“Are you busy?”
Richard started at the young voice. “Grace, what did I tell you about sneaking up on me like that?” It had been almost a month, yet sharing a home with a child still felt foreign.
Grace gave him an apologetic look mixed with a hint of indignation. “I didn’t sneak up on you, Uncle Richard. I came down the hall as I normally do.” She placed her hands on the large wheels to each side of her chair and moved them forward, bringing her into the study. Her expression reflected both sorrow and melancholy. “Besides, one cannot exactly be silent in a contraption like this.”
“You have a point.” Richard nodded, his heart going out to his niece, confined to a chair after the carriage accident that took her parents. “I suppose I was lost in thought. Do forgive me for snapping.”
“Oh, I could never be cross with you, Uncle.” Her eyes reflected sadness, yet a pixie-like smile graced her face. “Who else is going to get me every book I could ever want? As well as all the sugar sticks I can eat?”
An answering grin parted his lips. “Now who said anything about sugar sticks?”
She pressed her hands against the wheels and raised herself up. “You mean I truly can have any book I want?” Grace wheeled closer. “Does that mean you heard back from one of the shops?”
“As a matter of fact. . .” Richard stood and moved around the desk to stand in front of his niece. He kneeled to be at eye level with her, placing his hands over hers. “Yes, I did.”
Eagerness filled her expression. “What did they say?”
Richard glanced back toward the desk then again at Grace. “The owner has each and every title on your list, and she has set them aside for us to come see.”
Grace’s eyes widened. “She?” A wrinkle formed in the middle of her brow, and she pressed her lips into a thin line. “That doesn’t mean the owner is a dour old spinster, does it?”
“That will be enough of that, young lady,” Richard reprimanded. “We have yet to meet Miss Pringle. I’ll not have you forming assumptions and passing judgment before we meet her.” Of course he had done that very thing moments before. He’d do well to heed his own instructions.
Appearing immediately contrite, Grace lowered her gaze. “Yes, sir. I’m sorry.”
Richard tipped up her chin with the crook of his finger. “Very well. Shall we begin making plans for our journey?”
“Do you mean I can join you?” The shift from contrition to joy nearly caused Richard to fall back. Ah, the exuberance of youth.
“I would not have it any other way, my dear.” He tapped Grace’s nose and smiled, silently praying Cobblestone Books had street-level access.
Two
“What do you think he looks like?” Anastasia held the feather duster in one hand, swiping at every visible surface in the bookshop. Charlotte’s parents didn’t force her to work, but Anastasia said she enjoyed helping. “Do you think he’s an older, portly sort of gentleman? Or perhaps one of those men who do nothing but read books, wear spectacles, and hide away in their houses?” She paused and held the duster across her chest, a dreamy-eyed look entering her eyes. “Oh! Perhaps he’s dashing and young and charming, and he’ll come to sweep you off your feet!” Anastasia punctuated her remark by sweeping the duster across the floor.
Charlotte continued straightening the front counter and sighed. She needed to limit the number of romance stories her sister read. Having dreams was one thing, but Anastasia almost always went overboard with her fanciful imagination. Men like the ones in her stories simply didn’t exist.
The bell above the front door jingled, and Charlotte looked up with a start, her breath catching in her throat. Anastasia even had her anticipating Mr. Baxton’s arrival. A moment later, she exhaled. “Good morning, Mr. Read,” she said, greeting one of her regular customers. “Have you finished the Canterbury Tales already?”
The diminutive, slender man doffed his top hat and tucked it under one arm, revealing his custoLaura center-parted hairstyle, the honey-gold strands pressed close to his head. “Good afternoon, Miss Pringle.” He offered a congenial smile. “As a matter of fact, I have. I must confess, I found the Miller’s Tale to be the most enjoyable. And I’ve come seeking another treasure, hoping you might point me in the right direction. Your recommendation was spot on, and I have no doubt you’ll do the same again.” He winked.
Charlotte smiled in return. What Mr. Read lacked in stature, he made up for in social graces and personality. And his two sons, not long in their britches, were already showing signs of growing up to be just like their father.
“If you found Mr. Chaucer’s storytelling to your liking, you should next read the stories of Grendel and Beowulf.” She led Mr. Read down the first aisle, running her fingers across the titles and moving just a little beyond another copy of Chaucer’s tales to retrieve a book. “Beowulf is a hero of the Geats and battles against Grendel, Grendel’s mother, and a dragon, then becomes king of the Geats. It’s an epic poem I am certain you will find engaging.”
Mr. Read held the book in his hands and glanced at the cover. He ran his fingers over the title, and then he opened the book to the first few pages. Moments later, he closed the cover and looked up at Charlotte. “I shall take it.” He gestured for her to precede him back up the aisle toward the front, continuing as he followed. “Under normal circumstances, I would preview an unfamiliar text before purchasing, but I know you would not steer me wrong.” He reached for his billfold then paused. “Oh, and while I am here, might you also have something I could read to my sons? The tales penned by Chaucer fair well enough, but I fear Beowulf’s story might be a bit beyond them.”
“Of course.” Charlotte nodded and looked toward her sister. “Anastasia, would you mind pulling two or three of Hans Christian Andersen’s fairy tales for Mr. Read, please?”
“Right away.” Her sister disappeared down the far aisle and returned moments later. Having someone else who knew the bookshop well was a definite asset. “Here you are.” Anastasia set the three books on the counter with the other.
Mr. Read bestowed a pleased grin on Anastasia. “Thank you, my dear.” He glanced at the titles and read them aloud. “The Steadfast Tin Soldier, The Ugly Duckling, and The Emperor’s New Clothes.” With a nod, he pushed the stack toward Charlotte. “These shall do nicely.” After laying his hat on the counter, he retrieved his billfold, withdrew a few bills and some change, and paid for his purchases.
“Thank you again, Mr. Read.” Charlotte noted the titles on her inventory ledger and slid the stack back toward him.
“No, thank you, Miss Pringle.” He nodded toward Anastasia. “And to the younger Miss Pringle, as well.” Taking the books and setting his hat atop his head, he bowed toward them both. “It is the endless hours of enjoyment you provide with your bookshop that is the greater gift. My dear wife, sons, and I all appreciate your service.” With a tip of his hat, he left the shop, the door jingling the bell with his departure.
“I’m glad I was here to see Mr. Read,” Anastasia remarked as soon as the door closed. The two sisters watched the street outside as their recent customer crossed to the park on the other side and disappeared from view. “He is one of your nicest customers.”
“I cannot disagree with you, although Mrs. Merriweather and Miss Constance are among my most loyal.”
Anastasia giggled. “And most talkative.”
“This is true.” Charlotte smiled. “Let’s not forget the brooding Mr. Cramer, with his dark eyes and pinched lips.”
Warming to the little game, her sister brightened. “Or the pensive and serious Mrs. Standish. Every time I see her, I wonder if she knows what a smile is.” A twinkle lit Anastasia’s eyes as a teasing grin formed on her lips. “And what about Mr. Charles du Pont II? He seems to enjoy frequenting this bookshop, although it’s curious how often he leaves without making a purchase.” She tapped her index finger to her pursed lips. “I wonder what it is that appeals to him so much about this little shop.”
> “Mr. Charles du Pont is charming, I agree.” Charlotte raised one eyebrow. “But have you not also noticed how often he walks in the park across the street with Miss Amelia on his arm? Besides”—Charlotte returned her sister’s teasing grin—“I happen to believe Thomas and Alfred du Pont present a much better diversion and are far better topics of conversation.”
A telltale blush stole into Anastasia’s cheeks as the young girl dipped her head. She clasped her hands in front of her, her gaze fastened to the floor. Just as Charlotte expected. Her sister couldn’t deny the way those two young lads doted on her every word or how often they went out of their way to catch a glimpse of her in the shop. Charlotte had lost count of how many times they walked by the windows, pretending not to look inside. At least they came from good families. Father couldn’t fault their lineage, nor the powder mills their family operated along the banks of the Brandywine. It was the only reason Charlotte encouraged the antics. She had to look out for her sister’s interests, after all.
Further banter was interrupted by the jingle of the bell. Anastasia retrieved the duster and returned to her work, leaving Charlotte to greet their new customer. Her sister could be quite adept at disappearing. With a glance at the front door, Charlotte was surprised to see a dark-haired gentleman backing into the shop, his shoulders slightly hunched and his hip pushing against the door as if he was pulling something heavy.
She immediately rushed from behind the counter to lend her assistance but froze when the man maneuvered his way beyond the door and pivoted to face her. His long fingers wrapped around the handles of a wheeled chair carrying a young girl who looked to be about ten or eleven years old. A top hat sat on top of a blanket that rested across her legs and covered most of her simple yet stylish black frock. Charlotte didn’t often see an apparatus such as this, and her imagination immediately began to form several stories to explain the background she envisioned for her two visitors.
Charlotte shook her head and remembered her manners. She stepped forward as the gentleman’s smooth cocoa gaze met hers. His breath came in labored yet measured spurts, but his expression held no sign of weariness or strain.
“Welcome to Cobblestone Books, sir. I am Miss Pringle, the owner. How may we be of service this morning?”
Surprise flickered in the gentleman’s eyes as he tilted his head a fraction of an inch. He glanced around the shop then turned his attention to Charlotte. Stepping around the wheeled chair, whose occupant observed Charlotte with pensive curiosity, the gentleman placed one hand on the lapels of his overcoat. “Miss Pringle, I am Mr. Baxton. We have exchanged correspondence regarding my visit.” Extending a hand toward her, he waited for her to return the gesture before continuing. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” he said as he bowed over her hand, his mouth hovering just a hair’s breadth above her knuckles.
With her hand tucked back against the folds of her skirts, Charlotte forced herself to reconcile the image she’d had of Mr. Baxton with the reality standing before her. Snippets of her sister’s earlier repartee came to mind, but she brushed them aside.
Business. The single word served to set her thoughts straight again. A customer needed her help. She must remain focused. Never mind if the man’s angled jaw line and high cheekbones gave him an air of distinction.
“Yes, yes, of course, Mr. Baxton. It is a pleasure to meet you as well.”
He placed a hand on the young girl’s shoulder and smiled. “Allow me to introduce my charming yet precocious niece, Grace Baxton.” With a glance down at the blue-eyed girl, he winked and looked up again at Charlotte. “It is for her that we have journeyed to your shop. She has read every book in my possession, and we are in dire need of additional stories to keep her occupied.”
Grace swatted at her uncle and gave him a stern yet amused stare. “That is not true, Uncle Richard. There are lots more books on the shelves in your library. But those are boring. You can have those.”
Charlotte held back a grin at the girl’s forthrightness then stepped forward and extended her right hand. “Grace, I am honored to meet you. And I’m very happy you have chosen my bookshop to satisfy your insatiable love of reading.”
Grace shook Charlotte’s hand and dipped slightly forward, as close to a curtsey as she could no doubt perform. “It’s a pleasure, Miss Pringle.” She tilted her tawny-haired head and scrunched her eyebrows together, two lines forming at the center. “What’s insatiable?” she asked, sounding out each syllable.
“It means you have a love of reading that knows no end.”
“Oh.” The girl nodded. “Yes. That’s true. I just love books. So many stories. So much adventure.” A dreamy expression crossed her face. “I could get lost for hours.”
Charlotte winked. “I know exactly what you mean.”
Grace beamed at the shared understanding. Then her attention shifted to somewhere over Charlotte’s shoulder. “Who’s that?”
Charlotte glanced behind her. So much for remembering her manners. “Oh, that is my sister.” She beckoned Anastasia with a wave of her hand. “Anastasia, I’d like you to meet Mr. Baxton and his niece Grace.” Once her sister was at her side, Charlotte shifted her focus to the other pair. “Mr. Baxton, Grace, this is Anastasia Pringle.”
Anastasia dipped into a quick curtsey. “Pleased to meet you both.”
“My sister often spends her spare time with me, keeping the shop clean and shelving new books I’ve acquired. She also helps with customer purchases and is a tremendous assistant. I don’t know what I would do without her.”
Her sister bent low and leaned toward Grace, answering in a loud whisper. “Don’t let my sister fool you. Charlotte and I have a lot of fun.”
Grace giggled, and Anastasia straightened. “Would you like to come with me and take a tour of the shop?” She looked to Mr. Baxton and gestured toward the handles of the wheeled chair. “May I?”
Mr. Baxton hesitated, but at Grace’s eager nod, he relinquished control and stepped back. “Grace can maneuver quite well on her own, too. Don’t allow her to get lazy.”
Anastasia led Grace away, chattering with the younger girl as they began their tour. Charlotte addressed Mr. Baxton. “The books you requested are here. I believe I found each and every one.” She retrieved the small stack from behind the counter and placed it on top. Mr. Baxton closed the distance in three long steps. “Of course, you are under no obligation to purchase them all. I merely wanted to have them on hand for your perusal.”
Mr. Baxton reached out and picked up each book in turn, holding them in his hands, turning them over, and flipping through the first few pages. He recognized the value of books. Charlotte could see that in the way he handled them. As he set the last book on top of the stack, he nodded. His expression reflected satisfaction. “They’re in excellent condition.”
Pride brought a smile to Charlotte’s lips. “I insist that my books remain in the best form possible. Books available for purchase are guaranteed brand-new, and those available for borrowing are of the highest quality. If a book becomes tattered or torn, I do what I can to restore it, but if it is beyond repair, I offer it for sale at a lower price to anyone who wishes to purchase it. I also sell a few antique titles.”
“Sounds perfectly reasonable. It’s no wonder you have established a reputation that has spread as far as Ashbourne Hills, although I have a feeling knowledge of your shop extends further than that.” Mr. Baxton glanced over his shoulder toward the doors. “And you couldn’t have found a more perfect location. Customers can come here to acquire a book then venture to the park where they can relax and read.” He turned back to face her with a twinkle in his eyes. “A winning combination.”
Charlotte couldn’t help responding to his congenial manner. A pleasant feeling sent warmth flowing through her veins. “It has proven to be good for business.”
Mr. Baxton placed one well-manicured hand on top of the stack of books. These were not the hands of a common laborer, though the small scars and scr
apes bore evidence of some form of work. “I’m pleased to hear that. Too many bookshops are forced to close their doors because of lack of business.” He sighed. “Often, it’s due to location. Other times, it’s because the proprietor”—he gave her an acknowledging nod—“or proprietress doesn’t truly love what he or she does. That’s why my niece and I traveled here from Ashbourne Hills.” He wrapped both hands around the books. “Well, I don’t want to keep you any longer than necessary. How much do I owe you?”
Charlotte stated the total amount, and Mr. Baxton paid without hesitation. She procured a burlap sack and slid his books inside.
“I suppose it’s time for us to depart. That is, if my niece will be willing to leave,” he said with a wink. “Grace?”
“Yes, Uncle Richard?” The voice came from the back corner of the store, opposite where they stood.
“I have your books, and it is time for us to take our leave.”
“Aw, Uncle Richard. Do we have to go so soon?”
Charlotte could almost picture the pouty lips and the woeful expression on the girl’s face.
“I promise we shall return soon. Besides, you have a great deal of reading to do. We need to go home so you can get started.”
Anastasia poked her head around a corner of one of the shelves. Grace appeared a moment later. Wheeling herself to the front of the store, Grace joined her uncle at the counter.
“All right. I’m ready to go.” She crossed her arms. “But you must know how much I protest this departure.”
Mr. Baxton turned to Charlotte, his mouth pressed into a thin line as he held back his laughter. With the sack held securely in his left hand, he extended his right. The warmth in his long fingers as they enveloped her own threatened to send a shiver up her back. But she resisted. Instead, she took a deep breath as he bowed slightly and raised her hand toward his lips.
“We shall return. You have my word on that.” Mr. Baxton released her hand and stepped behind Grace. He placed the sack of books in her lap then positioned his hands on the wheeled chair. “Thank you again for your time, Miss Pringle. It has been a distinct pleasure.”
Bound By Grace Page 2