Page 10 of Estelle’s Ardent Admirer (The Bookshop Belles #1)

CHAPTER 10

Scratching the Itch

T wo minutes later, Estelle was in the small courtyard behind the bookshop, picking herbs in the darkness. Gently rubbing the leaves released the aromas which told her she’d picked the correct lemon-scented geraniums. Another minute and she was back near the archway beside the Red Lion, where she found a Mr Yates-shaped shadow waiting for their assignation.

“This is all rather rum,” he said, rubbing at his sleeve.

“Perhaps in time we may look back on this and laugh, but right now shove these herbs up your sleeves and … er … into your breeches.” She was incredibly grateful for the darkness, so he wouldn’t see her furious blushes. “Now, put this coat on and pull it tightly, you’re going to follow me through the shop. Walk through quickly and smoothly so the bedbugs don’t drop off into the shop and eat the books.”

bedbugs in a bookshop would mean financial and social ruin. This was a disaster.

In half a minute, they were in the courtyard where she retrieved a small hurricane lamp. There was a large barrel that collected water from the roof. Bernadette used it to water the plants if it hadn’t rained for a few days.

“In you get,” she indicated the barrel.

Mr Yates took the coat off and looked about for the best place to hang it..

“Leave it on the ground. It will need to go in the barrel as well. If you give me your shoes, I can fill them with geranium and wrap them in oilskin.”

Mr Yates lifted the hem of his shirt up a little and exposed his smooth stomach to the hurricane lamp. He had raised dots on his skin there too.

He groaned. “Not again!”

“You’ve had bedbugs before, Mr Yates?”

“On the boat back from Greece,” he confirmed. “Awful things. Oh dash it all, I should have realised what this was earlier.” He climbed into the barrel and yelped at the sudden coldness. Water splashed freely over the sides and Estelle had to step back. He tried his best to submerge, but it wasn’t a particularly large barrel.

“Not sure what’s worse,” he said, “The cold water or the splinters I’ll earn from the barrel.”

In the light of the hurricane lamp, Estelle could see far too much detail of his torso through his wet shirt.

“I’ll need to bring out a bucket of water and some lye,” she said.

In the kitchen, Estelle had a cold drink of water for herself first, then took a soup ladle back out to the courtyard with her. She was starting to feel itchy now, but it could only be the thought of bedbugs, not the actual creatures. She hadn’t danced that closely with Mr Yates.

Thank heavens it hadn’t been a waltz, not that such a scandalous dance would ever be performed at the Hatfield Assembly!

She handed over the soup ladle and said, “You’ll need to wet your head and start washing. Then when you’re ready to get out, leave your wet clothes in the barrel so the bugs stay in them and drown.”

She turned to leave him to it, but he called back, “You’re not about to abandon me in a cold barrel of water, are you?”

“Er, I was, actually, er, about to put the kettle on the stove.”

“To warm my bath?” He sounded hopeful.

“To make us some tea.” She would need an extra spoonful of honey to soothe her nerves when all this was over.

Felix stood up, his drenched shirt clinging to him as he peeled it off his body.

Estelle could virtually set the bookshop on fire with the heat pouring through her face and neck. Not for the first time she was grateful for the darkness.

“Tell me about Greece,” was all she could manage. Not bad considering her brain had turned to cold porridge.

“Greece is beautiful. And warm. And so very different in so many ways. It is a country with an old soul, yet a vibrant, young spirit.”

Pangs of yearning shot through Estelle. Travelling must be so delightful, but also out of reach for her she may as well hope to visit the moon.

“You would love it,” he added.

“I’m sure I shall. I mean, would. I mean … I don’t know quite what I mean. It sounds lovely.” She bit her lip to stop herself blathering. Then a practical thought kicked in. “I must get you some dry clothes.”

It gave her the excuse to slip away and allow her heart to stop racing so fast. Her face burned with embarrassment at the predicament they were both in. Thank heavens she’d removed him from the assembly when she had, although no doubt several people, including Phoebe, would notice their absence. She’d have to think of a suitable lie to tell when her cousins next came over and made demands.

As she sorted through some of her father’s clothes, she thought back over the evening. Had anyone been close to Mr Yates at the assembly? Oh goodness, cousin Phoebe had wrapped her hand across his arm! She prayed the bugs had stayed on Mr Yates and not wandered into new territory. As much as she disliked her cousins, she did not wish them pestilence.

A few moments later, she had a fresh shirt and a pair of her father’s trousers for Mr Yates.

“It’s not the fine cloth you’re used to,” she said, walking back to the courtyard. He was standing in the tub, his wet skin gleaming golden in the glow of the hurricane lamp as he tipped a ladle of water over his head. It sluiced down his body and reminded her of classical sculpture.

He mustn’t have heard her, for he didn’t make the slightest move to turn in surprise or cover himself.

Estelle coughed loudly and said, “I’ll leave these here for you, when you’re ready. I’ll get to making that tea.”

Felix froze as he heard the last few words from Miss Baxter before she returned to the bookshop. How long had she been there? She must think him a libertine, but he’d thought he was quite alone at the time. How else was he to remove his infested clothing without standing up in the barrel? At least he still had his breeches on! He’d have to climb out and remove them. Before doing that, he blew out the hurricane lamp so the darkness provided modesty.

Dragging on the clean clothes over damp skin wasn’t the most pleasant of experiences, but he was dressed soon enough. Leaving his bug-infested fine clothes to soak in the barrel, he fumbled his way barefoot back inside by the faint light of the moon.

“Ouch,” Felix muttered as he stubbed his toe on the way up the stairs. “Oh, ow, ow!”

“Are you quite all right, Mr Yates?” Estelle appeared before him with a lantern in hand, concern written across her beautiful, expressive face.

“I think I have a splinter in my toe!” He half-hopped over to the table, sat down ungracefully and lifted his foot onto the opposite knee, trying to peer at the end of his toe.

“Let me.”

He heard the laugh in Miss Baxter’s voice, and closed his eyes in silent humiliation as she gracefully knelt down, placing the lantern on the table. I am constantly humiliating myself in front of this admirable woman. She must think me the veriest dolt.

“Just a moment.” Estelle rose to her feet and went to the dresser which Felix was mentally calling ‘the apothecary’s dresser’. She opened a drawer and returned with a small brass instrument in hand.

“What is that?” Felix asked nervously. It looked quite sharp.

“Tweezers.” She held the instrument out, and he saw that it was basically a thin shim of brass folded over in the centre, the two ends meeting at a sharp point. “The splinter is too small to grasp with my fingers, but I think I can get it with these. It is under your toenail, I fear withdrawing it is going to hurt somewhat.”

His toe was already throbbing quite magnificently, so Felix shrugged. “Better out than in, I think!”

“Hold still, then.” She probed gently at his toe.

She was touching his skin and sending bolts of something rather delightful into his veins.

Felix hissed as Estelle gently withdrew the splinter, but the throbbing decreased immediately and he let out a sigh of relief.

“Wait there.” She returned to the dresser and brought over a pot of salve, carefully daubing a little onto the tip of his toe. “I will find you some stockings to put on; I need to put some herbs in your boots for the night, and I’m afraid my father’s feet are rather smaller than yours, so his spare shoes will not fit you.”

“It doesn’t matter. I shall make my way back to my room at the Red Lion…”

“You certainly shall not! That room must be cleansed and… oh, Marie.”

The second Miss Baxter had just entered the kitchen and was staring at Felix sitting at the table in only a damp shirt and trousers, her mouth agape.

Estelle hurried over to her sister and caught her by the elbow, drawing her back into the stairwell. Felix couldn’t hear their conversation. Estelle came back into the kitchen at the end of it.

“I’ve sent Marie to go and fetch your things. Everything must be cleansed, all your clothes, and the linen at the Red Lion. If it spreads…” Estelle shook her head. “Mr Haye will be furious.”

“I didn’t even sleep there!” Felix protested.

“You spent two nights at The Swan?” Estelle asked, sounding incredulous.

“Well, no, I could only tolerate one, so I went home to Ferndale Hall…”

Estelle threw up her hands in horror. “You took bedbugs to Ferndale Hall! Oh, my. I will have to let Miss Yates know.”

Felix hung his head miserably. “What a ghastly mull I’m making of things,” he muttered.

“Oh, Mr Yates.” He heard sympathy in Estelle’s voice, and a moment later she swished past him and went to the stove. “Let me make a cup of tea and find a bite to eat - did you even get to sample the food at the assembly?”

“Not a thing,” he said sorrowfully, realising his stomach was beginning to grumble.

Estelle replied, a hint of laughter in her tone; “I already know yours is an appetite which requires regular satiation.” She set half a loaf of bread on the table, and a jar of honey, followed by an apple and a dish of raspberries. “Here. The best I can do at this time of night.”

“A feast!” Felix brightened, picking up the knife she offered and carving a thick hunk off the bread. “Some for you, Miss Baxter?”

“Perhaps a little.” She put the teacups on the table and took a seat opposite him, accepting the slice of bread he cut for her and drizzling some honey on it.

“Bread and honey and fruit,” Felix said reminiscently. “I could almost be back in Greece, though it would be figs and oranges rather than apples and raspberries.”

“I should like to hear more about Greece,” Estelle said, and he heard a wistful longing in her voice. “How long did you spend there? Did you see the Parthenon and the Acropolis?”

“I most certainly did!” This at least, he could do; he could entertain her with stories of his travels.

They were so deep in conversation he barely noticed Marie come in; she paused to tell Estelle that all of his clothes had been placed in the barrel, before excusing herself quietly and going to her room.

They were still talking an hour later when the music next door quieted and Mrs Poole came in with the younger Baxters. All three stopped in the doorway to gape at him.

Estelle jumped hastily to her feet. “Did Lord Ferndale and Miss Yates leave?” she exclaimed.

“Yes, about half an hour ago,” Mrs Poole said, obviously puzzled. “Mr Yates…”

“I didn’t tell them about the bedbugs!”

The word bedbugs had comprehension dawning on all three of their faces, and Felix was relieved that they all seemed to take it as a matter of course that Estelle would have dropped everything to assist with his problem.

“Staying in Mr Baxter’s room tonight then?” Mrs Poole asked with a wise nod. “I’ll just turn the bed down for you, Mr Yates.”

“Thank you so much, Mrs Poole.”

“You seem quite familiar with Mrs Poole,” Estelle asked curiously as Mrs Poole and the two youngest sisters left the kitchen.

“Mrs Poole has been on committees with my great-aunt for years and years. She always had a sweet in her pocket for a hungry young boy.” He gave a fond smile. “Her circumstances diminished rather after she was widowed, I think? Is that when she came to live with you?”

“Mr Poole and my mother died during the same influenza outbreak,” Estelle said with a nod.

“A tragic loss.” Felix nodded sympathetically. “It’s dreadful to lose a parent.”

“How did your father pass, if you don’t mind my asking? He must have been quite young.”

“Not yet thirty.” Felix ate the last raspberry and shook his head. “I was just a boy; I don’t really remember much of him. He had little interest in me anyway.” He should not speak of his miserable childhood, when really, he’d been raised with all the material comforts money could buy.

Estelle gaped. “Why in the world not?”

“My father had little interest in life in anything that was not solely for his own amusement and pleasure. He was, to put if frankly, a wastrel and a great disappointment to my grandfather. I do my very best to be as unlike him as possible.”

Estelle stared at Felix in shock. What a dreadful way to feel about one of your parents! “Is it your grandfather that has told you these things, about your father?”

“Not solely my grandfather. Everyone who ever knew him has said these things, Miss Baxter.” Felix shook his head ruefully. “Do not think it is just my grandfather’s disappointment talking. The only useful thing my father ever did was marry my mother - picked out for him by Grandfather, and an estimably sensible woman - and sire an heir on her. They did not get along, at all. He died falling off his horse blind drunk while returning home from a visit to his mistress.”

“Oh, my word.” Estelle covered her mouth with her hand. “How dreadful!”

“He was little lamented, certainly not by my mother. And though she was fond of Grandfather and Great-Aunt Florence, when she met an eligible gentleman who offered for her in London a few years later, they were happy to give their blessing for her to remarry.”

“But she moved to Ireland and left you behind?” Estelle asked, feeling a great deal of pity for the young boy Felix must have been. Fatherless, and then virtually abandoned by his mother too!

“Well, I had to go to Eton, and it’s too far to travel for holidays. And I am the heir to Ferndale.”

Felix smiled fondly. “Grandfather has been teaching me about the estate since I was small. He’s asked me to sit in on the next town council meeting, so I can learn how to run those. I am determined to be a worthy successor to him.”

“I don’t doubt that you will be,” Estelle said sincerely.

“Really?” There was surprise in his blue eyes as he met her gaze. “You don’t think I’m…”

“What?” she asked, puzzled.

“Well… a bit of a dolt. I do seem to be continuously making a fool of myself in front of you.” He gestured helplessly down at himself, at the damp, ill-fitting shirt, as though to indicate the entire bedbug situation.

“Bedbugs can happen to any unfortunate soul, Mr Yates. And so can stubbing one’s toe, or letting out a cat in heat who is determined to escape. What matters is that you are willing and able to remedy the situation, and to listen to the advice of those who are willing to help.”

“You mean that,” he said softly. “You don’t think I’m a fool.”

“No, I don’t think you’re a fool at all.”

They stared at each other in silence, the pool of warm lamplight making it feel very close and intimate, as though it was just the two of them in the house, perhaps just the two of them in the whole of England.

Very slowly, as though giving her time to move away if she chose, Felix reached out and rested his hand atop Estelle’s where it lay on the table.

His hand was very warm.

She didn’t move.

“Estelle,” he said quietly, and his use of her given name sent a shock up her spine. Her eyes opened wide.

“Felix,” she almost whispered in return.

“I’m glad you don’t think I’m a dolt. I may seem foolish at times, but I promise you, I am a serious man, I take my responsibilities seriously - and I mean it when I say you are the only woman I have ever truly considered courting.”

“I believe you,” she whispered into the fraught silence which fell after he stopped speaking.

“And since you are not dismissing me out of hand, may I take that as some small encouragement?” He smiled, and then he rose slowly to his feet and came around the table, never taking his eyes from hers.

Estelle sat very still.

“I’ll go to your father’s room now. Good night… Estelle.”

“Good night,” she said, and Felix leaned down and pressed his lips to hers.

The kiss was soft and tentative, a brush of warmth that sent sparks racing along her skin, igniting intoxicating, terrifying feelings. Estelle's heart raced as Felix's lips lingered against hers, sweet and gentle. She felt the world around her dissolve into nothingness; no worries of bedbugs or responsibilities - just the two of them in their own bubble of shared discovery.

His touch was cautious, as if he were afraid of breaking the moment, and her mind raced with thoughts she had never allowed herself to entertain fully.

Did she truly dare to embrace this burgeoning connection? But as he pulled away, a fleeting expression of uncertainty flickering across his features, she realised this was a doorway opening, and she didn’t wish to let it close.

“Felix…” she started softly, unsure how to voice the whirlwind of emotions within her.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have…” he began, stepping back slightly. “I didn’t mean to overstep…”

“No,” she interrupted, her pulse quickening. “No, I wanted to say…” but her words fell into silence, the gravity of the moment bearing down on her. She didn’t have the words to express herself.

A half-smile crossed his lips, and he touched her cheek gently before stepping back. “Good night,” he said quietly. “Sleep well.”

Estelle watched him cross the kitchen and go down the hallway to her father’s room, and the warmth in her chest blossomed even brighter. Because he hadn’t pressed her; he’d seen her hesitation and confusion, and he’d stepped back and given her the time and space she needed to figure out her own feelings.

Sleep well . She almost laughed over his last words. With so many thoughts chasing themselves around inside her head like a litter of Crafty’s kittens with a ball of wool, she’d be lucky if she got any sleep at all!