He was one of the most positive people she’d ever met. Having been born a bastard and raised in the rookeries, he had every right to be bitter, but instead always reflected an optimism that made him a pleasure to be around. “I was just visiting with my brother. Based on the whispering I heard as I was leaving, I think he might be a while before coming in.”
Mr. Tittlefitz blushed profusely, so much so his freckles were fairly obliterated. “He has nothing pressing on the schedule this morning.”
She suspected it wouldn’t matter what he had on his schedule. Pleasing his wife would always come first. She could only hope her own husband would be as attentive.
“I’ve had no luck finding someone to help you with the lessons on the nights I can’t be there.” She and Mr. Tittlefitz volunteered their time two nights a week in order to offer free reading classes to adults who’d had no or very little schooling. She felt guilty that he would have to carry the brunt of the workload once her Season was fully underway. She’d approached some people about filling in for her, but few had the time to spare when it didn’t put coins in their pockets. She couldn’t ask her married siblings as they would be at the balls. Her brother Beast was making himself scarce of late.
“Do not worry yourself overmuch. I shall have no trouble at all seeing to matters by myself. Although your presence will be sorely missed.”
“I fear, Mr. Tittlefitz, I’m going to wish I was helping with lessons rather than being the center of attention at a ball filled with toffs.”
“You shall easily win them over, Miss Trewlove. I’ve no doubt on that score.”
“You say the kindest things.”
“I would not say them if I did not believe them to be true.”
One of the reasons he was such an effective teacher was because he was so very skilled at offering heartfelt encouragement. “I won’t keep you but will continue to give thought as to whom I might entice into helping you when I’m unavailable. It’s just a bit of a challenge when most people in the area lead such busy lives, working long hours with little time for leisure—”
Her thoughts leapt to last evening’s dinner companion. Would she be able to entice him into helping? Things between them had been awkward at the end, but she could set that aside for a greater good. The question was: Would he?
“Are you all right, miss?”
She gave her head a little shake. “Yes. I just had a thought. A possible solution to our dilemma. I’ll have to ponder it a bit more. Have a good day, Mr. Tittlefitz.”
“You as well, Miss Trewlove.”
Before leaving the hotel, she stopped in the kitchen where one of the staff members gave her a small pitcher of cream. When she returned to her shop, she went upstairs and poured it into a saucer. Dickens immediately arrived to begin lapping it up. He seemed to care little about anything but did love his cream. After putting away her hat and gloves, she returned downstairs.
As always, she simply stood there for a moment, taking in what she had built with help from her family. Every member of her family and Mr. Tittlefitz had been kind enough to help her place the books on the shelves. Everywhere she looked were memories of them assisting her in one way or another, never complaining, doing it all out of the goodness of their hearts. She hadn’t expected to find incredible satisfaction in working here. Originally, she’d simply seen it as a way to surround herself with books while filling her days waiting for her first Season. Now it all meant so very much that it would be difficult to walk away from it.
At nine, she unlocked the front door, ready for business. She halfway hoped Mr. Sommersby would have finished his book by now and might drop by to purchase another. She wondered how long he might have stood at that window, how long before he turned away to retire or become lost in the adventures of Dick Turpin. Strange how they’d made a heroic character out of a criminal, but for some reason people expressed a fondness for scoundrels. When it came to the ladies, her brothers had certainly benefited from that attitude.
Matthew Sommersby seemed more gentleman than rogue. As such, perhaps he’d be willing to assist with the classes. If she could reestablish the rapport they’d shared before the clipping had escaped her pocket and caught his attention.
To that end, once Marianne arrived in the late morning to assist her in the shop, she decided to pay the gent around the corner a visit.
The streets and pavements were bustling with activity as people went about their daily chores and business. She greeted by name those she knew, gave a smile and nod to those she didn’t. As she made her way past the mews, glancing up at the window in which he’d been standing the night before, she couldn’t help but wonder how often he stood there, gazing out.
Turning onto Ettie Lane, her heart picked up its tempo while her feet slowed theirs. The residence was neither large nor intimidating, so the apprehension taking hold surprised her. She was intimately familiar with the layout of these terrace houses for they were all the same and Mick had shared the design with her, had even asked for her opinion on the matter. And then she’d watched them being built. It had been exciting to see her brother create so much from nothing.
So it wasn’t the building causing her heart to thump wildly, her palms to grow damp within her gloves, but the gentleman who made his lair within those walls. To approach him for a favor when she barely knew him seemed the height of foolishness, but surely he couldn’t object to her request when it would serve such a useful purpose.
Gathering her resolve around her like a finely sewn velvet pelisse, she marched up the steps, banged the knocker, and waited impatiently, practically bouncing on the balls of her feet, hoping whatever fault he’d found with her last night had melted away and he’d deliver a warm welcome.
When the door finally opened, she was surprised to find herself staring at a dark-haired woman whose spectacles made her blue eyes seem far too large for her face. “Mrs. Bennett.”
“Miss Trewlove, is something amiss?”
“No, I’m simply surprised to see you here.” Knowing the man who ran Mick’s construction crew and his wife lived on this street, she glanced around. Had she gotten the wrong house? “I was looking for Mr. Sommersby.”
“Ah. He’s gone out. Said he’d be awhile, that I wasn’t to bother with preparing a midday meal for him.”
She brought her attention back to Mrs. Bennett. “You cook for him?”
The dear woman bobbed her head. “Aye. He has me come in each morning to tidy up, not that there’s ever much to tidy. He has very little furniture, our Mr. Sommersby. Nothing personal like. Mr. Bennett says I’m not to worry myself over it as long as he pays me every day—which he does. But still, there’s a loneliness to the place, you know?”
She’d deduced he was a bachelor. Still, it saddened her to think he might be all alone in the world. “He’s not been here that long. Perhaps he’s just not settled in fully yet.”
“Mayhaps. He’s never had a visitor as far as I can tell. Always just the one glass that needs washing. Still, I polish everything up, scrub his floors. Won’t find a speck of dust when I’m done.”
“That’s very commendable on your part. Will you let him know I came by and wanted to have a word?”
“Of course, Miss Trewlove. Don’t know when he’ll be returning, though.”
“It’s not urgent. Just at his convenience, I’d like to speak with him.”
“I’ll pass it on.”
“Thank you. And give my best to Mr. Bennett.”
“I will, miss.”
Darting down the steps, she heard the door close. When she reached the pavement, she glanced back, noting now the absence of draperies at the windows, something she’d overlooked watching him the night before. Although perhaps even now he was out seeing about having some sewn. He had Mrs. Bennett to worry over him. She didn’t need to do it. Still, she was more convinced than ever that he would welcome the opportunity to assist others in learning to read. What better way to become part and parcel of the whole of t
he community and to ease one’s loneliness?
Miss Trewlove had occupied Matthew’s thoughts through the night and into the following morning, which was deuced irritating, so he’d decided a day seeing to business was called for. After meeting with his man of affairs and then enjoying a leisurely meal at Dodger’s, his favorite club, he’d hailed a hansom cab and had instructed the driver to deliver him to the outskirts of Trewlove’s domain, because he was in the mood for a stroll before returning to his residence. He stood for a moment taking in the construction that was expanding the area. The pounding of hammers, the grunting of men, the occasional shouted order, and the creaking of wheels beneath a wheelbarrow’s weight created a symphony of sounds that hinted at increased wealth and power.
He’d heard similar sounds when he was a lad and went to the coal mines with his father, in order to better understand the workings of the Yorkshire legacy that would be left to him. He’d gone down into the labyrinth of tunnels, even wielded a pickax a time or two, enjoying the stretch of his muscles, the toil, and the concentration his labors required to avoid creating a mishap. All the worries of living up to his father’s expectations had dwindled as the target at which he needed to strike had become his sole focus.
He’d applied the same attention to gaining a wife, falling too hard and too fast. He’d actually been grateful his father hadn’t been around to witness the cock-up he’d made of that enterprise.
“Where women are concerned, always think with your big head, not your little one,” his father had often instructed him. “Females can be manipulative wenches.”
His mother had been responsible for teaching his father that lesson. The old man had held no qualms about revealing that tidbit of information. They’d been married a little over six months when Matthew’s sister—now the Marchioness of Fairhaven—made her appearance, so evidence existed his father had been caught by deception as well. He’d never heard one kind word spoken between his parents. Their home had been chilled by their disdain for each other. Matthew suspected his father had breathed a sigh of relief when he was born because it gave the earl an excuse for avoiding the countess’s bed.
He should have paid more attention, learned from their example. Perhaps then he would have foreseen he was destined to repeat his father’s mistake when it came to acquiring a wife. Eventually he would have to marry again in order to secure the lineage, but intended to go about it like a business arrangement, listing out the required qualifications. No brown doe-like eyes, no warm, welcoming smile. Nothing to lure his heart from its guarded state.
Like a dog coming out of a lake ready to rid itself of the water clinging to its fur, he shook off the morose thoughts as he realized he’d reached his residence. The walk hadn’t served to maintain the good spirits he’d achieved that morning. It was always a difficult journey down the path of regret.
Unlocking and opening the door to his residence, he staggered to a stop as Mrs. Bennett came hustling out of the room that served as his main living area. He hadn’t expected her to be about. She generally left once she’d finished cleaning up after his midday meal. As she hadn’t needed to prepare anything for him, she should have been gone by now. “Is something amiss, Mrs. Bennett?”
“Ah, no, sir. But I wanted to let you know Miss Trewlove stopped by. She’d like to have a word.”
He furrowed his brow, not certain he’d heard correctly for surely she had no reason to call upon him, not after they’d left matters between them a bit terse. “Miss Trewlove?”
“Aye, sir. She has the bookshop on the high street?”
“I know who she is.”
“Well, then, sir, she come by earlier, as I was finishing up.”
What the deuce could she possibly want? “It would have been perfectly acceptable to have left me a note, Mrs. Bennett.”
“I thought it too important. I wanted to tell you myself, in person.”
“While I certainly appreciate your dedication, in the future, a note will suffice. No need to wait about for my arrival. I could have been out until all hours of the night.” Not that he’d done that in ages. Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew a coin for her.
“Oh no, sir.”
“Please. Your dedication deserves an additional token of appreciation.” He’d paid for her daily services before he left.
After she finally took his offering, he saw her to the door and bid her a good day.
Curiosity getting the better of him, he shortly followed suit and left the residence. When he reached the shop, he opened the door, stepped over the threshold, and didn’t much like the ferocity with which disappointment slammed into him because a young woman with wheat-colored hair was standing behind the counter. Not the one he expected, not the one he wanted. No, he didn’t want. Want implied desire, and he most certainly didn’t have yearnings when it came to Miss Trewlove.
The young woman bestowed upon him a dazzling smile. “May I help you, sir?”
It hadn’t occurred to him that Miss Trewlove wouldn’t be about. Yet, still among the musty aroma of all the books she’d gathered to lovingly arrange on shelves and in various places around the room, he detected her scent, a mixture of oranges and a fragrance uniquely her. “If you’d be so good as to let Miss Trewlove know when she returns that Mr. Sommersby stopped by.”
Her face brightened further, her eyes widening with pleasure as though she sought nothing more than bringing him joy. “Oh, she’s here. Upstairs in the reading parlor.”
Unsurprised she’d have such a thing in her shop, he imagined her curled up in an extremely large overstuffed chair.
The clerk was still smiling with exuberance. “You may go up, if you like.”
May not can. He suspected Miss Trewlove had had a hand in educating the shopgirl, generously sharing what she might have learned in order to better others’ lives. “Thank you.”
He made short work of ascending the stairs, taking the steps two at time, certainly not because he was anxious to see Miss Trewlove, but he was curious to know why she’d bothered to stop by.
At the landing was a small hallway. Another set of stairs stood at the far end. He assumed they led up to her lodgings, to the window where light often spilled out late into the night.
Bringing his mind back to his purpose in even being here, he noted the open doorway to his right, strode over to it, and came to an abrupt halt. She was indeed sitting in a large overstuffed chair but wasn’t curled up. Her posture was erect, graceful, perfect. A dozen or so children in an assortment of poses—sitting cross-legged, on their knees, stretched out on their bellies—were gathered at her feet, all as enthralled as he was. She was reading Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, her voice animated as she took on the role of various characters. He was familiar with the tale as he’d given a copy to his niece at Christmas and she’d pleaded with him to read it to her, which of course he had. He had very little resistance when it came to the pleadings of the females ensconced in his life.
Which was no doubt the reason he was here—even if Miss Trewlove wasn’t exactly entrenched in his life, she was certainly some part of it. Otherwise, he’d be able to stop thinking about her, from wondering what precisely she was doing every minute she wasn’t visible to him. Entertaining children, it seemed.
She lifted her gaze from the words, and it landed on him as solid as a punch. Her mouth curled up at the corners, spreading her lips into a radiant smile as though she’d spied her salvation, the deliverer of whatever she desired. He should turn on his heel and leave at once. Instead, he remained rooted to the spot, held in place by some invisible force—by her and the joy wreathing her face at his arrival.
“Mrs. Byng, will you be so kind as to take over the reading for me, please?” she asked, not taking her gaze from him, as though fearing he might disappear if she should. He wondered if she sensed his reluctance to remain.
A young woman with red hair seemed startled by the request. “Ah, Miss Trewlove, I don’t read nearly as good as you.”
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“You read perfectly well, Mrs. Byng, and I’m certain the children would welcome a respite from my voice for a while. I would be forever in your debt.”
“Nonsense,” the young woman said, getting up out of her chair. “’Tis me wot owes you.”
He wondered exactly what her debt was. Probably a book she’d purchased on credit.
Miss Trewlove rose with such exquisite grace that she’d be putting a good number of Society’s ladies to shame the following week. Few matched her poise. After handing the book off to Mrs. Byng, she skirted around the children, patting a head here and there, before strolling elegantly toward him. It had been a long time indeed since he’d felt the pull of a woman. As much as he wanted to be nearer to her, he stayed as he was.
“Mr. Sommersby, I take it you received my message.” She sounded breathless, as though she’d run to him, and he envisioned how rushed her breaths might become as passion arced through her beneath his hand, his body. He resented that he felt a spark of envy toward the man who would introduce her to the pleasures to be found when bodies were joined.
“I did.”
“May we?” She indicated the hallway.
With a slight bowing of his head, he stepped back into it. She followed. It was more shadowed here, and he imagined the satisfaction to be found in luring her into the darkened corner and taking possession of that mouth that still harbored a slight smile. Not where his mind needed to travel. He nodded toward the doorway. “You have a way of bringing the story to life.”
She arched a brow, her smile turning teasing. “A compliment? The next thing I know you’ll confess to liking me.”
“I don’t dislike you, Miss Trewlove.”
“No? I wasn’t quite certain after things ended as they did last night.”
“I simply take exception to your hunt to marry a lord.”
“Would you take exception if I was born on the right side of the blanket?”
“The circumstances of your birth don’t signify. You’re chasing a title, and behind that title is a man.”
The Earl Takes a Fancy Page 5