced around the room. “I was thinking that we’ll need a new place for the Mayfair Ladies Knitting League to meet once the Duchess of Ravenwood returns to London. Perhaps the bookshop might serve as a temporary meeting space?”
Viola drew a sharp breath. “Isobel—what a splendid idea! Why shouldn’t we have our own clubhouse?”
“A clubhouse,” Beatrice mused. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
“Do you know what London has far too many of?” asked Isobel. “Exclusive gentlemen’s clubs.”
“That’s true,” said Beatrice. “And they’re all very close to here on Pall Mall and St. James’s. There’s White’s, Boodle’s, and Brooks’s.”
“The Athenaeum and the Travellers Club,” Viola said.
“And do you know what London has none of?” Isobel asked.
“Ladies’ clubhouses.” Viola grinned. “This could be our clubhouse! Though we wouldn’t be in Mayfair any longer and we’d have to change our name.”
“A clubhouse for lady knitters?” asked Wright with a puzzled expression.
“And why not?” Beatrice rounded on him. “We have more than ordinary goals.”
Ford wiped the smile from his face. “Of course you do.”
“No, we actually do. We can’t tell you about themor we’d have to kill you,” said Miss Mayberry with a severe expression.
Ford laughed. All three ladies glared at him. He transformed his laugh into a cough. They were deadly serious about these goals, apparently.
Ford tugged at his cravat. “As delightful as all of this sounds, for lady knitters, that is, I’m due at the docks today.” He had a few hours before he was supposed to meet his old navy friend, Timothy Griffith, at the docks. “I’m afraid I’ll—”
“Do you think it would work, Mr. Wright? Could we renovate this property into a clubhouse with a dining room, a reading room, and other facilities?” asked Lady Beatrice.
Ford considered that question. “I suppose it could work. I’d have to tour the upper floors to make a final determination.”
“It could work.” Viola danced in her seat. “Wait until I tell Ardella and our newest member, Lady Henrietta Prince.”
“How many of you are there?” asked Ford.
“We’re recruiting new members every day.”
“You couldn’t fit more than twelve members at a time, unless you expanded to an adjacent property, as well.”
Miss Mayberry raised a glove-clad fist. “We’ll take over the Strand.”
“Revolutionary lady knitters?” asked Ford.
