sister’s attention was focused on her.
Trying to look, as her sister had suggested, mature and sophisticated despite the thumping of her heart, she approached the counter, where a middle-aged proprietress was wrapping up a book for another lady. When that customer had left with her package, Abigail stepped up to the counter.
“May I help you, ma’am?” the shopkeeper asked pleasantly.
Abigail took out a piece of paper where she’d written two titles, one for herself and one her brother wanted. She had permission to buy those. She said a small prayer no one ever learned she’d written a third title on the list after her mother approved it. “I hope so. Do you happen to have these?”
The shopkeeper read the list, shooting her a quick, measuring look at the end. “I believe so,” she said in neutral tone. “I must check in the back, especially for the last.”
“Thank you.” Abigail inclined her head regally and the woman disappeared into the back room of the shop. So far, so good. Over her left shoulder, she caught her sister’s eyes. Penelope was holding what looked like a prayer book in front of her, but her gaze was fixed on Abigail. At Abigail’s tiny nod, her eyes brightened hopefully before dropping back to the prayer book. She turned a page with exaggerated care, although Abigail noticed her eyes weren’t moving across the pages.
The bell on the door tinkled again behind her. It sounded loud in the hushed bookshop. Abigail darted a wary glance around her bonnet brim, praying her brother hadn’t come to fetch them early, but gasped when she saw who it was. “Mr. Vane!”
He stood half turned in the doorway, as if he’d been about to go back out. At her exclamation he seemed to flinch, but he faced her readily enough. “Miss Weston.” He bowed.
Abigail curtsied. She could feel her sister’s stare boring into her back, but she ignored it. “How lovely to see you again.”
In daylight he was just as handsome as she’d thought before. His sleepy-lidded eyes were brown, she saw, and if he were to smile, the effect would probably be devastating. She remembered what James had said about reduced circumstances and studied him closer, but country clothing was more forgiving; she couldn’t see any difference between his coat and her brother’s. Why would such a man become a recluse?
Slowly he came toward the counter. “The pleasure is all mine.”
“It certainly is not! I cannot thank you enough for helping with Milo the other night. When I returned to the house and saw how wild I looked, merely from running after him, I realized how great a service you did me.” She smiled ruefully. “Going into that thicket would have left me unfit to be seen.”
His gaze traveled over her. “I am delighted to see that did not occur.”
A small smile touched her lips at the compliment. “My mother begs you to call on her someday, so she can thank you herself.”
“It was a trifle,” he said in his quiet way.
Abigail kept smiling, even though she could see her sister from the corner of one eye, almost falling over in her attempt to get a better look at him. Penelope was keeping her word to be as quiet as a mouse, but she had made no promises to hide her rabid curiosity about elusive and mysterious gentlemen. Abigail casually turned, further blocking her sister’s view. “It struck me that I don’t know where my father’s property ends. I would hate to trespass on your land. Can you tell me precisely where the dividing line is, so I don’t intrude on you again?”
Mr. Vane’s eyes flickered to the side; he had seen Penelope. Abigail said a fierce prayer that her sister, for once in her life, held her tongue and minded her own affairs. “I’m no longer entirely certain myself, Miss Weston. But you have my permission to walk in the woods at will, even if you stray onto Montrose land.”
“Thank you, that’s very kind.” She was running out of things to say. Abigail couldn’t even explain
Trying to look, as her sister had suggested, mature and sophisticated despite the thumping of her heart, she approached the counter, where a middle-aged proprietress was wrapping up a book for another lady. When that customer had left with her package, Abigail stepped up to the counter.
“May I help you, ma’am?” the shopkeeper asked pleasantly.
Abigail took out a piece of paper where she’d written two titles, one for herself and one her brother wanted. She had permission to buy those. She said a small prayer no one ever learned she’d written a third title on the list after her mother approved it. “I hope so. Do you happen to have these?”
The shopkeeper read the list, shooting her a quick, measuring look at the end. “I believe so,” she said in neutral tone. “I must check in the back, especially for the last.”
“Thank you.” Abigail inclined her head regally and the woman disappeared into the back room of the shop. So far, so good. Over her left shoulder, she caught her sister’s eyes. Penelope was holding what looked like a prayer book in front of her, but her gaze was fixed on Abigail. At Abigail’s tiny nod, her eyes brightened hopefully before dropping back to the prayer book. She turned a page with exaggerated care, although Abigail noticed her eyes weren’t moving across the pages.
The bell on the door tinkled again behind her. It sounded loud in the hushed bookshop. Abigail darted a wary glance around her bonnet brim, praying her brother hadn’t come to fetch them early, but gasped when she saw who it was. “Mr. Vane!”
He stood half turned in the doorway, as if he’d been about to go back out. At her exclamation he seemed to flinch, but he faced her readily enough. “Miss Weston.” He bowed.
Abigail curtsied. She could feel her sister’s stare boring into her back, but she ignored it. “How lovely to see you again.”
In daylight he was just as handsome as she’d thought before. His sleepy-lidded eyes were brown, she saw, and if he were to smile, the effect would probably be devastating. She remembered what James had said about reduced circumstances and studied him closer, but country clothing was more forgiving; she couldn’t see any difference between his coat and her brother’s. Why would such a man become a recluse?
Slowly he came toward the counter. “The pleasure is all mine.”
“It certainly is not! I cannot thank you enough for helping with Milo the other night. When I returned to the house and saw how wild I looked, merely from running after him, I realized how great a service you did me.” She smiled ruefully. “Going into that thicket would have left me unfit to be seen.”
His gaze traveled over her. “I am delighted to see that did not occur.”
A small smile touched her lips at the compliment. “My mother begs you to call on her someday, so she can thank you herself.”
“It was a trifle,” he said in his quiet way.
Abigail kept smiling, even though she could see her sister from the corner of one eye, almost falling over in her attempt to get a better look at him. Penelope was keeping her word to be as quiet as a mouse, but she had made no promises to hide her rabid curiosity about elusive and mysterious gentlemen. Abigail casually turned, further blocking her sister’s view. “It struck me that I don’t know where my father’s property ends. I would hate to trespass on your land. Can you tell me precisely where the dividing line is, so I don’t intrude on you again?”
Mr. Vane’s eyes flickered to the side; he had seen Penelope. Abigail said a fierce prayer that her sister, for once in her life, held her tongue and minded her own affairs. “I’m no longer entirely certain myself, Miss Weston. But you have my permission to walk in the woods at will, even if you stray onto Montrose land.”
“Thank you, that’s very kind.” She was running out of things to say. Abigail couldn’t even explain
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