Chapter 14

"Here it is!" Prudence tugged on Gemma's arm, and together they slipped inside the bookshop, a spacious spread of shelves crammed full of books. Gemma's heart began to race. Perhaps, some of father's books had ended up here. Perhaps, she would find his large blue book about astronomy, the one Gemma had once poured over, curled up in the big armchair in her father's library…

Her fingers tightened around a silken drawstring bag, containing the allowance Aunt Philippa had generously bequeathed her.

She began to peruse the shelves one by one, until Prudence exclaimed, "What are you searching for so assiduously, Gemma?"

Gemma chewed on her lower lip, frowning as she finished searching through one side of the shop. "A book on the stars," she murmured. "It once belonged to my father."

"Your father? Then why would it be here?" Prudence asked.

Gemma caught her breath, pausing. She sighed, and drew Prudence into a quiet corner, out of sight and hopefully the earshot of the shopkeeper.

"When I was eighteen, my father fell into trouble—he was careless and he—" she swallowed, a lump returning to her throat. Her mind shrank away from the memory that always surfaced when she spoke of Father. She would not recall that right now. "He was careless. When he passed," and here she paused again.

She attempted to shake herself free. "When he passed, most of what we owned was seized by creditors, sold off." Taking a deep breath, she added, "Most of his books sold as well, of course. I could not keep that particular book, the one I'm searching for today."

"Oh, Gemma," Prudence breathed. "I am so sorry. Forgive me for even broaching the subject"

"Never mind," Gemma turned away and began to scan the shelves again. No avail. She did not spy the desired tome, thick and swathed in blue, with intricate golden lettering across it. Her throat and nose prickled and she ran a gloved finger over the nearest row of books, face hot. She had not spoken to anyone outside her Mama and Aunt Philippa about Father, about those dark days surrounding his death. How everything had been so desolate, so hopeless, watching Mama crumple beneath the weight of grief and shame.

Gemma steeled herself, and stepped behind the case to ask the shopkeeper, "Do you happen to have David Gregory's book on astronomy?"

"I'm afraid not, Miss," the shopkeeper said with a tight smile. He'd been glaring at them since they'd spent the past half-hour perusing the shelves to no avail. "That book is rarely printed these days. It's scarce seen, so I've heard."

Gemma's heart sank. She should have hidden it away in her things, so the creditors would not take it. But it had all happened so fast. Too fast. Mother had been weeping inconsolably, and she had tried to comfort her as best she could.

"We shall search through every bookshop in the city," Prudence told her in a low voice, clasping her hand tightly. "Do not despair, Gemma."

Gemma nodded, sniffling.

"There's another not two streets from here," Prudence covered her mouth when the bookshop owner scowled, clearly overhearing their plan.

Prudence and Gemma exchanged sheepish smiles and dissolved into laughter they tried their best to stifle behind their gloved hands and fans. "I think he's wearied of us," Gemma whispered.

"Indeed," Prudence giggled. "Come, let us depart. We can visit every bookshop on this side of London if we make haste."

***

Dalton and Theodore found a private corner of the coffee room in a curtained alcove, where they retired with steaming cups of the foaming coffee and tea. After a few sips, the dull ache in Dalton's temples eased, and he closed his eyes for a moment, savoring this relief.

"I've been hearing whispers about you," Theodore said from across the table, taking a sip of his tea. For of course, the fellow was as strict with himself about coffee as he was about abstaining from drink.

"Pray, enlighten me," Dalton sighed, drumming his fingers on the table.

"Well, a bird informed me that you are abandoning your rakish ways."

Dalton took another sip of his coffee, mouth twitching.

"You certainly seem more lively at the courts."

"It is merely due to my reluctance to be one of those old boors with gout, who bray at everyone around them."

"Well, I'm afraid you are still in danger of that," Theodore chuckled.

Dalton snorted, shaking his head.

"Tell me, does this have to do with a certain…country dweller?"

Dalton's eyes flashed, and he nearly bit out a reproach. But he kept his lips pursed, leaning back in his seat. "What would give you that impression?"

"Oh, perhaps it would be due to your evident fascination with her."

Dalton scoffed under his breath.

"Come, it is certainly no coincidence that the moment you met Miss Hayesworth, you lost taste for your old ways."

"And perhaps it is mere chance?"

"I don't believe it," Theodore shrugged.

They sat in silence for another few moments, until at last Dalton broke the silence, attempting to change the subject. "My uncle means to see me…marry my distant cousin, Celeste."

Theodore's eyebrows rose. "How vulgar."

"She is a sweet girl, of course. But he must think me a fool."

"Then marry Miss Hayesworth."

Dalton nearly sputtered his last sip of coffee. He cast his old friend a hard look. "For heaven's sake—"

Theodore waved his hand. "I jest, I jest."

Dalton sighed, running a hand over his face. "My reputation is hardly what it could be. It wants for decency, and no respectable family would care to see their sweet daughter tied to a rake like myself."

"But you aren't a rake," Theodore tilted his head. "Are you?"

Dalton scowled. "Not a—why, of course I am."

"It is a part you play. ‘All the world's a stage'…"

"Pray, don't go and—" Dalton gestured wildly in the air. "Don't go and attempt to philosophize about my intentions. It is a fruitless matter."

"I hardly think so. And I hold true to my statement. It is a part you play."

They lingered in the coffee shop for another half-hour until they withdrew, together striding through the streets, enjoying the fair weather. As they hurried down the walk, the door of a bookshop just ahead opened and two young women exited, one of whom he at once recognized. Gemma. He caught his breath, pulse leaping.

She stopped short as well, her eyes going wide, and the young woman arm-in-arm beside her, ducked her head as if to hide a smile.

Dalton reached up, touched the brim of his hat and bowed. Gemma and her companion curtsied, and it took much longer than it should have for Dalton to recall what he ought to say next, to recall what propriety dictated. "Miss Hayesworth, permit me to introduce you to my good friend, Lord Longworth. We've known one another since our university days."

Gemma curtsied again, and Theodore bowed.

She blinked, and seemed to shake herself, before gesturing to the young woman beside her. "And I must introduce my friend, Miss Harcourt." Prudence curtsied as well, smiling shyly.

Dalton couldn't help but note the dark smudges under Gemma's eyes, as if she'd been exerting herself far too much. "Did you find what you seek?" He nodded to the bookshop door.

Gemma's features shadowed, and she shook her head slightly. "Regretfully, we have not."

"And pray, what book is it that you wish to find?" Theodore spoke up, studying Gemma with a crease between his brows.

She flushed. "A book that is evidently rare and scarcely in print anymore. On astronomy, by David Gregory."

Dalton's heartbeat skipped. "I am in fact in possession of that very title, Miss Hayesworth."

Her eyes widened. "Oh?" There was a tremble in her tone. "You dare?"

"Indeed. And I should very much wish for you to have it, for as long as you should require it."

"Sir, I couldn't—"

"I must insist," Dalton held up his hand.

Gemma shook her head. "Truly?" her eyes began to sparkle with unshed tears, and Dalton couldn't suppress a soft smile. "But of course. I shall have it delivered to your aunt's home at once."

Gemma brought a hand to her lips. "Lord Blakemore. You are truly too kind."

"It is my pleasure," Dalton murmured, breathless.

Gemma's chest rose and fell with a shaky inhalation, and he pretended not to notice. He relished the unrestrained joy lighting her features, the exhilarated smile playing at her pink lips. His heart began to beat faster.

"Well," Theodore interrupted after along pause in which Dalton lost himself in Gemma's eyes. "Shall we depart, old friend?"

He swallowed hard, and nodded. "Of course, of course. I bid you a good day, Miss Hayesworth."

"And I bid you a good day as well." Gemma dipped in a brief curtsy and they parted ways, Gemma and Prudence hurrying in the opposite direction. Dalton forgot himself, gazing after Gemma, soft dark hair fluttering about her cheeks. In his mind's eye he continued to relive the moment he told her that he would send his own copy of the desired title. His chest squeezed, and he struggled to catch his breath.

"I beg you to refrain from speaking," he muttered. This earned a chuckle from Theodore.

Once he had returned home, he hurried to the library, a large room in the home afforded to his father's extensive library. Father had taken such pride in his collection of books, and he'd been lauded for it considerably. It was no wonder, Dalton thought, as he hurried through the rows of shelves until he reached one corner of the room. He ascended the little step ladder to reach the shelf, and glided his fingers over the familiar spines until at last he reached the very book he'd been seeking. The same that Gemma had seemed so put out over. He would have a servant deliver it to her at once, and make no delay. He found a footman in the hall and entrusted the tome to him, demanding a swift delivery to Miss Gemma Hayesworth.

"Of course, my Lord," the footman nodded.

Once he'd gone, Dalton retreated once again into the library, breathing in the scent of vellum and parchment, leather binding it all together. At least a thousand books sat upon these shelves, though he was certain the true number exceeded that estimation. He sank into one of the armchairs in a less drafty corner of the library, rubbing the bridge of his nose as he considered the rest of his day. Around this time, he would be preparing to depart for his usual night carousing about town. But right now, in the bowels of this room, wherein he'd spent so many hours as a boy on his father's heels…the very thought of going out turned his stomach.

He dozed but for a moment, and when he blinked hazily he started at the sight of his mother, pale and slight. His heart ached at the sight of her, a mere wisp of the vital person she had once been. Unease stirred low in his belly as she stared at him, a haunted look bright in her heavy-lidded eyes.

"Oh, my boy," she whispered, gliding over to him. She reached out a frail, thin hand, touching his face.

His chest tightened, as he recalled the mother he'd grown up with. Always lively, effervescent. A magnificent host. Father would be heartbroken to see her in her current state.

"I must beg you to forgive me," she murmured, a tear rolling down her cheek. "I have been a dreadful mother to you."

"No, no"

"Please, let me speak. I have been squandering our time together, I've been so thoughtless. All I've done since…since we lost…" Her voice broke here. "I've been losing myself. And it never stops. I don't know how to—" she choked down a sob. "I don't know how to find myself again."

"And you," she lifted his chin with the tip of her finger. "You have been doing precisely the same thing, haven't you?"

Dalton couldn't speak.

"You hide behind this mask, my boy. This mask of carelessness and heedless pleasures. We both strive to flee the memory of what we lost."

"Mother, I—"

"Hush. Your heart aches as mine. For your late father."

Dalton's eyes stung.

At last Mother drew back, twisting her mouth and reaching up to dab away her tears. She turned from him, breathing in deeply, and took a step towards the door. Then she paused, and over her shoulder inquired, "Why do you despise your uncle so, my boy?"

Dalton dug his fingers into the arm of the chair. "Despise him?" he tried to laugh. The man is a leech.

"He is your father's brother. Your uncle. It is pleasant to have Celeste and him here."

Dalton rose, knees watery. "Uncle Ernest hated Father. Heavens, he still does, though the man is dead."

Mother's eyes widened, her face draining of color somehow even more. "How could you say such a thing?" her voice shook.

Dalton clenched his hands into fists. "Didn't you ever see that?"

Closing her eyes, Mother pinched the bridge of her nose. "Let us speak of something else. This whole matter is confusing, I can't think of it right now."

With a swallow, Dalton nodded. "Of course. Forgive me, Mother." He hurried to her, heart squeezing as she trembled in his arms. She began to weep, softly at first, and then bitterly. "Hastings!" he called.

His mother's maid, who had been waiting in the hall, swept in and took her by the arm. "Come, my lady."

Dalton sank back down into the chair, covering his face in his hands.