Page 2 of Estelle’s Ardent Admirer (The Bookshop Belles #1)

CHAPTER 2

Dinner For Four

T he words, “How do you know each other?” were on Estelle’s lips when she also heard them spoken out loud, concurrently by both Lord Ferndale and the golden-haired gentleman who’d been in Baxter’s Fine Books only this morning.

The annoyingly happy and handsome man who’d nevertheless driven her almost to despair.

Meanwhile, Miss Yates made a funny noise and said, “How entertaining.”

As it was his house, Estelle turned to Lord Ferndale, her nerves jangling. She felt thoroughly set off-balance by this unexpected encounter.

The well-dressed man with the golden hair and tanned skin to match walked into the sitting room, blue gaze fixed curiously on Estelle.

Her body warmed in the most unwarranted way.

Lord Ferndale said, “I’d best make introductions. Miss Estelle Baxter, my grandson, the Honourable Felix Yates.”

“Oh!” Estelle said, making a short curtsey to the man she now realised she’d been rather terse with this morning. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mister Yates.”

Well, she’d been right about the rich part, at least. She’d met so many people, running the bookstore. The ones who placed orders would gladly give their names. If this man had placed an order with them this morning, she might have had the wherewithal to put the surnames together and realised he was a Ferndale. But as he hadn’t, she didn’t.

They both looked at each other and said, “The book!”

Estelle hid a giggle behind her hand, then turned to Lord Ferndale.

Lord Ferndale was perplexed.

Estelle explained, “This young man was in the bookshop only this morning, he arrived at the same time as my father’s crate from the continent!”

“Grandfather, I must confess, I made rather a nuisance of myself in Miss Baxter’s shop just this very morning. It is a delightful place, and there was one book I simply had to have.”

“Let me guess,” Lord Ferndale held up his new prize. “This one?”

“The very same!”

Miss Yates sidled up to Estelle and whispered, “I do love a little intrigue!”

“She would not sell it to me,” the golden man she now knew to be Felix Yates said. “I offered to triple the price and she did not even blink!”

“You are too kind,” Estelle said, knowing full well she had paused at the offer, if only for a second. Money would solve a lot of problems at this moment.

Lord Ferndale looked imperiously at his grandson and said, “Were you aware of the base price before you offered to treble it?”

Now Estelle blushed and looked to the floor. It was rather déclassé to discuss the price of things in front of others, even if it was among Lord Ferndale’s own family.

“I was not!” Mr. Yates said cheerfully.

“Then it’s just as well she refused you, for you would have needed to come to me for a loan!”

Miss Yates whispered to Estelle, “Are they gambling?”

“Not yet,” Estelle said quietly, so that only Miss Yates could hear.

It was a fascinating encounter, and she was rather enjoying herself.

The young Mr. Yates then said, “What a close-run thing!”

The two gentlemen shared a chuckle at this point, before Lord Ferndale asked his grandson, “Tell me, would you be buying such a book?”

“To give to you, of course!” he said, then gave a hearty laugh. “I knew you would love it. And I was right!”

He had a sense of humour at least, Estelle thought, and was able to laugh at himself, a skill she had found most gentlemen of her acquaintance singularly lacked.

“All’s well that ends well,” Lord Ferndale said then. “Although, if Miss Baxter here had accepted your price, she would have had thrice the money and I would have had the book all the same. So, I believe you owe Miss Baxter a great deal of money.”

Estelle gasped at the direction the conversation was taking. How could Lord Ferndale possibly know how much debt they were in?

“Steady on,” Mr. Yates said, suddenly looking horrified.

Estelle felt a little sorry for him now. Surely the family patriarch was jesting? She had already agreed an adequate price for the book.

But three times as much would have helped a great deal.

“I must be getting back,” she said again, hoping Ferndale would offer her his coach and horses for the return journey. Even if Somerset Valley Four was sound enough to carry her, she would get drenched again if she rode outside.

“Alas, the weather is against you, as is my estate,” Lord Ferndale said, looking between Estelle and Mr. Yates. “My carriage is at the wheelwright for repair and it’s teeming out there. At least join us for a meal while you wait out the rain?”

“Yes, stay for dinner, do,” Miss Yates urged.

Estelle hesitated, but it was the middle of summer and would be light until after nine. She’d have plenty of time to get home afterwards. She knew the Ferndale household kept country hours and would dine early. Another reason to accept: if she ate dinner here, there would be more food for her sisters at home.

That thought decided her, and she offered a gracious smile. “That is very generous of you, Lord Ferndale, Miss Yates. I should be delighted to have dinner with you.”

“Capital!” Lord Ferndale smiled warmly at her. “Now, do come through to the library. I’ve acquired a few books where the binding is looking rather shoddy; do you think your sister would have the time to rebind them for me?”

“I’m sure Louise could find the time,” Estelle said, following Lord Ferndale to the library, thinking that even if Louise was busy, she would definitely make the time, considering Lord Ferndale’s deep pockets.

“Your sister binds books?” a voice said behind her, and Estelle found to her surprise and slight annoyance that Felix Yates had followed them. A little like a happy puppy.

“We all have our talents,” Estelle said dismissively.

“What’s yours?”

What an intrusive question! Startled, she turned to look at him.

“Managing troublesome customers,” Lord Ferndale answered for her, and Estelle swallowed a laugh. “A very managing female, Miss Baxter, and I say that as a high compliment.” The he turned to his grandson and declared, “You should marry her, Felix.”

Estelle choked, not sure who to look at or where to put herself as Lord Ferndale apparently decided to appoint himself matchmaker for herself and his grandson.

Of all the ridiculous ideas!

Ordinarily, libraries calmed Estelle, but her nerves were on high alert as Lord Ferndale continued to push his home advantage. “Young Felix here is my only heir. I’ve called him home because he must settle down,” he said. “Whoever he marries will inherit this magnificent library, and one day be Baroness Ferndale. How does that sound to you, Miss Baxter?”

Heat roared up Estelle’s neck at Lord Ferndale being so blunt with his decisions about their futures. They’d only just met, and although he was rather handsome, she knew nothing of him. She made a polite cough into her closed hand, declining to answer.

“Ignore him,” Mr. Yates parried, apparently finding the idea just as insane as she did.

She could add ‘sensible’ to the things she knew of Mr Yates, as that was a sensible way to react to a grandfather making insensible comments.

Miss Yates joined in, nudging Estelle gently. “You have mentioned before that the library is your favourite room.”

Oh no, now Miss Yates was joining in? The sweet woman could not truly be serious, this had to be a jest. A wicked thought crossed Estelle’s mind, as she took in the dawning horror on handsome Mr Yates’ face. The young sprig could do with being taken down a peg or three. “Well, I would dearly enjoy inheriting a library,” she said, deliberately not saying anything about becoming a baroness.

Felix could not recall the last time he’d felt this painfully uncomfortable. Usually he batted off his grandfather’s entreaties, but all his witty comebacks deserted him in the face of Miss Baxter’s very clear horror at the mere idea of being married to him.

Even with the temptation of Ferndale’s library before her. She made a teasing remark, but he hadn’t missed the instant denial that crossed her expression when his grandfather made the suggestion.

Why wouldn’t she want to marry him? Did she have a better offer waiting in the wings? He tilted his head, considering the conundrum. She appeared ladylike, certainly, with the educated speech of the upper classes, but she worked in a bookshop! She was a far cry from the daughters of the aristocracy his grandfather was usually urging in his direction, most of whom were only too eager to throw themselves at his feet.

It intrigued him that Miss Baxter would show such evident horror at the mere idea of a match which would clearly be a vast elevation in her station.

He’d thought he was well-turned out and eligible. But perhaps he was unpalatable as a prospective husband?

That truly confused him, and he felt the cut deeply. He stepped back, so that he wasn’t in the line of his grandfather’s sight and the potential target of more barbs. He was … what had they called it? A fine specimen? Something like that. Ladies swooned in his presence, or at least pretended to. ‘Pon rep, this woman certainly knew how to dent a man’s ego.

His grandfather presented several books to Miss Baxter that required repair. Some mild, others close to falling apart. At least the conversation had safely returned to books instead of matchmaking, allowing Felix to muse silently on the interesting young lady before him.

She was pretty and her voice was pleasing, and she had to be clever to know as much about books as his grandfather. The woman was running a business, which was a rare thing indeed. The more he observed, the more he started to wonder why her face had expressed such displeasure at the thought of being married to him.

No sooner had he thought himself safe from interference, however, than his pesky grandfather brought the topic right back to marriage again.

“You’d be the perfect hostess of this estate, what with your knowledge and respect for books. The legacy in this room stretches back generations.”

Felix wished himself back in Greece, far from duties and responsibilities and being shoved into Parson’s Mousetrap. Not that he wasn’t interested at all in marrying! He was. But not quite yet. Alas, any time he’d tried to get to know anybody, his grandfather had jumped the gun and declared they were already a great match.

Part of the reason he’d gone to Greece in the first place was to get away from the constant, swirling noise of family duty. Some of his friends said he was being ridiculous, that with such a small family he had things easy, but they didn’t understand the pressure that came with being literally the last hope of a family’s line remaining extant.

He had to have children or his line would die out. It made perfect sense, and he understood the ramifications of that.

But, he’d really like to get to know a woman first before having her pronounced as suitable to be the mother of his children. He would at least like to like her, and, he rather hoped, she might like him in return.

The opposite of what he’d witnessed with his parents, who spent most of their lives making each other miserable.

Without his grandfather’s pressure and interference, he would have truly enjoyed getting to know Miss Baxter some more. He already liked her sense of honour. He’d offered her more money for a book that was promised to another, and she’d refused. Yes, it had irritated the tripe out of him at the time, but now he understood why she’d done it. She was a woman of her word. She’d promised a book to somebody, and she delivered on that promise. Plus, she hadn’t divulged who the book was promised to when he’d demanded to know, which meant she did not divulge personal information even for a decent price.

He also couldn’t deny Miss Baxter was rather easy to look upon, with her dark hair, eyes somewhere between green and golden, and a neat trim figure. She had a healthy glow about her. And his grandfather and great-aunt clearly adored her, which spoke volumes for her character.

As much as he tried, he couldn’t stay cross with Grandpapa. The old man had shown nothing but kindness to him after his father passed, and had continued to fund his education and even a Grand Tour.

Felix owed him a great deal, but did that extend to unquestioning obedience to marry the first woman his grandfather thrust in his direction? Surely not. He was his own man, and he would be the one to choose his own bride, not his grandfather.

When it was time to leave the library and walk to the dining room, he slowed his steps to allow the elders to enter the room first. Keeping his voice as low as he could, he muttered to Miss Baxter, “You are obviously good friends with my Grandfather, and he clearly adores you.”

“Thank you,” she said, with a sweet smile. “He has been a great patron of our bookshop.”

“It’s good to see him in a lively mood. I believe we are in for some japes.”

She slowed her steps even more, creating a wider gap between themselves and the elders. “Japes?”

This would help him get to know her, and know whether she could join in with frivolous games or take life far too seriously. “We could play along, if that would be agreeable to you?”

Lord Ferndale said to his sister, loudly enough for all to hear, “You see, Florence? They are getting along, just as I predicted.”

Grandpapa Ferndale may be a baron, but his informality in so many things extended to meal times. The table they sat down to only had room for six at most. Ferndale at the head, Miss Yates at the other end. It meant Felix and Miss Baxter sat in the middle, facing each other, with only a candelabra to block their view.

He was happy with the arrangement, as it meant he could spend more time gazing upon her face and deciding which parts were the prettiest.

She wore different clothes now to the dress she’d had on this morning, he suddenly noticed. To his untrained eye, they looked out of date. The sort of clothing his grandmother, God rest her soul, wore in the family portraits on the walls.

Miss Baxter accepted the bowl of potatoes and served herself, then moved the candelabra to the middle of the table to create some room to put the bowl down. It blocked Felix’s view of her. He took the potatoes and helped himself, then moved the candelabra out of the way and placed the bowl between them.

“Miss Yates, would you like some potatoes?” Miss Baxter asked.

His great aunt agreed and the bowls and pieces moved again.

That candelabra ended up blocking his view of Miss Baxter once again as various plates and bowls moved about the table like chess pieces.

It did not take Felix long to suspect she was moving the candelabra deliberately. There were certainly moments when it would have been more convenient or simpler to move something other than the heavy, multi-branched brass object, with the risk of hot wax dripping on her arm every time she lifted it.

“Stephens, this is a menace.” Felix caught the attention of the footman carrying dishes in and out. “Would you move it to the sideboard, and light a few more around the room so we have sufficient light without risking wax in the syllabub? Thank you.”

Yes, Miss Baxter had definitely been using the candelabra as a shield. Her mouth turned down at the corners as Stephens removed it, and Felix felt a small twinge of triumph at having outwitted her. He suspected her to be rather clever and that she might be used to having the upper hand in any battle of wits.

He rather fancied himself his equal in that regard, and sallied forth. “So, when would suit you for our wedding, Miss Baxter?” Felix said loudly.

All conversation stopped. Miss Baxter, who had been talking about the assembly with his aunt, froze in place before slowly turning her head to pin him with an icy glare.

“I do beg your pardon, Mr Yates; I must not have heard you correctly.”

Japes , he mouthed at her. She glared right back at him.

“Having observed your gracious manners and charm this evening,” he began, “I find myself in agreement with my grandfather that you would make an excellent Baroness Ferndale,” Felix said cheerfully. “So. Shall I visit the vicar and ask him to read the banns?”

“Felix,” his grandfather said despairingly. “This is not what I meant.”

“Is this how ladies are courted in Greece?” his great-aunt asked. “It’s rather direct. What fun.”

Miss Baxter was clearly wishing him far away, and just as obviously mentally rehearsing and discarding insulting put-downs, from the sideways glances she was giving Lord Ferndale and Miss Yates. He could tell she was warring between insulting him and not wanting to insult her host and hostess.

She grasped instead at a convenient change of topic. “You have been to Greece, Mr Yates?”

“Indeed! Spent last winter there. Highly recommend Athens as a lovely place in the winter.” He caught a wistful expression on Miss Baxter’s face. “Where have you visited on your travels?” he asked, humouring her by extending the topic.

“Oh,” she said, seeming more bruised than buoyed by the direction of the conversation. “Well, certainly not as far as Greece, but it sounds lovely in the many books I’ve read on Grecian history. One day I hope to be lucky enough to visit.”

Felix cursed his silly jape. Unwed women did not have the same luxury as he, nor could Miss Baxter possibly have the same funds.

“We should go together,” Miss Yates suggested. “You could be my companion.”

Her face brightened at his great aunt’s suggestion, before dimming again as she obviously realised Miss Yates was far too old and frail to embark on any such adventure. She smiled kindly at Miss Yates, though, and jealousy hit Felix hard. He’d do quite a number of reprehensible things to be on the receiving end of a smile like that from Miss Baxter.

“Well then,” his grandfather declared, “You shall visit Greece. How about on your honeymoon with young Felix here?”

Her cheeks pinked and she gave the old man a wry smile. “Lord Ferndale, if you were anyone else I’d accuse them of making a jest at my expense. But you are such a dear friend I couldn’t possibly be cross at you for wishing the best for me.” She then changed the subject so artfully Felix could only wish he had a quill and paper with which to take notes. Clever, deft woman! She should have been a diplomat. “These potatoes are delicious. I believe your cook has seasoned them with rosemary to perfection. Is it from the cuttings Bernadette gave you last year?”

Grandpapa winked at their guest. “It is at that. Eight of the nine cuttings took, which is a marvellous strike rate.”

Her expression eased as she appeared on sturdier ground with his grandfather..

“In fact,” the old man continued, “Rosemary grows everywhere in Greece, does it not?”

A twinge of surrender marred her rather lovely brows at that. “I … believe it grows all around the Mediterranean region. It does well in the warmth. That’s why it is best planted against a stone wall facing the sun, here in England.”

Grandfather snaffled a bite of lamb and grinned, his eyes full of mischief. “You’ll have to bring some plants back from Greece when you travel there. Perhaps on your honeymoon?”

Felix could almost feel sorry for Miss Baxter. Almost. He’d spent far too many painful evenings being the target of Grandfather’s machinations; it was something of a relief to see the old man’s attention focussed on someone else for a change. And Miss Baxter gave as good as she got, diverting the conversation with wit and humour every time it became too uncomfortable for her liking.

His great aunt then apparently took pity on Miss Baxter and changed the subject. “We were discussing the assembly.”

“What’s that?” Grandfather asked.

She raised her voice a little more, “The Midsummer Assembly on the twenty-fourth.”

“That’s come around quickly,” the old man said, spearing another bite of lamb onto his fork. He then turned to Felix and said, “You’ll be there, of course.”

Felix tried not to audibly sigh at the thought. If only he’d delayed his visit by another week, it would have been over and he wouldn’t have to be be paraded in front of every young woman within twenty miles.

“I haven’t been to an assembly in Hatfield in years,” he said. “Miss Baxter, do you always attend?” She would have been at least eighteen the last time he attended one of the assemblies, but he didn’t recall meeting her. He would have remembered meeting someone as intriguing as she. He mentioned the year, and she shook her head.

“I was away that year, travelling with my father, purchasing books.”

“Will you be attending this time?” he asked in hope. “You won’t be off searching for books and avoiding the dance?” If she were there, the evening would be bearable.

“My father is in France at present, so my sisters and I shall attend.”

“Well then,” Grandfather announced. “You have a few days to get to know each other. It would be delightful if we could announce your betrothal at the assembly.”

He watched Miss Baxter close her eyes and breathe deeply, as if sending up a prayer for strength.

Felix tried not to laugh, but he was rather enjoying the evening. I could do so much worse for a wife.

Morning arrived with the uncomfortable realisation for Felix that last night he’d made fun of Estelle Baxter, rather than made fun with her. He’d gone too far, and he felt badly now.

He had to remedy that.

He’d talk to her at breakfast. They would have a friendly chat and he’d find a way to apologise.

Miss Baxter might be a good friend to his grandfather and great-aunt, but he should not have mistaken that friendliness with too much familiarity, as he had at the meal last night. He barely knew her, and in the light of day, he couldn't help thinking he’d been unconscionably rude.

A mistake he needed to rectify if he was going to seriously court her. He was beginning to think that was actually an excellent notion. He could so easily see himself in Greece with Estelle, watching the sunset over the water from a villa in Patros, after yet another glorious day. She’d look at him and smile, and say something deliciously witty, and he’d have to lean over and kiss her and…

His stomach rumbled as he descended the stairs, distracting him from his thoughts of how Estelle’s green-golden eyes would glow in the afternoon light, and informing him that he needed a hot cup of coffee and some eggs, bacon and toast immediately.

His grandfather was nearly finished with his kippers and kedgeree, and two more empty plates showed the women had already eaten and moved on with their day.

“You’re too late,” Grandpapa said in an annoyed tone. “That’s what comes from sleeping the day away.”

The old man waved his hand toward the window. Felix looked out to see a horse and rider in the distance, growing smaller by the second.

Last night’s rain had moved on and the sun shone gloriously.

“There goes the best woman you’ll ever meet,” the old man said. “If you don’t go after her right now, you’re a prize fool.”

Felix stood there, open mouthed in shock.

“Well?” his grandfather clattered his knife and fork together over the crumbs on his plate. “Don’t stand there looking like a caught fish. Go and get her!”