Beauty Within

by Emily L Goodman

  “I understand.” He chuckled. “The first time I saw a bookshop, I thought I’d died and gone to heaven! They are wonderful, aren’t they?” He gestured to the books.

  Callista nodded, warming to them. “It even smells like books in here,” she told him, her face growing even warmer as she admitted it.

  “I love breathing in the scent of books—ink and paper, that faint hint of dust in old libraries—the one that grows no matter how clean you keep it.” The shopkeeper dusted his hands off. “Now—are you here to buy, or just to enjoy the experience? Because I can let you simply browse, if you like, but I’d also be delighted to at least give you a starting place.”

  “I’m here to buy,” she told him, grinning brightly.

  “Excellent.” He smiled right back at her—a kindly sort of smile that made her immediately feel a sense of connection to him in spite of the fact that she’d never met him before. “Now, tell me—I’m sorry.” Now it was his turn to blush. “I’ve been spending too much time with my books, and it’s obviously been far too long since I last had someone in here who shared my appreciation for the whole experience. I forgot to inquire your name.”

  Her blush was even hotter. “I’m Callista,” she said boldly.

  “Callista.” He turned it over on his tongue, then nodded as though he liked what he heard. “True beauty. It’s a lovely name.” She was glad he didn’t say it suited her. Callista was well aware that she was no true beauty—not like her sisters. “And I am Vincent.” He gave a courtly bow.

  Callista giggled. “Nice to meet you.” She gave him a curtsy that was, perhaps, a shade too quick; and she was well aware that it wobbled. Thankfully, Vincent didn’t look inclined to care.

  “Now, Miss Callista, tell me: what type of books do you like to read?” Vincent asked curiously.

  “Oh, all of them!” Callista proclaimed.

  He chuckled again. Somehow, he always managed to make it feel as though he was laughing with her, not at her. “Well, I do have a good selection from every genre I can think of; but surely you have some sort of preference.”

  “Well…” She had to admit, she hadn’t really cared for the dull, dry histories up at the castle. And… “I don’t really like poetry,” she admitted, wrinkling her nose.

  “A wise choice.” Vincent leaned in close as though he was about to impart a secret. Callista leaned right along with him instinctively, liking the sense of being part of something even with someone she had never met before. “Spread that widely about town,” he whispered to her. “Some of our young gentlemen have taken it into their heads that young ladies like poetry, and they are forever trying their hand with verse.”

  Callista made a face. “The only thing worse than poetry,” she informed him repressively, “is bad poetry.”

  “I quite agree. So! That means you will likely venture only rarely to that section there.” Vincent turned, pointing to one of the far corners of the store. “It’s typically visited only by young lovers who are interested in a bit of privacy while they whisper sweet nothings to one another anyway.”

  Callista rolled her eyes without meaning to.

  “Ah—no one special in your life, who might whisper those sweet nothings, then?” he asked curiously.

  “I—” Her mind went to Griffin. Did he like poetry? They’d talked about books a few times, but she’d been reluctant to mention anything new, since his library was so dated, and she was rather hoping that he didn’t have a similar interest in poetry to the one shared by the young men. “Not yet,” she said instead.

  “Not yet—but a young lady can dream.” Vincent gestured her deeper into the shop. “Here—these are my romances.” He gestured grandly to a huge section of books. “There’s everything from the fantastic to the more realistic, men from nobles and princes to downright beasts.”

  Callista had to giggle at that.

  “You’re welcome to browse to your heart’s content,” Vincent told her. “Or perhaps you’d prefer fairy tales? Stories of curses, and princes in disguise, perhaps?”

  “Those might be interesting.” Now she looked over at a whimsically decorated corner of the shop, where it was evident that tales of magic filled the shelves. Fairy tales. She wondered if there were any tales about princes who had to invite ladies to stay with them for a year and a day, and hope that they would fall in love with him so that they would break the curse and he could take care of his kingdom again. Or maybe there were stories about the girls who got to visit those princes.

  Did any of them tell what life was like when that year was over? When they left the prince behind, what was it like?

  She didn’t want to leave.

  “Callista?” Vincent said gently.

  She blinked, surprised when a tear slid down her cheek. Luckily, the bell on the door jingled at that moment; she was free to wipe it away on her sleeve before Vincent took notice.

  “Vincent, I thought I asked out to stop selling Barrett those blasted books!” A whirlwind of color swept into the shop: a bright blue dress embroidered with brilliant purple flowers, hair intricately braided. The girl was a beauty; and though she would have said that morning that she was quite content with the outfit she’d chosen, Callista found herself shrinking back into the shelves to avoid notice.

  “And I told you, my dear Arabella, that it’s not my job to prevent my customers from buying books. Perhaps if he just keeps learning from the masters, Barrett will eventually—”

  She snorted—an entirely inelegant sound, all the more surprising because it came from a girl who was so classically pretty. It was almost enough to make Callista giggle, and she clamped a hand over her mouth and turned quickly to the romance section before she allowed it to escape. “Balderdash,” she proclaimed, flinging her arms wide. “His poetry hasn’t improved in the slightest, and in the meantime, he’s making me listen to more of the drivel while he tries to figure it out! Really, Vincent—”

  “You could just tell the poor boy that you’re not interested.”

  “And dash his hopes forever? Could I be so cruel?” She pressed a hand over her heart.

  “Arabella, stringing the boy along—not to mention trying to bribe me not to sell him books of poetry—is quite as bad as just breaking his heart and having done with it!” Vincent proclaimed, setting a book down just a bit harder than necessary on the counter. “Really, if you would just quit stringing him along—”

  “Then I’d never get to be around Frederick.” She said this as though it was the argument that definitively ended the discussion. Maybe, Callista thought, it was. “Besides, I’ve told him again and again that I’m not interested. He keeps coming back anyway!” She said this with such a dramatic, put-upon air that it sent a homesick pang through Callista’s chest as she thought about Erin—and made her smile all at the same time.

  “Then perhaps,” Vincent said firmly, “you should take the initiative and tell poor Frederick how you feel, hm? The poor boy can’t notice you if you won’t tell him—”

  “Of course he notices me.” Arabella turned in a slow circle, her arms spread out by her sides. “How could he help it? No, it’s not that he doesn’t notice; it’s that he hasn’t yet seen below the surface beauty to realize who I really am.” She gave another of those great theatrical sighs.

  “You could—”

  “Oh, give it up, Vincent. I’m not going to suddenly start spouting poetry.” Arabella sniffed. “I just wanted to request—again—that you stop the boys from their nonsense. Honestly, what does it profit you to make the rest of us miserable, anyway?”

  “Profit in every volume sold,” he said cheerfully.

  Arabella made a rude sound.

  Callista couldn’t help it this time: she giggled aloud.

  “Oh!” Arabella spun to look at her, clearly noticing her for the first time. “Now, I know every noble girl in town,” she proclaimed. “And I’m quite sure I’ve never seen you before.”

  Vincent chuckled softly. “Just because you
don’t know a girl, Bella,” he chided.

  “Oh, stop it, Uncle Vincent. Did you know her before today?” Arabella asked innocently. “Now, come.” She practically pounced on Callista, wrapping her arm through hers. “Tell me your name. Tell me where you come from. Tell me all your juiciest secrets so that I’m the one to find out about them first, instead of having to hear about it from all the dreadful town gossips.”

  “Really, Bella.” Vincent sighed.

  “I’m only teasing—well, mostly.” She squeezed Callista’s arm, but then she did at least let go and take a step away. “I’ll try again, since Uncle Vincent wants me to be ladylike.” She curtsied prettily—far better than Callita herself would be able to manage. “Hello. I’m Arabella—Lady Arabella Cordelia Winchester, if you must, but please, do make it Arabella—or even Bella.” She winked. “There aren’t many girls our age in town right now, so we’re really destined to be friends, don’t you think?”

  “I—sure,” Callista said slowly. She’d never had a female friend before—not really. Erin and Millicent were both gone too often for them to develop the kind of close relationship she had really always wanted, and Stasi was really more like a surrogate mother, in many ways, than a friend.

  Friend sounded nice.

  “Oh.” She blinked, realizing that Arabella was waiting. Dropping into a curtsy of her own, she admitted, “Callista Christina Marguerite Ramsey.” Rising, she added, “I know it’s a mouthful.”

  “No, it’s lovely!” Arabella smiled broadly at her. “Now, tell me—how long have you been here? Are you just here on a visit? Oh, tell me you aren’t just here to visit and you’ll be gone in just a few days.”

  “No.” With a faint smile more for herself than anything as she realized that her memories were just as clear as they had been when she’d walked into the town that morning, Callista admitted, “I’ll be here for a year—well, about two months less than a year, now.”

  “Only a year?” Arabella’s face fell.

  “I think so. It could end up being longer.” If she and Griffin fell in love and she was the one to help him break the curse—but how did you even begin to explain that to someone else? She couldn’t—and so she just gave Arabella a cautious smile. “But you know, if we do become fast friends, we could always be pen pals after I leave.”

  “I—oh.” Arabella’s face fell still further, and she stared down at her hands. “You’re one of the lucky ones, aren’t you?” she wanted to know.

  “The lucky ones who what?”

  “Well—you can read, can’t you? I mean, I guess that’s why you’re standing in a bookshop.”

  “Yes, but—can’t you?” She’d called the bookshop owner uncle—hadn’t he taught her to read?

  “Mandatory education only became a thing five years ago,” Arabella said quietly. “At least here. Isn’t it like that where you are?”

  “I guess.” Callista shrugged. “But my sisters and I all read. Our father taught us.”

  “Must be nice.” Arabella offered a smile, but it was obviously sad.

  “I could teach you,” Callista suggested, not sure where the boldness came from.

  Arabella’s jaw dropped. “Are you serious?” she demanded

  “Why not? If you really want to learn, it’s never too late.” Callista glanced over at Vincent. “Or—won’t your uncle?”

  “I’d be delighted,” Vincent cut in. “But she’s always told me that she didn’t think she could learn. Learning, after all, is for boys.” The words emerged as a gentle tease.

  “Well—well maybe I’ve changed my mind since I was eight, Uncle Vincent,” Arabella informed him—a little snootily, Callista thought, but then she realized that there was genuine emotion behind it, and that was what was filling Arabella’s voice.

  “Well, then, we begin at once!” he proclaimed.

  “Um—maybe we begin tomorrow?” Arabella gave him a hopeful look. “I’m supposed to meet Juliette for lunch in a few minutes.”

  “So you just stopped by to berate me about the poetry because you didn’t want to be the first one at the sandwich shop?” he teased.

  “I saw Barrett clutching another of those books,” she admitted. “And, not wanting to be subjected to another terrible round of poetry—”

  “How can you even know that something is terrible if you refuse to hear any of its best parts?” Vincent interjected.

  She stuck her tongue out at him.

  Callista giggled again.

  “I’m so glad you like our sense of humor,” Arabella told her. “Lots of people think Uncle Vincent and I are completely strange, the way we talk to each other; but it’s just the way we’ve always done it, and it’s not like we’re hurting anybody, so we just keep right on at it even when they look at us like we’re nuts.” She winked.

  “Oh, you should hear me and my brothers and sisters,” Callista informed her. “And I love them all completely!”

  “Brothers and sisters? How many?”

  “Three brothers, three sisters—I’m the youngest.” Callista made a face.

  “I’m so jealous,” Arabella breathed. “It’s just me at home, and it gets so lonely sometimes—well, I guess that’s probably something you don’t know anything about.” She made a face at her.

  Callista thought of empty rooms and a prince who was only slowly coming out of his shell and showing a willingness to get to know her. “I’ve been lonely,” she said quietly.

  Arabella looked at her—really looked at her. “Your brothers and sisters—they aren’t here with you,” she said slowly.

  Callista shook her head, swallowing back the lump in her throat.

  “Well, I can’t replace them,” Arabella said bluntly. “But I can invite you to lunch and keep you entertained for a few hours. There’s nothing quite like good company to make you feel less lonely.”

  “Yes, that is usually the secret,” Vincent informed her.

  She stuck her tongue out at him again. “How about it, Callista?” she wanted to know. “Want to join me for lunch? We aren’t doing anything fancy—just sandwiches at the shop next door.”

  “Oh, but I couldn’t intrude,” Callista protested. “You’ve already made plans with your friend, and—”

  “Are you kidding me? If you show up for lunch with me and Juliette, we’ll have basically all the social standing we could ask for in our little group for weeks,” Arabella informed her. “Come. Do. Juliette will be thrilled, I promise you.”

  “I—oh—” She’d never had the chance to sit down for lunch “with the girls” before. Millicent and Erin always talked about it—about having the chance to sit down and giggle around the table with a group of friends—but it was something that Callista, at least, had never experienced. “All right,” she declared at last.

  Arabella clapped her hands excitedly. “Excellent! Oh—but I don’t want to interrupt. You were looking at books, and I can only imagine that you really want to take something back with you. Don’t let me rush you—I know how bookworms can be when they’re surrounded by their books.”

  “Oh—it’s no trouble.” Callista quickly selected a couple of romances and hurried over to the counter. “These will do for now, and I can always come back in a few days.” Griffin would, she was sure, continue to encourage it. He was so determined to be a gentleman, so determined to make her stay a nice one even though it had come about under unusual conditions. He made quite a host.

  She just wasn’t sure whether or not he would make quite a love—and how on earth was she ever supposed to decide with that kind of pressure hanging over her?

  “Callista?” Vincent tapped the top of her book, repeating the total for her purchase.

  “Sorry,” she said quickly.

  “You went away for a minute,” Arabella pointed out cautiously.

  “I was just…thinking.” Callista brought a smile to her lips, glad to note that it didn’t feel forced. “There’s been quite a bit on my mind lately, that’s all.”

&nb
sp; “Well, you’ll have to tell me all about it.” Arabella linked her arm through Callista’s again, this time with companionable comfort that suggested she wasn’t going to be letting go any time soon.

  Callista smiled. “Oh, really?” she teased. “And what makes you special enough to be told ‘everything’ that’s on my mind?”

  Arabella grinned brilliantly, her eyes sparkling. “I,” she informed Callista, “know where to find the absolute best, most sinful, dessert in town.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  She Came Back

  Callista didn’t exactly spill everything on her mind, but over lunch, she did find herself telling Arabella and her friend, Juliette quite a bit more than she had thought that she would. She talked about her family—about growing up as the youngest of seven. Arabella was an only child, Juliette the oldest of three whose siblings—twins—were much younger; they’d never had the experience of being a youngest anything, not to mention the fact that they were deeply interested in what it was like to grow up with so many siblings. She admitted to missing them; and when Arabelle asked what she was doing here and why they hadn’t come with her, she gave them a much-abbreviated story about her father’s gambling problem and how it had resulted in her losing a year of her life.

  They forgot the story a few minutes after she’d told it anyway. Callista had the feeling that if she even so much as mentioned Griffin, they might well forget the entire conversation.

  Would they forget her? The thought was disconcerting.

  “Hello?” she poked her head into the dining room, frowning. It wasn’t quite time for dinner yet, but she’d still expected to find Griffin lurking in the entryway, waiting for her to come back.

  “Callista!” He sprung up from his chair, surprise and delight coloring his face. “You—you came back!”

  “Was I out too long?” She frowned, stopping before she’d quite reached him. “I didn’t meant to. I met some girls in town, and we started talking—Arabella showed me a sweet shop that has the most wonderful dessert I’ve ever tasted.” She rolled her eyes in pleasure just remembering it. “It was incredible. This chocolate orange concoction—an amazing chocolate shell, filled with cake, and then the cake was filled with chocolate orange mousse—”