Books and Bits, Glasgow
Robert stepped into the shop and took in a deep breath. He loved the smell of books, had surrounded himself with the aroma since he’d been a young boy. Always had his nose in a book. He had never cared for hunting, though it was hypocritical. He enjoyed meat, but he didn’t want to be responsible for killing the beast who fed him. Fox hunting seemed abhorrent to him. He loved horses and was an expert equestrian. Boxing was the only true physical sport he enjoyed and excelled at.
But books were his friends; his world revolved around them. As a barrister, he studied the points of law, previous verdicts, philosophy. Any wonder which crossed his mind, or question which posed a conundrum, could be found in a tome. He liked the idea that any problem could be solved if you located the correct text. So, coming to Books and Bits the past few days had greatly improved his mood.
He’d also come up with a clever plan for part of his wooing scheme. Robert used to torture Annis with ridiculously banal jokes to make her laugh. The previous evening, he had written an assortment of horrid puns and jests on slips of paper. He would place them inside books on the shelves here at the shop. If he let Mrs. Douglas in on the secret, she could help guide Annis to them. He pulled out the two he’d brought today:
Have you heard about the giant who cast up his accounts?
It’s all over town.
I don’t trust stairs. They’re always up to something.
“There you are.” Mrs. Douglas bustled up, a tea tray in her hands. “Didn’t ken if ye’d finally given up.”
Robert tucked the slips of paper back in the pocket of his waistcoat. The first two days, Mrs. Douglas had ignored him, responding only when he spoke first. He had occupied himself with perusing the shelves, finding a text he’d been searching for in London. Yesterday, he had carried in a shipment and helped her stock the shelves. They had made small talk, and he had said he’d see her on the morrow. She hadn’t disagreed.
Progress.
“How could I be tired of such lovely company?”
She flashed him her dimples as she set the tray down and raised an eyebrow.
“Yes, please. Black.” He sat on a stool across from her, flipping through the week’s chosen highlights: Travels in France by Arthur Young, the well-known traveler and agriculturalist. “I told you I wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.”
“What one says is no’ always what one does,” she quipped. “Time will tell.”
Two weeks later, Mrs. Douglas—Aileen, she’d asked him to call her—looked up from her cleaning. He had put back the books returned by borrowers and was standing in front of the shelves of sweets, hands on his hips, deciding whether to have a lemon drop and daydream of Annis. They had worked out a satisfactory routine after Robert had made it clear he would be at the shop every day. He helped with whatever tasks she needed in the morning. In the afternoons, he indulged in his favorite pastime, studying the law and placing another riddle in an obscure book, and they shared tea.
Mrs. Douglas had devised a system of pulling out the spine of the books with the slips of paper, so they would stick out from the rest. Just enough to draw attention to Annis’s keen eye.
“I’m as hungry as Highland coo on bare pasture,” exclaimed Aileen. It was well into the afternoon. “Would ye care to join me for a bite?”
Robert looked up, surprised but pleased. “I would enjoy that very much.”
She bustled over to the counter and pulled several hand pies from a basket. Then she went to the back to make tea. While she was away, Robert unwrapped the pies and placed them on a table. He took the tray from Aileen when she reappeared.
“Now where were we the other day?” she asked, settling herself on top of a stool.
He enjoyed their midafternoon talks. He had learned about her husband and how they had bought this shop. When he’d been taken by a fever, she had hired a young Annis to help her with the bookstore. A few years ago, tired and ready to enjoy the remainder of her years, she’d sold the business to Annis. Rather than having Annis take on such a hefty payment, Aileen accepted the sum Annis had put away over the years, then a portion of the monthly income was put in an account for Aileen until the rest of the balance was paid.
“You realize you probably won’t live to see the loan paid off,” Robert said with a smile.
“I have one daughter who is a pain in my arse,” she said. “Annis has been here for me, and my daughter is married to a verra wealthy merchant. She has no need for my money or the desire to take over the shop. I’m content with my arrangement.”
“I can see that. You’re a kind woman, Mrs. Douglas.”
She beamed. “It’s no’ that I dinna love my daughter, but she has more English interests. Prefers London society over Glasgow’s. My granddaughters, however, take more after me. I considered giving the shop to Fenella.”
“But?”
“She married Lachlan MacNaughton, and keeping the accounts for the textile mill keeps her busy. She’s got a head for numbers, that lass.” Aileen slapped her hand on the table. “Now, ye were telling me about yer wife and son. She hadna wanted to marry either?”
Robert pulled in a breath, stalling. This was what he longed to explain to Annis. It would be good preparation to tell Aileen. “Caroline had been enamored with another man. Unfortunately, the rake wasn’t interested in wedded bliss. She was too embarrassed to tell her family, but a few months later, she was forced to reveal the relationship.”
“She was with child?”
He nodded. “Her father, a prominent member of the House of Lords and an earl, is extremely wealthy, from a very old family. My father pretends to be plumper in the pocket than he is. A love of gambling, you see.”
“We all have our own vices,” she said with a nod.
“Yes, well, my father’s can get him into dire straits at times. He had unpaid vowels with the wrong people. If he hadn’t settled his debt, his reputation would have been ruined. Our family’s honor was at stake.” Robert shook his head as he blew out a breath. “It seems my father and Caroline’s father came to an agreement one night at their gentlemen’s club. Our marriage saved Caroline from ruin and kept my family’s name spotless.”
“So did she have the babe?” asked Aileen, her eyes full of sympathy.
“Yes, Anthony was born.”
“Any other children?”
“No, I’m afraid her first birthing didn’t go well. She almost died. The midwife said she might not survive another, and the chances of conceiving might be slim. Although we tried, we were never blessed with another babe.” He locked his gaze with Aileen’s. “I did care for my wife. She was a fine person. We were both pawns for our families.”
“And Anthony… Does he know you aren’t his father?”
“I am his father in all ways that matter,” he snapped, then regretted it. “I apologize. He doesn’t know I am not his true father. I’ve never seen the need to tell him, but lately, I’ve wondered if I should.”
Aileen patted his hand. “I don’t ken the lad, so ye would be a better judge than me. Sometimes, the truth can be overly righteous. Ye’ve done right by the lad, and that’s what matters.”
He liked Mrs. Douglas, considered her a friend at this point. “When my wife died, she set me free—not by her death, mind you—by bidding me to find the woman of my heart. She knew of Annis, though not her name, and said I deserved happiness.”
“We all do,” Aileen said, studying him. “I’m glad ye shared this with me.”
The bell tinkled, and an older lady with dark hair and eyes, covered by a wide hat with multiple feathers, entered the shop. Her smile was genuine, and she held a leather-bound book against her plump middle.
“It seems we shall continue our conversation the same time, same place tomorrow?” Robert asked with a chuckle. A great weight seemed to shift on his shoulders, a little lighter, a little less daunting.
“Of course,” she said as she rose and swiped away any crumbs from her skirts before greeting the customer. “Mrs. Gelliman, so good to see ye. Have ye come for the novel?”
“Aye, I finished this one, and Mrs. Porter said she had one she had just finished and would put it aside for me.” She handed Mrs. Douglas a book. “Here is Sense and Sensibility. Excellent recommendation. Could you look for The Daughter of St. Omar? The author is Catherine George Ward.”
Aileen checked behind the counter, then went up one set of the winding stairs. She searched several shelves but couldn’t locate the desired book. She came down the steps, breathing heavily.
“My guess is Mrs. Porter left it upstairs. I’ll run up.”
Robert caught her arm. “You’ve been working too hard, and now you’re out of breath. May I go up and search for it?”
A hand went to Aileen’s chest, and she nodded. “That would be wonderful. Look in the parlor. She usually reads there. The door should be unlocked. We don’t worry about the one connected to the shop since we bolt the shop entrance.”
He went up the stairs and entered Annis’s home. He breathed in the scent of Annis and home, making him just as giddy as the smell of musty old tomes. He peeked into the kitchen, reliving their kiss and farewell. In the parlor, a chaise longue sat under the window. Two chairs were arranged around a coal-burning stove, and on the cushion of one, he found the book. He picked it up and turned to leave. The sun slanted through the window, glinting off a frame. There were several miniatures on a shelf. He recognized her aunt in one. Another must have been her father, for they had the same shape eyes and chin. A third portrait was of a boy about ten with light hair.
Her son, he thought. He was a handsome boy, reminded him of… The book fell to the floor with a thud.
He blinked, staring at the miniature as his thoughts churned. He picked it up and blinked again. His mouth went dry. The boy looked like Robert at the same age. He felt as if he’d taken a hard blow to the gut.