Bookshop Cinderella

Evie Harlow runs a quaint little bookshop in London, which is the biggest adventure an unmarried woman with no prospects could hope for. Until Maximillian Shaw, Duke of Westbourne, saunters into her shop with a proposition: to win a bet with his friends, he’ll turn her into a diamond of the season. The duke might be devilishly attractive, but Evie has no intention of accepting his ludicrous offer. When disaster strikes her shop, however, she’s left with little choice but to let herself be whisked into his high-society world.

            Always happy to help a lady in distress, Max thinks he’s saving Evie from her dull spinster’s life. He’ll help her find a husband and congratulate himself on a job well done. But as shy Evie becomes the shining star he always knew she could be, she somehow steals his heart. And when her reputation is threatened, can Max convince her to choose a glittering, aristocratic life with him over the cozy comfort of her bookshop?

Chapter Four

     Twenty-eight finger sandwiches. Four plum cakes. Seven pots of tea. Eleven dashes up and down the stairs to her flat, five trips to the costermonger on the corner, and zero chances to put her feet up.

     Evie stared at the wreckage that had been imposed upon her once neat and tidy storage room—the crates of books shoved carelessly aside, the scattered chairs, the empty plates and cups, the tea-stained floor, and the crumbs on the table—and she wondered how only five men could have eaten so much food and made such a mess in only a few short hours. Too exhausted last night to tidy things up, she’d decided to leave it until the morning, telling herself it would be easier to face in the light of day.

     It wasn’t.

     Still, the mess wouldn’t clean itself, so she unbuttoned her cuffs, rolled up her sleeves, and donned her apron, but she’d barely taken the first tray of dirty dishes up to her flat and returned for the second when she heard the unmistakable sound of tapping on the window at the front of the shop.

     Puzzled, she glanced down at the watch pinned to her lapel. Confirming that there was still half an hour before she was required to open, she resumed her task, but then, the tapping came again—more insistent this time—and Evie gave up trying to ignore it.

     She expected to find an impatient customer waiting, but when she paused in the pantry and took a peek into the shop beyond, she discovered she’d been mistaken. Rory stood by the front door, his hands cupped to the plate glass as he tried to see into the shop’s unlit interior, and she came forward to unlock the door.

     “Hullo, Rory,” she said, pulling the door wide. “What are you doing here so early?”

     He smiled, a smile that could have melted stone, and Evie forgave the mess in her storage room and how all those plum cakes and sandwiches had nearly emptied her cash register.

     “I wanted to express my thanks for your generosity yesterday,” he said. “And to give you something in return.”

     “Oh, Rory, you don’t have to give me anything,” she protested, even as she felt her flagging spirits lifting a notch. “I was glad to help.”

     “Nonetheless, I wanted to show my appreciation.” He pulled a slim package wrapped in brown paper from his breast pocket. “For all your hard work.”

     He held it out to her, and even before she took it from him, she knew what it was.

     A book.

     Resisting the temptation to glance at the overflowing shelves all around her, she took the package from Rory’s outstretched hand and hoped for the best as she untied the string and tore off the paper. Maybe it was a novel, something new and exciting she hadn’t already read.

     “A Contribution to the Critique of Political Economy,” she read aloud, and hope of literary excitement fizzled and died. “How...ahem...delightful,” she added, reminding herself that it was the thought that counted.

     “It’s one of my favorite political tracts, Evie. It’s brilliant. I know you’ll find it as fascinating as I do.”

     “I’m sure I will,” she lied, even as she feared there was no way to avoid reading it without hurting his feelings. “Thank you.”

     The door opened, tinkling the bell, and Evie glanced past Rory, to watch a stunning blonde woman in a fashionably tailored blue walking suit come floating into the shop.

     “Margery,” she greeted her cousin, suppressing a sigh as her cousin approached the counter. “This is a surprise. What brings you down from Hampstead Heath?”

     “Evie, darling, it’s so delightful to see you. It’s been far too long.” Margery squeezed Evie’s hands as she leaned over the counter and planted a perfunctory kiss an inch from each of her cheeks in the French fashion, just as they’d been taught in finishing school. “I hope you’re well?”

     “Well enough,” she began, a partial answer that seemed satisfactory to her cousin.

     “I’m so happy to hear it.” Letting go of Evie’s hands, she straightened away from the counter. “What have you been up to? You must give me all the details.”

     “I’d be happy to, but—”

     “Did I tell you Randolph is off at school now? Winchester. I’m so pleased. It’s a very exclusive school, you know. Most boys who apply don’t get in. But of course, Randolph is so keen, so intelligent, we never doubted.”

     “Of course you didn’t.”

     Margery, thankfully, didn’t notice the dry note of her voice. “But the twins are at home still,” she chirped on happily. “They wanted to go with their brother, naturally, but they are much too young yet. Though they are very advanced for their age. Why, they’re learning Latin already. Oh, and Susan is learning French! Can you believe it? She’s such a clever little thing—she’ll attend Chaltonbury, of course, just as we did. And enjoy it just as much.”

     “No doubt,” Evie murmured.

     “We did have fun, didn’t we?” Margery went on, taking no notice of Rory’s presence. “Remember the dances by the river?”

     You mean the ones where no one wanted to dance with me? The words hovered on the tip of her tongue, but Rory’s presence kept her silent. With a handsome young man in the room, what self-respecting girl wanted to admit to being a wallflower?

     “The setting sun on the water,” Margery went on, her voice dreamy, “the paper lanterns strung over the dance floor, the refreshment tables laden with fruit and cheese. And the boys coming over from Eton, looking so grand and yet so awkward in their white tie and tails.” She gave a wistful sigh. “Oh, those were such halcyon days.”

     “Oh, yes,” Evie agreed, her hands curling into fists behind the counter. “Halcyon.”

     “Susan’s dance card will be full for every one of those cotillions when her time comes, I’m sure.”

     “Of course.” Her hands were aching now, and she forced herself to unclench them, reminding herself she was past all that. The wellborn girls looking down their noses at her inferior pedigree, the relentless teasing about her unimpressive bosom and her abysmal French accent, the dismay on the faces of the Eton boys who’d had to be forced by well-meaning matrons and tutors to partner with her—none of it mattered now. She was just tired and out of sorts, her spirits low, making her cousin’s glowing descriptions of their life at Chaltonbury seem particularly trying today.

     Beside her, Rory gave a cough, and she seized on his presence like a lifeline. “Margery, you remember Rory, of course?”

     Her cousin turned, her big blue eyes narrowing as she gave Rory the same sort of look a conscientious housekeeper might give a scurrying black beetle. “Oh, yes,” she said in a voice reeking of disapproval. “The confectioner’s boy.”

     Her opinion was plain, not only to Evie, but also to Rory, who muttered at once that he really must be off. Tipping his bowler hat, he beat a hasty retreat.

     Evie sighed as she watched him go, her spirits sinking even further at what she could not help but feel was a craven defection.

     “Oh, Evie,” Margery wailed as the door closed behind him, “why is that awful young man hanging about?”

     “You only think he’s awful because you don’t approve of his station in life.”

     “And what station is that, pray?”

     She thought of Margery’s prosperous banker husband and titled stepfather, and she decided not to mention Rory’s political ambition to bring down the bankers and the aristocrats. “The same station we came from, cousin,” she said instead.

     Margery sniffed at this reminder of their middle-class roots. “Mama elevated me above that when she married Harold.”

     “How fortunate for you.”

     The sarcasm behind that lightly uttered remark penetrated Margery’s armor. “And for you,” she said with asperity. “My stepfather paid for both of us to attend one of the finest finishing schools in England. It was a great gift. Had you taken advantage of the opportunity, as I did, you could have become acquainted with a much higher social sphere and found someone desirable to marry, but instead you chose—”

     She broke off, but Evie was in no frame of mind to let her slip the hook. “So, I chose to be a social failure, is that what you’re saying?”

     Margery might be thoughtless, but she didn’t mean to be cruel. “Oh, Evie,” she said, looking stricken. “Darling, let’s not quarrel. I didn’t come for that.”

     Evie didn’t want to quarrel either. What would be the point of it? Margery was incapable of seeing what she didn’t want to see, and she had been blissfully blind to her cousin’s torment, torment she had not suffered herself because she was pretty and charming and had a natural ability to use both traits to her advantage. And it hadn’t hurt, of course, that her stepfather was a baron while Evie’s father was in trade. In the rarified atmosphere of Chaltonbury and its rich, pampered girls, Margery had flourished and blossomed like a hothouse orchid, while Evie had spent two years feeling like a scrawny, bloomless twig.

     Evie relented. “About Rory,” she said, reverting to their former topic, “you needn’t fear that his situation has limited him. He’s very political and ambitious. He intends to stand for parliament.”

     “Does he, indeed?” Margery did not seem impressed. “What could possibly make him qualified for such a role?”

     “He did attend university.”

     “In Munich. And he didn’t finish. You told me he abandoned his studies and went off to see the world, or some such nonsense.”

     Evie cursed the day she’d mentioned that little tidbit. It had been ages ago—eight or nine years at least—but, unlike the torment Evie had endured during their school days, that trivial piece of information about Rory was something her cousin had clearly felt it important to remember.

     “Dearest Evie, I hope you’re not encouraging him? I realize your matrimonial prospects are limited now, but—”

     “Did you have a particular reason for coming down today?” Evie cut in, looking past her cousin, praying for a customer, any customer, to walk in.

     “I thought I’d make calls on several acquaintances, so Wilfred brought me to town in the carriage on his way to the bank. But it’s a bit early yet, so I thought I’d drop in for a nice visit with you.”

     Perhaps she could explain that she was working, that this was not a good time. “Margery,” she began, but the other woman forestalled her.

     “And while we’re on the subject of paying calls, that man should not be calling on you at this time of day. For a gentleman to call on a young lady before three o’clock in the afternoon is unthinkable, even if he is an old acquaintance. And to do it when you are unchaperoned is not just bad form, it’s reprehensible. Oh, Evie, don’t roll your eyes. I have your best interests at heart, you know.”

     Margery, Evie reflected, probably believed that. The problem was that Margery’s idea of what was in Evie’s best interests always seemed to coincide with her own convenience. But again, there was no point in saying so. “It’s just that I’m unchaperoned all the time, you know,” she said instead.

     “I do know, and it’s tragic. I really don’t understand this insistence upon earning your own living when it really isn’t necessary. If you sold the shop, that would give you a nice, tidy sum. Five thousand pounds, at least. And Wilfred would be happy to invest it for you.”

     “Oh, I’m sure,” Evie agreed, an acerbic note in her voice Margery quite failed to notice. “Dearest, when are you going to pack all this in and come live with us?”

     “You’re very kind,” she said, trying not to shudder at the prospect, “but I should go mad without an occupation of some sort.”

     “You could look after the children. You’ve always wanted children.”

     Silently, Evie began counting to ten. “It’s not quite the same thing, Margery.”

     “No, no, of course not, but it would surely be better than this.”

     Evie thought of Margery’s children and was doubtful.

     “As I said, Randolph’s off to school, but it’s at least three years before the other two boys go, and even after that, little Susan would still be at home. Being a nanny is a most respectable occupation for a spin—for an unmarried woman,” she amended, perceiving the slight narrowing of Evie’s eyes. “And the children do adore you. You’re so, so good with them. Why, I think being a nanny is perfectly suited to your talents and temperament.”

     The door opened before Evie could reply to that backhanded compliment, and she looked up, grateful her prayers were at last being answered, but her gratitude to the Almighty dimmed a bit as the Duke of Westbourne entered the shop. Him again?

     Still, as distractions went, even he was better than nothing.

     “Well, hullo,” she said with forced enthusiasm, bustling around the counter to greet him. “What a great pleasure to see you again so soon.”

     The duke’s brows lifted at such effusive sentiments, but thankfully, he didn’t express his doubts aloud. “Indeed?” he murmured, doffing his hat. “I’m delighted to hear you say so. Nonetheless, your words indicate that you were not expecting me.”

     “Expecting you?”

     “It’s Thursday.”

     Evie stared at him, realizing in astonishment that she’d once again forgotten Delia’s request. “Of course,” she answered, improvising quickly, wondering what had happened to her brains. “It’s just that we’re not even open for business yet.”

     “Which means,” Margery put in as she eased between Evie and the duke, “it’s far too early for a gentleman to be paying a call on a young lady.”

     “Forgive me, madam,” the duke said at once. “I saw you through the window conversing with Miss Harlow, and I concluded the shop was open.” He turned to Evie. “I can return later, if you prefer?”

     “Oh, no,” Evie said at once. “I wouldn’t dream of asking a duke to do such a thing.”

     The moment those words were out of her mouth, she cursed her mistake.

     “Duke?” Margery echoed, her lovely, vapid face lighting with curiosity, an unmistakable gleam coming into her doll-like eyes, reminding Evie that her cousin’s self-absorption was only exceeded by her social ambition. Still, the damage was done, and she had little choice but to perform introductions.

     “Your Grace, may I present my cousin, Mrs. Symmington? Margery, His Grace, the Duke of Westbourne. As for your concern for the proprieties, dear cousin, you need have none. The duke is here on a matter of business.”

     “I am,” Westbourne confirmed at once, turning to Margery. “Please allow me to assure you, Mrs. Symmington, that I would never pay a social call upon a young lady when she is unchaperoned. I am here merely as a customer.”

     “And I really must assist him,” Evie put in briskly. “Before other customers begin arriving.”

     A frown marred Margery’s forehead at having this golden opportunity to converse with a duke cut short. “But Evie,” she protested, “we’ve had barely any time for our visit.”

     “I know,” Evie said, donning her best expression of heartfelt regret. “Such a shame.”

     The duke, however, almost ruined all her efforts. “As I said, I can return later. It would be no trouble. Or,” he added, gesturing to the two wing chairs in the bay window near the front of the shop, “I’d be happy to select a book and wait my turn.”

     Evie watched in dismay as he picked up the book Rory had given her earlier, bowed, and started to turn away as if abandoning her to her cousin.

     Margery, however, didn’t like that possibility any more than she did. “Oh, no, Your Grace,” she protested, laughing. “I can’t allow you to go sit alone in the corner. Please do join us. Evie might even make us some tea?”

     “Sorry, cousin,” she was quick to reply before the duke could agree to such an awful prospect. “I’ve no tea to offer. I ran out last night. And besides, the duke did come on a matter of business.” She shot a pointed glance at him. “Urgent business.”

     His mouth quirked, showing that though he might be as irritating as a burr under a saddle, he was also quick on the uptake. “Very urgent, I confess it.”

     “You see?” Evie turned, tucked her arm through Margery’s and began propelling her toward the door. “It’s just as I feared. We shall have to leave our little visit for another day.”

     “Oh, very well, but you must promise to think about my offer. I mean it sincerely. When you’re ready to give all this up, we have a nice little room in the attic all ready and waiting for you. It has a window overlooking the kitchen garden. And there’s a servant’s staircase straight down to the nursery, which will be most convenient for you.”

     “I’m sure it’s lovely.” She opened the door and nudged Margery across the threshold. “And I’m so very grateful. Your kindness and generosity know no bounds, dear cousin.”

     Behind her, the duke gave a chuckle, making her fear she’d overdone it, but when she glanced over her shoulder, she found that his attention had been diverted. He was lounging against the counter, the book Rory had given her open in his hands, a grin on his face.

     She couldn’t imagine what he found amusing to read in a political tract, but she didn’t have time to speculate on it. “Good day, dearest,” she said, turning to Margery and moving to close the door. “Do come again next time you’re down from Hampstead.”

     Amid a flurry of farewells, Evie closed the door, and watched, waiting until the other woman had safely turned the corner before she leaned forward to press her forehead against the glass with a heartfelt sigh of relief.

     “My arrival seems to have been most opportune,” Westbourne commented behind her, causing Evie to straighten away from the window with a jerk, and when she turned around, she found to her dismay that he had set aside the book, but he was still smiling. It was a knowing smile, making her realize that despite the book, his attention had never been diverted at all.

     “Impeccable timing on your part,” she was forced to agree. “At least for me. Not for you, though, I’m sorry to say. I’ve not progressed much further on that information I promised Delia.”

     To his credit, the duke didn’t seem put out by this admission. And thankfully, he made no references to Rory being the reason for her distraction. “I see. Might I at least review what you do have? Monsieur Escoffier needs to begin making preparations, and I’d like to discuss with him at least some of the ideas you’ve been working on.”

     “Of course.” She began walking toward the back of the shop, beckoning him to follow her. “Let’s go into my office.”

     She led him through the pantry and past the stairs to the storage room. Averting her gaze from the dirty dishes still waiting to be taken up to her flat, Evie picked her way through the maze of scattered chairs to her desk, which Rory had pushed into the very back corner facing the wall.

     “Forgive the mess,” she muttered, well aware he knew the reason for the chaos. But there was nothing she could do about it, so she sank into the swivel chair of her battered oak desk, shoved aside stacks of account books and unpaid bills, and pulled out the file containing her notes for Delia’s party arrangements.

     “No need to apologize. May I?” He gestured to the closest chair, and when she nodded, he drew it forward, positioning it beside her own. “You look tired, Miss Harlow,” he remarked as he sat down and set aside his hat.

     Evie sat up straighter in her chair at once. “I’m perfectly well,” she lied. “Just very busy these days.”

     Turning, he faced her, propping one elbow on the back of his chair. His eyes, she realized, were not black, but blue—the blue of midnight, and as they scanned her face, she feared they saw far more than they ought. “You work too hard, if I may say so.”

     “Only until I jaunt off to the Riviera on holiday,” she countered, trying to make light of it.

     His lips twitched in appreciation of the joke. “Well, I should advise against making the trip any time soon. The Riviera is beastly hot in summer. Far more pleasant to be here in London at this time of year, enjoying the season.”

     She gave him a wry look as she opened the file on her desk. “As if the London season were any more likely a prospect for me than the Riviera.”

     “Would you like it to be?”

     Evie frowned, puzzled by the offhand question. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

     “Precisely what I said. Would you enjoy the season if you had the chance to participate?”

     She looked down at her notes about exotic foods she’d never eat at the sort of party she’d never attend. “Your inclination to tease me is not amusing, Your Grace,” she said, her voice low.

     “Please don’t go all prickly on me, Miss Harlow. I was not teasing, and I meant no offense. I was merely curious.”

     “I can’t imagine why.”

     “My curiosity stems from a conversation I had with the three young men who accompanied me the other day. A conversation about you.”

     Evie turned her head, eying him askance. “Me?”

     “Yes.”

     He said nothing more, and though Evie knew it was probably folly to probe further, she couldn’t help it. After all, who could hear something like that about oneself and not follow it up? “What was said?”

     He opened his mouth to reply, but then he hesitated as if suddenly uncomfortable with the question. “You won’t like it, I daresay,” he said at last.

     “Given you and your friends, that’s not surprising.”

     Her tart reply caused a rueful smile to curve his lips. “You seem to adore putting our lot in our place, don’t you? That very quality, in fact, is one of the things we were discussing. You see, the lads rather took offense to you ordering them about and being so prim and disapproving.”

     Evie laughed, genuinely amused. “Did they, indeed?”

     “They felt it was damned impertinent of you, scolding them as if you were their nanny.”

     Evie’s amusement faded, her cousin’s words from earlier in the day echoing through her mind.

     Being a nanny is perfectly suited to your talents and temperament...a most respectable occupation for a spinster.

     She swallowed hard. “My, my, how devastating,” she said, striving to keep her voice carelessly offhand. “Having heard that, I just don’t know how I’ll sleep tonight. No doubt,” she added as he chuckled, “you agreed with them.”

     He sobered at once. “On the contrary, I disputed their contentions and thereby launched a spirited debate on the subject.”

     That his friends had disparaged her wasn’t particularly astonishing, but the idea that this man did not share their view and had felt the need to speak in her defense was such a surprise, she didn’t know how to respond.

     “I can’t imagine how my so-called impertinence could evoke such strong reactions,” she replied after a moment. “There must have been more to the conversation than that.”

     “Your instincts do you credit, Miss Harlow. I—” He broke off and gave a short laugh. “I confess, my introduction of this topic was deliberate and for a specific purpose, but now that I have launched it, I am finding it far more difficult than I had anticipated, and I am realizing—belatedly—that in discussing it I will very likely offend you, something I do not wish or ever intended to do.”

     Evie was of no frame of mind to let it go now. “It’s a bit late for regrets, isn’t it? I think you need to tell me what this is really about.”

     “Very well. My reason for informing you of this discussion is that a wager was laid as a result.”

     “A wager?” She stiffened. “You and your friends made a wager about me?”

     He grimaced. “Yes.”

     “Of all the cheek!” Highly indignant, Evie knew the right thing to do was toss him out on his ear, but much to her chagrin, she realized that her indignation was not as strong as her curiosity. “What sort of wager?”

     He gave a cough. “Yes, well, as I said, it all began with their view of you.”

     “That I was prim and disapproving and reminded them of their nanny?”

     “That, yes, and...”

     “And?” she prompted when he paused.

     “It wasn’t...ahem...” He stirred in his chair, obviously uncomfortable. “It wasn’t a flattering portrait, I’m sorry to say.”

     “So I’m discovering. Go on.”

     “What they said doesn’t matter, and I’d rather not get into the weeds with irrelevant details. The point is—”

     “It clearly does matter, since you brought it up,” she said, becoming impatient. “And the more you prevaricate, the more determined I am to hear what was said about me.”

     He sighed, raked a hand through his hair and sat back, eyeing her unhappily.

     “Very well.” He drew a breath and let it out. “They deemed you rather plain and unremarkable.”

     That stung, though she knew it shouldn’t. The proper thing to do, of course, was to tell him what she thought of him and his friends and their thoughtless discussions in bars about young women they didn’t even know. But some imp inside her that was clearly a glutton for punishment drove her on, seeming not to care about the proper thing.

     “Goodness,” she said, forcing a lightness into her voice that she feared didn’t fool him for a second. “And what did you say?”

     “I disagreed.”

     “You did?”

     “I did.” A smile crinkled the corners of his eyes. “How do you think the wager came about?”

     A strange warmth pooled in Evie’s stomach, as if she’d just downed a swallow of brandy, and she suddenly found it hard to breathe, or even think. “I don’t think I understand.”

     “I contended that they were all blind as bats, that you were far more attractive than they gave you credit for, and that, if given half a chance, you could be regarded as an incomparable beauty.”

     “What?” She gave a disbelieving laugh that she feared sounded more like an inelegant snort. “Me? Now I know you really are teasing. Or you’re the one who’s blind as a bat.”

     He didn’t reply at once. Instead, his gaze lowered, then lifted in a slow, thorough perusal that made the warmth inside her deepen and spread.

     “On the contrary,” he murmured, meeting her eyes again, “I have many defects, Miss Harlow, but let me assure you there is nothing wrong with my eyesight.”

     Something new stirred inside of Evie, something nebulous that flickered to life and began rising up from the very depths of her: the yearning to believe him.

     It baffled her, and it made her afraid, though what she feared, she could not have said.

     Unable to endure the onslaught of so many powerful emotions at once, she jumped to her feet. “I told you before,” she said, her voice cold, “I don’t appreciate being teased.”

     He rose, facing her. “I know that this entire conversation has offended you—quite rightly—but please let me say that I was not teasing, not in the least.”

     The fear inside her grew stronger. “I see no reason to believe you. And I don’t appreciate being discussed in bars by gentlemen who ought to know better. And I really don’t appreciate being the subject of their wagers!”

     “I’m sure,” he conceded. “But at the time, I was far too irritated with their idiotic point of view to consider the sensibilities. And,” he added as she made a sound of skepticism, “I also felt that you would enjoy participating.”

     “Participating in what?” she asked crossly, offended and out of patience with him and this entire conversation. “You want me to place a bet, too?”

     For some reason, the question made him chuckle. “I’d be happy to allow that if the lads would agree, but it isn’t what I meant.”

     “Then what did you mean?”

     “For the bet to proceed, your cooperation—indeed, your full and active participation would be needed. You see, when I said you could be regarded as an incomparable beauty, they called on me to prove it, and bet me a hundred pounds I couldn’t make it happen. Well, I wasn’t about to let a challenge like that pass, so I agreed to arrange your launch into society, and here we are.”

     Evie frowned, utterly lost at sea. “And where is ‘here,’ Your Grace? Just what are you suggesting?”

     “A holiday, Miss Harlow. I am suggesting that you take a holiday.”