AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Has Mr. Wright gone?” asked Mrs. Kettle, returning with the tea tray and setting it on a table. “I do hope he’s coming back?”
“He’s not.”
“Such a shame. He seems a most capable fellow, and so handsome, wouldn’t you agree, Lady Beatrice?”
“I hadn’t noticed.”
Liar.It’s all she’d thought about for weeks now. He’d truly gone this time, out of her life and her thoughts. And her dreams. He wasn’t allowed to come back into those, either.
“Sit down, dearie. Have a nice cup of tea and read Mrs. Castle’s letter.”
The letter.Beatrice had almost forgotten about it. She allowed Mrs. Kettle to fuss over pouring her tea and bringing her a blanket for her knees to protect against drafts.
She opened the letter.
Dear Lady Beatrice,
I remember the day that you visited our bookshop so clearly. I watched from behind the door, unable to reveal myself. I remember that you spoke in hushed tones, as if you were in church. I recognized a fellow bibliophile. And that’s why I’ve left you Castle’s Bookshop. These books were like our children, and I have every faith that you will treat them with respect.
I’ve made many mistakes in my life, but marrying Mr. Castle was not one of them, even though that choice precluded me from being a part of your life.
I hope you will divine my meaning and that this Revelation of Love helps you to be brave, and not hide yourself away. Allow me to point the way.
I place my trust in you.
Your loving (secret) Aunt Matilda
What a strange choice of words. Revelation of Love, capitalized in that way. It was almost as if her aunt were trying to tell her something more with this letter, but Beatrice couldn’t, for the life of her, figure out what.
The main intent of the letter was very clear. Keep the property in the family. Protect the precious collection of books. Even if it meant defying her mother and striking out on her own.
It was the same message she’d received from her friends and from Wright.
Finding a way to make her mother agree to allow her to renovate the bookshop into a clubhouse wouldn’t be easy.
This house filled with ancient manuscripts and research books felt far more inviting than her brother’s house in Mayfair. She wanted to stay here, to open those tantalizing crates of books, and transform the property into a clubhouse for her friends. A welcoming haven where women could meet to discuss goals, to nurture dreams, and to support one another, safe from society’s scorn and censure.
Perhaps she’d been selfish turning down Wright’s offer outright, just because he made her feel on edge and weak-kneed at the same time.
The bookshop required rescuing, even if she didn’t.
Too late.
She’d already refused his offer, and he didn’t strike her as a man who extended an offer twice. She’d have to take charge herself—find another carpenter, and consult with Isobel and with her brother’s solicitor regarding Foxton’s claim to theproperty. It was imperative to begin the renovations immediately, before Foxton had a chance to regroup and make good on his threats.
She gazed at the cracked leather spines of several early dictionaries she’d gathered from the shelves in the showroom. This was her chance to write a new chapter in her life, to claim a modicum of freedom within her mother’s kingdom.
She wouldn’t relinquish this chance without a fight.
Chapter Eight
It had taken four hours and a small army to ready Beatrice for tonight’s ball at the Earl of Mayhew’s home in St. James’s.
She’d been bathed, and then powdered, perfumed, and wrapped in a robe to sit by the fire, dry her hair, and await the arrival of that most important of personages, the hairdresser.
The dowager duchess wasn’t going to entrust the dressing of her daughter’s hair to a mere lady’s maid. She’d hired a private hairdresser direct from Paris to attend her daughter and create a style so elaborate that it would awe every person at the ball by sheer dint of complexity.
The hairdresser, a Monsieur Armoire, had parted Beatrice’s hair into three sections, exclaiming in consternation at the unruliness of her curls, which he tamed into submission by combing through her long hair until her eyes watered. The two partings on the side were formed into glossy ringlets with curling tongs and the liberal application of pomade. The back section was pulled painfully by the roots and braided tightly, then wrapped atop her head with the ends of the long braids fashioned into a bow.
