low pardon and continuing into the throng of passers-by.
Sparing not another thought to the intrusion, she bustled into Lott’s and straight up to the counter where Mr Horne waited. The interior was otherwise empty. She didn’t dare shift focus to the shelves. She’d made a promise, after all.
‘Miss Montgomery, what a delightful surprise. I didn’t expect you this morning or I might have prepared the newest designs for your perusal.’ In kind to most visits, the shoemaker scurried to the rear wall where a display of popular selections sat on a shelf as if waiting on a throne overlooking the masses. ‘Were you interested in slippers or boots today?’ His smile grew larger with each hopeful word.
‘Actually…’ Livie drew a fortifying breath. From the corner of her eye she glimpsed a pair of butter-yellow kid slippers with ornate heels, but she forced her eyes to Mr Horne’s expectant face. ‘I’ve come to return this package. I left with it yesterday, but there must be some kind of mistake. The selection I purchased isn’t inside.’
‘Indeed.’ The cobbler hurried forward and lifted the lid as he placed it atop the counter. ‘We must remedy this problem at once. Let me check the boxes on the side shelves. Just a moment.’
Livie wandered away from the counter to the large glass window, which offered a wide view of the busy London thoroughfare; its goal was to entice customers, and oh, how it worked its magic and cast its spell upon her.
As she watched from the inside out, determined not to examine the slippers calling her name from the back wall, an elegant carriage with a bright crested emblem on the door stopped across the street at the city’s finest haberdashery. The driver hopped from the seat to extend the steps and open the coach door. Livie had no explanation for her sudden fascination with the procedure as it was ordinary in every way; for some reason, however, she kept her eyes glued to the process despite Mr Horne’s voice continuing behind her. A plump orange tabby cat scampered from the curb and settled under the carriage as soon as the steps hit the cobbles. A gentleman exited a moment later, his shiny boot and walking stick claiming freedom first before his broad stature crowded the view. Livie swallowed, her mouth gone dry and brain defunct.
With odd remembrance, a whisper of one of her cherished letters wafted to mind…
I’m a man who stands on my own two feet in that I haven’t much family to rely on. I imagine someday I may affect a walking stick, not out of necessity, at least not for a physical ailment as one might suspect, but for reason of the unconditional support it would provide, much like a social sword.
She blinked a few times as if to wash away the foggy remnants. How she’d have liked to meet Randolph. He sounded the most dependable and sensible man and, despite telling herself repeatedly to forget the past and focus on the exciting days ahead, a little piece of her heart remained impervious to the advice, leaving the wish unfulfilled, another despairing regret in the lost list that had made up her inner contemplations since the accident occurred. Her stomach turned over with the same forlorn disappointment she experienced whenever she considered Randolph’s letters and the missed opportunity of knowing his person.
Mr Horne cleared his throat and called her name at precisely the same moment the gentleman in the roadway turned towards the window. Her pulse did a little dance as awareness took hold, though she suspected she recognised the heroic breadth of his shoulders more than his handsomely carved features and coffee-coloured hair. His profile was unmistakable. There stood Lord W in plain view. Her eyes widened as if they sought to absorb every aspect of his appearance before he vanished inside the haberdashery, which he did in less than two palpitations of her heart.
‘Miss Mongomery?’
Dear heavens, how rude she must appear. ‘I beg your pardon, Mr
Sparing not another thought to the intrusion, she bustled into Lott’s and straight up to the counter where Mr Horne waited. The interior was otherwise empty. She didn’t dare shift focus to the shelves. She’d made a promise, after all.
‘Miss Montgomery, what a delightful surprise. I didn’t expect you this morning or I might have prepared the newest designs for your perusal.’ In kind to most visits, the shoemaker scurried to the rear wall where a display of popular selections sat on a shelf as if waiting on a throne overlooking the masses. ‘Were you interested in slippers or boots today?’ His smile grew larger with each hopeful word.
‘Actually…’ Livie drew a fortifying breath. From the corner of her eye she glimpsed a pair of butter-yellow kid slippers with ornate heels, but she forced her eyes to Mr Horne’s expectant face. ‘I’ve come to return this package. I left with it yesterday, but there must be some kind of mistake. The selection I purchased isn’t inside.’
‘Indeed.’ The cobbler hurried forward and lifted the lid as he placed it atop the counter. ‘We must remedy this problem at once. Let me check the boxes on the side shelves. Just a moment.’
Livie wandered away from the counter to the large glass window, which offered a wide view of the busy London thoroughfare; its goal was to entice customers, and oh, how it worked its magic and cast its spell upon her.
As she watched from the inside out, determined not to examine the slippers calling her name from the back wall, an elegant carriage with a bright crested emblem on the door stopped across the street at the city’s finest haberdashery. The driver hopped from the seat to extend the steps and open the coach door. Livie had no explanation for her sudden fascination with the procedure as it was ordinary in every way; for some reason, however, she kept her eyes glued to the process despite Mr Horne’s voice continuing behind her. A plump orange tabby cat scampered from the curb and settled under the carriage as soon as the steps hit the cobbles. A gentleman exited a moment later, his shiny boot and walking stick claiming freedom first before his broad stature crowded the view. Livie swallowed, her mouth gone dry and brain defunct.
With odd remembrance, a whisper of one of her cherished letters wafted to mind…
I’m a man who stands on my own two feet in that I haven’t much family to rely on. I imagine someday I may affect a walking stick, not out of necessity, at least not for a physical ailment as one might suspect, but for reason of the unconditional support it would provide, much like a social sword.
She blinked a few times as if to wash away the foggy remnants. How she’d have liked to meet Randolph. He sounded the most dependable and sensible man and, despite telling herself repeatedly to forget the past and focus on the exciting days ahead, a little piece of her heart remained impervious to the advice, leaving the wish unfulfilled, another despairing regret in the lost list that had made up her inner contemplations since the accident occurred. Her stomach turned over with the same forlorn disappointment she experienced whenever she considered Randolph’s letters and the missed opportunity of knowing his person.
Mr Horne cleared his throat and called her name at precisely the same moment the gentleman in the roadway turned towards the window. Her pulse did a little dance as awareness took hold, though she suspected she recognised the heroic breadth of his shoulders more than his handsomely carved features and coffee-coloured hair. His profile was unmistakable. There stood Lord W in plain view. Her eyes widened as if they sought to absorb every aspect of his appearance before he vanished inside the haberdashery, which he did in less than two palpitations of her heart.
‘Miss Mongomery?’
Dear heavens, how rude she must appear. ‘I beg your pardon, Mr
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