2. An Assignation at the Bookshop

A few minutes later, upstairs in Weston Hall

Impatience had Amelia sighing as her lady's maid placed yet another pin into her top knot. "Really, Trimble, must you take so long? I'm only going to the bookshop."

The lady's maid dropped the pin she had picked up from the dressing table and stepped back. "Oh, pardon, my lady. I quite forgot you're in a hurry."

Amelia had to swallow her initial response. Although Trimble was a gifted stylist and fastidious with her clothes, the lady's maid always seemed as if she was dicked in the knob. Any hint of displeasure or comments of a critical nature had her bawling her eyes out, but she didn't take compliments well, either. "I'll need you to accompany me to Hatchard's," Amelia said. "The newest books should be on the shelves by now."

"Of course, my lady. I'll just fetch my shawl and be right down." The servant took her leave of Amelia's bedchamber, dipping a quick curtsy before she disappeared.

Amelia allowed a sigh of relief. If they left in five minutes, they could make it to the bookshop in time for her assignation with Philip, the Earl of Crawford.

Third floor, second reading room on the right.

Her heart immediately racing at the thought of seeing the young man again, Amelia pulled on a spencer and matching bonnet. Short white gloves followed before she captured the handle of her favorite reticule and stood before the cheval mirror in the corner.

She grimaced. Why did bonnets have to make their wearer look so idiotic? Even the most outrageous hat didn't youthen a young lady back to her days in the schoolroom like a bonnet did.

Plucking the bonnet from her head and then wincing when she disturbed Trimble's creative top knot, she tossed the offending headwear aside and searched in her dressing room for a small hat.

Once she had the small-brimmed felted bowler in place, she hurried down to the front door.

"Your carriage awaits, my lady," Pritchard said from where he stood holding the door.

"I've spoken with Mother, so she knows I'm off to my favorite bookseller," she said as she breezed past the servant.

"Very good, my lady."

Pritchard was about to close the door when Trimble, breathless, stepped around him and darted out to follow her mistress to the carriage.

"I'll be going to the third floor," Amelia stated when they were settled in the velvet squabs. "You're certainly welcome to shop on whichever floor you'd like, and we can simply meet one another after an hour."

Trimble glanced out the window. "If you don't mind, I'll go up to the top floor. Where the least expensive books are located. I have some money with me, so I'd like to buy a book."

Amelia blinked. "I didn't know you could read."

Trimble dipped her head. "Not well. Not yet. But I'm learning with Mrs. Pritchard's help," she explained, referring to the housekeeper.

"So… what sorts of books are you looking to buy?"

The lady's maid furrowed a brow. "Primers, I believe they're called," she replied. "Did you ever use one when you were in the schoolroom?"

Chuckling softly, Amelia nodded. "I had a governess until I was fourteen," she replied. "So, yes, I had to use a different primer every year." She gave a start. "Which has me wondering if they aren't somewhere in the house. Probably in the library. I'll speak with Mother. See if I can't get her approval to let you use them."

Trimble's eyes widened. "That would be terribly generous."

Amelia shrugged. "They're not being used now, nor will they until…" She stopped speaking and stared at the servant.

"What is it, my lady?"

Giving her head a shake, Amelia said, "I was thinking they wouldn't be used again until my brother had children."

Trimble's eyes rounded. "Is he courting someone?" Her query sounded innocent enough, but Amelia knew any answer she provided would be shared with the other servants of Weston Hall.

"Not that I'm aware," Amelia commented. "But I'm sure Mother will be making some recommendations in that regard very soon."

She had a passing thought that if Alfred made more of an effort at the balls they were to attend this Season, he might actually discover a young lady suitable enough to be his duchess. Amelia personally knew several candidates, of course, but she wasn't sure she wanted any of them to be her sister by marriage.

There was one she had become fast friends with, though—Lady Violet Cummings, daughter of a marquess and sister of the man she was about to meet on the third story of Hatchard's.

Perhaps an introduction would be in order at the next ball.

Except…

Did she really wish to subject her new best friend to the less-than-amiable Alfred, Duke of Weston? Her brother had become rather cranky of late. Full of himself. And far too proud.

She had no idea what had happened to change him so much from the friendly boy he had been when they were younger. Attending boarding school hadn't been the reason—he returned from Eton significantly taller but no different in his behavior—other than he seemed to know how to play pranks on unsuspecting victims.

Mayhap the several years at Cambridge University had been the reason, or perhaps something had happened on his Grand Tour.

Had he been played by a card sharp? Robbed at knife point? Had his advances been rebuffed by an aristocrat's daughter?

Or was his behavior simply due to the death of their father? Taking on the role of the Duke of Weston seemed almost too much for him to bear.

Perhaps it was.

"Is something wrong, my lady?"

Pulled from her reverie, Amelia regarded her lady's maid with surprise. "Not at all. I was merely considering what sort of books I'd like to purchase today," she said.

The coach stuttered to a halt in front of the five-story bookshop, and the two stepped down to the pavement with the help of the driver, Simmons. "We'll be an hour," she told him, tamping down the excitement she felt when she recognized Philip's phaeton parked at the curb. A young street urchin held the reins as he casually leaned against a post. "Mother has asked if you might guard the door."

"Very good, my lady," Simmons said, his gaze briefly following hers before he hurried to the bookseller's door. He opened it for her and the maid and waited until they were inside before taking up a position near the door to wait.

Leading her lady's maid up the stairs to the third floor, Violet paused to wish Trimble good luck in finding a primer and then turned her attention to the shelves featuring the newest books.

When she was sure the servant was on her way up the rest of the stairs, she ducked into the second reading room and stopped short near the entrance.

Philip was there to meet her, but there were others sitting about, their heads bent whilst they read books they might or might not buy.

"I was beginning to worry," Philip said as he took her gloved hand to his lips.

"I apologize. My lady's maid took longer than usual," she murmured, nervously glancing about to be sure she didn't recognize anyone.

"I think I found the perfect book for you, my lady," he said a bit louder. "I believe it arrived today." He offered an arm and led her out of the reading room to the opposite side of the third floor, where another reading room was located. More of an alcove with a chair and a side table, the room was empty.

He shut the door and quickly took her into his arms. "I have looked forward to playing house with you all day," he whispered.

"Not as much as I have," she countered. She stood on tiptoe and placed a hand on his shoulder, inviting the quick kiss he bestowed on her.

"Speaking of playing house, I have something I'd like us to discuss," he said, which had her stepping back in surprise. The last time they had met like this, they had spent most of their time in an embrace, kissing one another and sharing their secrets in soft murmurs.

"You sound terribly serious," she accused.

"That's because… well, it is. The thing of it is, I would like you to be my wife. My eventual marchioness," he whispered.

Given their behavior since their initial interaction during a ball, Philip's words might have been expected. The two had been meeting in the bookshop for months, playfully flirting with one another until the flirting led to playful kisses and finally to passionate kissing and fondling.

His words still had Amelia grinning in delight, though.

"I would love to be your wife," she replied. "To play house for real. I think I can manage the duties of a marchioness. Especially if they're anything like that of a duchess."

He nodded. "It's a relief to hear you say the words," he murmured. "There's only the matter of gaining Weston's permission to wed you."

Amelia inhaled softly. "Perhaps asking permission to court me would be better. For appearances' sake," she replied.

Philip seemed to think on her suggestion before he nodded. "Agreed."

They stared at one another for a moment before Philip audibly sighed. "There is one potential problem. I'm hoping it won't be an issue, but?—"

"What is it?" Worry sounded in her voice, and one of her hands gripped the lapel of his top coat, as if she needed it for support.

"Your brother."

Amelia blinked. "Weston?" Usually she would have referred to him as Alfred, but given the six months he had spent in the role of a duke, his serious manner and pompous attitude had her calling him by his title.

"Yes. I'm afraid that although we used to be the best of friends when we were younger, something happened whilst we were at Cambridge," Philip explained. "I'm not exactly sure what I did to offend him?—"

"Probably nothing," she said in a whisper.

"I was thinking, perhaps if I paid a call on your mother first?—"

"That's an excellent idea," Amelia said with excitement. "She'll be thrilled at the idea of me marrying. She can be the one to let Weston know there is someone interested so that when you do meet with him, he'll already be expecting the question."

Although he agreed with her assessment—to a point—Philip didn't seem happy with the plan. "We could try that, yes," he said, although there wasn't any conviction behind his words.

"Or?" she prompted.

"We could be the scandal of the Season by eloping. Take the Fenwick traveling coach up to Gretna Green and be married there."

Amelia blinked several times before she took a step back. "Oh, Philip. You're playing me. For a moment, I thought you might be serious," she accused, a huge grin brightening her face.

Philip's happy expression faltered before he chuckled softly. "It seemed far more reasonable when I was merely thinking about it," he said with a shrug. "You must know I would do most anything to ensure we can be together."

Staring up at him, her chocolate brown eyes rounding in awe, Amelia said, "You always put voice to the most romantic thoughts."

His lip quirked. "I have them all the time when it comes to you." He pulled her back into his arms and kissed her quite thoroughly. When he finally came up for air, he pressed his lips to her forehead and then to the side of her head not covered by the hat.

"You think about me that much?" she asked quietly, her face heating with a blush.

He nodded. "I know why, too. Now that I've decided I want you as my wife, I'm reminded I'm of an age when I must marry. I need to start my nursery. Do my duty," he explained.

Amelia winced at hearing the word ‘duty,' and she knew he saw it. "I do hope you're not reminded only of duty when you think about me."

Chuckling again, he shook his head. "It will not seem like a duty with you," he assured her. "With you, fathering a child will be something I look forward to doing. Often, if possible." He arched a brow, as if he wanted to gauge her reaction.

Sure he was testing her, Amelia said, "Philip Cummings, if you're referring to…" She lowered her voice to a whisper. "Making love, then you should know that I know… well, that is to say… I'm aware of what's… required… and…" She swallowed.

"Let me guess. You read it in a book?"

She straightened, her shoulders pulled back. "An illustrated book, actually."

His expression suddenly serious, Philip asked, "That didn't scare you off to the idea of making love with me?"

She shook her head. "Not completely."

Smirking, he kissed her once more. "I won't expect you to do the more salacious acts you no doubt saw in some of those illustrations," he whispered. "Unless… unless you want to."

Sure her face was bright red, Amelia allowed a slight shrug. "I suppose it will depend on how much wine I've had with dinner."

Philip dropped his forehead to hers and grinned. "You are the most delightful creature," he murmured.

She lifted herself on tiptoes and kissed him once more. "I can hardly wait to be yours."

Kissing her lips and then the back of her hand, Philip sighed. "I shouldn't stay any longer. I would hate for you to be a source of gossip because I have kept you in a…" He glanced around. "A closet. I'll take my leave now. Have a seat and wait for a few minutes before you depart," he instructed.

"Understood. When will I see you again?"

He paused before turning the door handle. "Tomorrow night. Will you be at the Everly soirée?"

She nodded. "I'll be there."

"Save me the waltzes, if there are any," he said before he slipped out the door.

Amelia crossed her arms and hugged herself as she smiled. Falling into the chair, she opened the book Philip had given her and was well into reading the first chapter when she remembered she wasn't where she was supposed to be.

Trimble was probably already waiting for her.

Pretending interest in the book she was reading, Amelia opened the door and slipped out of the small reading room.

She nearly collided with her lady's maid.

"Oh, pardon, my lady," the maid said as she stepped back in surprise.

"Why, Trimble. I found what I was looking for," she said as she held up the book Philip had given her. "Did you find a primer?"

The lady's maid held two books, one in each hand. She paused a moment before she said, "I'm not sure. There was a very handsome young man who said they were, but…" She leaned in closer. "I could not be sure if he was playing me or telling me the truth."

Amelia glanced down at the spine of the book she held—A Guide for the Keeping of a House by a Lady. She rolled her eyes before glancing at Trimble's books. Both had pasteboard covers that made them look as if they had been well-used, but the edges of the pages weren't feathered. "This is a first year primer, and this is a second year primer, so… he did not steer you wrong," she replied. Curious as to who might have helped her lady's maid, she asked, "Would you recognize the young man if you saw him again?"

"Oh, yes, my lady. His name is Crawford, and he had a most happy countenance."

Amelia blinked. "How do you know Lord Crawford?"

"He greeted another gentleman who was climbing the stairs when he was going down the stairs, and that man said his name." When Amelia stepped aside to allow another patron to squeeze by her and enter the alcove, Trimble asked, "Have you two been introduced?"

Indicating they should take their leave, Amelia headed for the stairs. "I have indeed. I've played cards with him at a house party. I've even danced with him several times. He's the son of a marquess." She arched a brow. "I couldn't imagine a better man to be my husband."

They descended the two flights of stairs to the ground floor and made their way to the counter behind which several clerks completed bills of sales for books.

"Ah, Lady Amelia, so good to see you again," Philip said from her right.

Heat suffused her face as she turned to acknowledge the young man who stood in one of the other lines at the counter. "Lord Crawford. Is it true I have you to thank for helping my lady's maid with her choice of books on this fine day?"

Philip grinned, which had a dimple appearing at the base of his left cheek. "It was nothing, my lady," he claimed. "I was happy to help."

Warmth suffused Amelia's cheeks as she lifted the book he had chosen for her to the countertop. "I came for a new novel or two, but it appears I'll be taking home this," she said, her lip quirking at the same time she arched a brow.

Glancing at the book he had given her—A Guide for the Keeping of a House by a Lady—Philip appeared impressed. "It looks as if you'll be in charge of your own house soon," he commented. "Playing wife."

"I do hope so. Sooner rather than later."

His gaze darted about the area around them before he lowered his voice and said, "Then let us hope certain family members can be convinced. I shouldn't want to read in The Tattler about how you and your beau were forced to marry in Greta Green."

Amelia's eyes rounded as she quickly glanced around to ensure his comment hadn't been overheard. Satisfied no one was eavesdropping, she whispered, "Then I suppose it's a good idea to keep a trunk packed for such a possibility."

It was Philip's turn to blush, and he did so as a clerk turned to wait on him. "I thank you for the recommendation," he said to Amelia. "I'm sure I'll see you again soon."

"You as well, my lord. Do have a good day."

Amelia was smiling broadly when she and Trimble took their leave of the bookshop.