by Joyce Alec
Anthony sat in the clearing, dressed in his shirt and old boots. He had started a fire, hoping that she would come to him. He longed to see her again, to explain himself and to beg for her forgiveness. He kicked a chunk of wood morosely, thinking that he had hoped in vain.
“My lord?”
Spinning on his heel, Anthony saw Eliza coming towards him, dressed simply and with her blonde hair in a braid, as it had been the first time they met. “Eliza,” he breathed, rushing forward to take her hand.
“My lord,” she began again, taking her hand from his. “I have to come to thank you for your generosity towards my family and me. Father’s debts are vast, and there is no reason for you to pay them. Regardless, I must thank you from the bottom of my heart. You have saved me from a great deal of trouble.” She curtsied, intending to move away, but Anthony stopped her, his hand grasping her arm.
“Eliza, please,” he implored. “Won’t you let me explain? Please, I beg of you.” Such was the desperation in his voice that she had no choice but to acquiesce, seating herself on the tree stump, the familiar scene tugging at her heart.
"I must beg your forgiveness for my behavior last evening. I spoke words of such cruelty, and the look on your face told me how much I'd pained you." He swallowed hard, his eyes searching her impassive face. "I happened upon Lord Stockton and yourself in an embrace the previous evening, and I believed you to be using me, making me feel like a fool for falling in love with you."
Eliza colored immediately, remembering the scene. "Oh, Anthony, it was not what you thought! Yes, I had asked John to kiss me, but it was to see if I felt the way I did with you." She covered her red cheeks with her hands. "It became apparent that I did not, and so we parted ways."
“He is now betrothed to your sister,” Anthony replied gently.
“Yes, yes,” Eliza replied, getting to her feet. “And I wished them both a lifetime of happiness. It appears that they have longed for each other for a while, but John’s attention to propriety was all that was hindering him.” She gazed at him, her hands on her hips, exasperated by the muddle they were in. “Anthony, I must ask why you lied to me. You made a fool of me, and I don’t understand why you didn’t tell me your true identity when we first met.”
“Eliza, you must forgive me on that account as well,” answered Anthony. “I only hid my identity so you would open up to me about how the guests truly felt about me. I did not expect to fall in love with you.”
Eliza thought about his confession, and said, “Well, things would have turned out much differently if I did know your true identity. I would never have opened up to you, and I certainly wouldn’t have told you of my troubles.” She looked Anthony in the eyes, “But, you must promise never to tell falsehoods again.”
Anthony got to his feet, making his way towards her. “I promise. I will always tell you the truth, even if it’s something you don’t want to hear. Oh, Eliza, I have been such a fool,” he confessed, holding out his hand. “If only I had asked you before coming to my conclusions about you and Lord Stockton, I might have spared us both this heartache.”
Eliza glanced down at his open hand and then back up into his face. Anthony had asked for her forgiveness, and she was willing to give it. She loved him too much to hold a grudge, taking his hand in her own. “I waited for you in the woods yesterday morning,” she said quietly. “I wanted to confess something to you.”
“What was that?” Anthony asked, his hands now slowly sliding around her waist.
“I wanted to confess my love for you,” she whispered. “Gardener or not, I know that my heart belongs to you.”
“And you hold mine,” Anthony replied, lowering his head. Their kiss was soft and sweet, both a promise of love and a giving of forgiveness.
THE END
Part II
Secrets of the Duke’s Heart
By Caroline Johnson
1
London, England, 1852
Emma hummed as she flipped the sign on the door over from 'shut' to 'open.' She loved coming to work every day, especially since Carter's bookstore was now hers alone. The scent of books, along with the lemon oil she used to keep the shelves shiny soothed her as if it were a fine perfume. She'd worked side by side with her father for years, and he managed to teach her every aspect of the business before the good Lord took him away, leaving the shop for her to run. So far, she'd been successful at keeping a roof over their heads, and providing enough of an income for herself and her mother to get by.
To keep their modest lifestyle, she needed to sell at least twenty books each month. So far this month, she had made it to seventeen. A quick glance at the calendar assured her she still had a few days left to make up the difference. She progressed to the rear of the little store, turning on the Argand oil lamps as she wended her way through the familiar aisles. She had purchased a fair number of books yesterday at auction and needed to sort through them and assign a price to each before placing them on the shelves.
She had just picked up the first book when the little bell over the door rang, signifying a customer. Emma glanced up and stared at a man she knew well. At least by name and reputation. Whatever was the Duke of Ravenswood doing in her little shop?
She took a steadying breath before she stepped forward. "Good morning, Your Grace. You are out and about quite early this morning. May I help you find something?"
His intelligent brown eyes raked over her, and he brushed away the lock of dark hair that had fallen over his forehead when he doffed his hat. Emma's skin prickled at the intensity of his gaze and her mouth suddenly went dry. The Duke of Ravenswood was, if the scandal sheets could be believed, a rake and a scoundrel, bedding every woman in his path and often not rising until nightfall to hunt for the next woman to fall victim to his charms.
He blinked, as if coming out of a trance, and cleared his throat. "Yes, you may, Miss...?"
Emma extended a hand to him. "Emma Carter, Your Grace, proprietor of this shop."
He took hold of her hand and leaned over it, brushing his lips against her fingers. Then, he straightened and stared deep into her eyes. "It's lovely to meet your acquaintance, Emma Carter. Is it Miss Carter, or Mrs.?"
"Miss Carter is fine." She found her voice again.
"I'm Paul Beckinsale. You can possibly save my skin today." His voice was a deep baritone and reminded her of fine whiskey.
She stumbled over her words as he finally relinquished her hand. "How...how might I do so, Sir? I mean, Your Grace. What in particular are you searching for?"
"I'm here to purchase a gift for the only woman I'd get out of bed before three in the afternoon for." He grinned at her, and Emma's knees threatened to buckle. The man had certainly earned his reputation, since even she was not immune to his striking good looks and his magnetic personality.
"And who might this lucky lady be?" She closed her eyes momentarily, mentally kicking herself for asking such a forward question.
He laughed, the deep sound sending shivers throughout her body. "It's not at all what you think. I need a gift for my mother."
Paul nearly laughed again as he caught the play of emotions on Emma Carter's face. What did she think? It seemed his mere presence made her jittery. His reputation preceded him into every drawing room in London, so he should not be surprised that it preceded him into this little bookstore, with its dusty labyrinth of aisles and books stacked every which way.
His gaze fell to her lips as she took a deep breath. Beautiful lips, he had to admit. There was something different about this one. The way she carried herself. Her smile. The way the light from the lamp reflected off of her hair.
She glanced up at him; her blue eyes grazed over his face before she quickly lowered her gaze and became enamored with the knot in the floorboard beneath their feet. "I have a collection of books that appeal to the ladies over here." She pointed a finger to the far wall and took a step forward.
He reached out a hand and laid it on her arm. Her body went rigid, and she
stopped, glancing at him questionably. She gently removed his hand and gave him a warning look.
"What appeals to most ladies is mundane to my mother." He flashed his trademark grin at her, knowing the dimples in his cheeks would emerge. "She wants The String of Pearls in its entirety. I've been told if any bookstore in town has the complete eighteen-part story, it would be you."
Her gasp was audible, but he couldn't tell if it was a reaction to his dimples or the subject matter that enthralled his mother.
"Sweeney Todd?" she squeaked. He had his answer. She was immune to his dimples, it seemed. The first lady in a long time not to swoon when he flashed his grin. Miss Emma Carter presented a challenge, and he was ready to play this game. He shifted his eyes away from her. His immediate knee-jerk reaction to make her a conquest was nothing more than being momentarily mesmerized by her rosy lips, which reminded him of raspberries. And her large, expressive blue eyes. Her obvious intelligence was a refreshing change, as well.
But she was no trifle to be toyed with and then gently set aside when he tired of her. Trifles were the only type of woman he deserved, the only type he desired. He did not want to have Emma Carter as his next fallen woman. His behavior was reprehensible, and he had best finish his business and leave, before he lost his better sense.
"Yes, Sweeney Todd. My mother has very eclectic tastes. Do you have it? All eighteen parts? She doesn't want me to scurry all over town searching for the remainder of the story while she waits with baited breath for a climactic scene." He smiled at her again.
Emma ran a hand over her perfectly coiffed deep brown hair. "I believe I have the complete set. Let me check." She moved out of his gaze and scurried over to the far wall, removing books from the shelf. "Ah, yes, as I thought. I am missing one part of the story. The seventeenth." She lifted her gaze from the stack of pamphlets and met his. "But I can retrieve it and have it here tomorrow, if you'd like."
"Are you certain you can lay your hands on it?" He glanced at the stack of literature she'd compiled.
"Yes, Your Grace, I remember exactly where it is." The blush in her cheeks became more pronounced. "You see, I have it at home. Your mother's not the only one mesmerized by such stories, it would seem." She smiled slightly.
He nodded at the stack. "Perhaps I could return tomorrow, to retrieve the entire set. You need to read the eighteenth part after you finish what you have at home. Will one night be enough time?"
She hesitated, brushing her fingers over the stack of pamphlets. "One night should suffice, Your Grace, thank you. I am a fast reader."
Her hands were still on the pile of literature, hesitating as she met his gaze. She must want payment for the purchase, even if he wouldn't pick it up until tomorrow. He'd be gracious and be the one to bring up the subject of payment. "I don't want anyone else coming in here today and buying the odd one from the stack, so I'm prepared to pay for all of them now." He reached into his waistcoat for some coin.
"There's no need to pay now. I can put them under the counter for a day, and keep them safe for you. I trust you will return." She picked up the stack and tucked them away from prying eyes.
Paul stared at her delicate features as she moved to hide his purchase. No one had said they trusted him since Margaret. And he remembered, every day of his life, what her trust in him had cost her. "No, please, let me pay you for them now. It's only fair, since they're now out of circulation in your shop."
She pondered his suggestion momentarily before lifting her head. "Only half. You can pay me the remainder when you pick up the entire set."
"That is most fair." She quoted him a price. He passed over the coins to her and then bowed to her. "I shall return on the morrow, at which time I will assume you and Mr. Todd will have come to a satisfactory conclusion."
Her raspberry-colored lips curled up into a smile. "A satisfactory conclusion for Mr. Todd is not necessarily a satisfactory conclusion to my way of thinking. I'd like to stay alive for a while longer."
Paul's cravat suddenly became very constricted around his neck. He tucked away the receipt Emma had given him and scurried out from the shadows of the shop as if past discretions were chasing him. Perhaps they were.
2
Emma merely wanted to finish Sweeney Todd's adventure, nothing more. That had to be the only reason why she put the Duke of Ravenswood off. She drummed her fingers on the countertop as she relived her morning. By his purchase of not one, but eighteen, volumes, he had single-handedly not only helped her meet her sales goal for the month, but he also carved a healthy amount out of what was needed next month. It gave her some breathing room. Yes, she had found the reason for her uneven breathing. She wanted the other half of the purchase price, that was all. It could not be that she had fallen victim to his charms as had so many others. She cautioned herself even as she counted the hours until his return.
Even if he did have broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist. And a full head of lovely dark brown hair. And those dimples in his cheeks when he smiled. Oh, my. Eyes that twinkled when he was amused. She found herself getting lost in those brown pools several times and had to adjust her gaze to break the spell of him. He could be a dangerous man if she didn't take care.
She flipped the door sign from 'open' to 'shut' at lunchtime and ran upstairs to the living quarters she shared with her mother. A light meal was waiting for her, so she grabbed the seventeenth installment and read through it quickly as she ate her lunch.
"You seem preoccupied, dear," her mother sat across the table and tapped her fingers on the page of the pamphlet Emma had been absorbed in.
"I'm sorry, Mother." She set the booklet aside and glanced up. "A gentleman came into the shop this morning wanting to purchase all eighteen pamphlets in this series. I had read through them, all except the last two, so I put him off by a day in order to finish the story."
Her mother harrumphed. "You turned your back on a big sale? What would your father have to say about that?"
Emma bristled. "I didn't turn my back on it. I collected half his money, told him to return on the morrow, and I'd give him the entire story. Father taught me well how to take care of business, and I haven't forgotten his teaching."
She finished her meal in silence. Her gaze might have been on her book, but her mind was full of a mesmerizing smile and twinkling brown eyes.
The eighteenth installment was a quick read following lunch, and she assembled all the pamphlets in order, wrapping them in a big pink bow. She'd have everything ready for the Duke tomorrow, so he wouldn't linger at the shop. When she handed over The String of Pearls, it would signify the end of their involvement. At least she hoped so. She couldn't let herself daydream about winning his heart. She was simple shop girl, and he was the Duke of Ravenswood. No real future could exist for them and this she knew. She would continue to wait for the man that God had chosen for her.
Emma aided a couple more visitors to the shop in the afternoon, then closed up for the night. It had been a good day for her bottom line. It had been a good day, also, for her heart. Because, even though the Duke's scandalous reputation should put her off, she was grateful to him for making her aware she could still entertain thoughts of love. She believed those feelings had been laid to rest when the mantle of responsibility fell onto her shoulders. No time was available for frivolous behavior these last few years. Now, she once again began to harbor emotions that warmed her heart, even if it was for someone who was out of her league.
Paul put off going to the bookstore the following day. He wanted to drag out the anticipation as long as possible. His body hummed like a string on a violin. Emma Carter was constantly in his thoughts; he couldn't focus on anything else. His mind kept searching, trying to figure out her appeal. She was attractive, yes, but so was every other woman he talked to, or had a relationship with. Her blue eyes sparkled with delight as he told her of his mother's reading habits. The fact that she knew immediately to what he referred spoke volumes about her intelligence. When was the last time
he'd been in the company of a lovely woman with a brain? He couldn't remember. And the fact that he'd thrown money at her and walked out of the shop with nothing to show for it except a scrap of paper told him she had excellent business acumen. Always an asset. His mind spun with possibilities. Perhaps he could offer her a job as his bookkeeper? Once he picked up his books, he'd have no reason to see her again, unless he could manufacture one.
He rubbed his chin. "Paul, you're a fool," he muttered. "There are plenty of women to dally with. Leave this one alone. She's as pure as the driven snow, so unless you wish to marry, and marry someone with no social standing, you'd best not linger in the shop." He gazed at his reflection in the mirror and raised an eyebrow at himself. "For the love of God, man, take heed of your own warning. You had one pure woman in your life already, and you know how that played out. Leave her alone."
Still, he counted the hours until he could stroll into the shop as if it were no big event, and pick up his mother's gift.
Finally, at 10:45 am, he sauntered into the store. Not too early, yet not so late she'd rush him out to go eat her lunch. She was standing in the light from a side window, her expressive face a combination of shadow and light. His breath caught in his throat. His impression of her yesterday had been one of loveliness, but he realized today he'd not done her justice. Today, in the sun and shadow, she was breathtaking, mesmerizing. The light formed a halo around her dark curls. Her dress was a serviceable blue calico, but she didn't need a fine gown to accentuate her beauty. Her curves were highlighted by the sun, too, and the overall picture was stunning. He gulped several times, trying to find some moisture in his mouth. He didn't need to add muteness to his already poor reputation with her. She had recognized him the moment he'd walked through her door, and his behavior yesterday had been one of a bumbling schoolboy. He needed to entice her today with some of that charm he was so famous for.