Page 5 of Estelle’s Ardent Admirer (The Bookshop Belles #1)

CHAPTER 5

Estelle Baxter Is Not Having It

T hat cat would be the end of them, Estelle thought as she closed the shop door. The back garden was safe and full of things to distract Crafty, including pots filled with herbs, and a high wall she could not easily get over. The attics connecting the houses were some of her favourite places to play and catch mice. Even the fulling mill farther back was an acceptable place for Crafty to be catty and enjoy the company of the people who worked there. But the front door out to the High Street was where she always found trouble. She terrorised the horses and caused no end of drama.

There were always horses in the high street, and a scared horse could cause terrible problems. People could get hurt. Carriages could break. And the horses themselves could get injured as well.

Not to mention the fact that Crafty was, once again, in heat. They all worked very hard to keep Crafty indoors during those times, but nevertheless at least once a year she would make an escape, find a suitor, and nine weeks later there would be a fresh litter of kittens they’d have to find homes for.

But, instead of seeing three faces of concern, she was met with disdain from her sisters.

They must be upset about the cat, too?

“Why are you so rude to Lord Ferndale’s grandson?” Louise asked, looking dreadfully disappointed.

Wait, they were upset with her ? “He let the cat out!” Estelle answered indignantly. Was it not obvious?

“If you’d been nicer to him,” Louise said, “he’d still be in the store and Crafty would still be safely inside.”

They were making this her fault? “I wasn’t rude to him.” She folded her arms across her chest defensively, ignoring the tiny voice of her conscience which pointed out that she’d hardly been polite to him either. “He’s the one making fun of me for sport!”

“You were rude,” Marie disagreed. “His family gave you a fine dinner last eve and breakfast before you left this morning. He was clearly seeing if you’d return the favour and offer him some tea and cake.”

Estelle shook her head. “And we have cake to spare?”

“Well, no. But that’s not the point,” Marie said. “I can’t work you out. He’s very charming, clearly he has plenty of blunt, he’s going to buy some books, yet you chase him out like he’s some street urchin.”

Bernadette piped up, “How did he ask you to marry him?”

Estelle made a deep sigh. “That’s the problem. He didn’t. It was a joke between Lord Fernadale and he. It went on a little too long, that’s all. But it was only ever spoken in jest. Of that I’m sure. Lord Ferndale said that Mr Yates should marry me because he - Lord Ferndale, that is - thinks I would treasure his library as it deserves if I were to inherit it, which is the most nonsensical reason to get married I’ve ever heard, frankly.”

She gulped in a huge amount of air to make up for that long, bizarre explanation. Because that’s what it was. Bizarre. And nonsensical. “Why Mr Yates went along with it for even a moment, I can’t imagine. But to get to the heart of the matter, Mr. Yates never directly asked me. He just asked when we should set the wedding date and started talking about going on a honeymoon to Greece!”

“Oh! Greece would be wonderful for a honeymoon!” Louise exclaimed.

Estelle glared at her. That was what Louise chose to fixate on, out of the whole ridiculous situation?

Bernadette said, “He might ask you directly, if you showed a little interest.”

Louise and Marie began muttering their agreement that Estelle should show Mr Yates some interest.

Bernadette took this as encouragement. “I think you’re mad to turn him down without at least getting to know him a little more. He seems nice, he’s obviously rich, he’s very handsome, and he clearly likes you. I don’t see the problem.”

That was the frustrating thing with having such a gap between the eldest and the youngest. Bernadette had such romantic notions, but not much reality to base those notions upon at only eighteen years of age. It wasn’t her fault and Estelle didn’t want to sound patronising by correcting her.

Louise said, “She makes a good point.”

Marie nodded.

Bernadette beamed.

This was so unhelpful. Why were they even having this conversation when there were far more pressing matters to concern themselves with. Like the mountain of debt their father had dumped on them, and their cousin interfering in their lives and threatening to throw them out so he could have the building. “He’s unaccustomed to being told ‘no’. I could tell that about him yesterday. And he’s spoilt.”

“So what?” all three replied at once.

Estelle gritted her teeth and decided to ignore them, since they all appeared to have collectively lost their wits when she left them to their own devices for a single night. Pulling up a chair, she reached for the correspondence that had arrived that morning. “There’s a great deal here, is this yesterday morning’s post as well?”

“No, and don’t change the subject,” Louise said. “You should get married, before you’re too old.”

“Ha!” Estelle said, “I’m already far too old, so if anyone is going to get married to get us out of our financial troubles, it will have to be Marie or you, Louise.”

“Why can’t it be me?” Bernadette asked.

“Because you’re the youngest,” Estelle replied by reflex. “You’re only eighteen. Getting married at eighteen is…”

“Something a lot of people do?” Bernadette stared at her. “Mama was eighteen when she married Pa, Estelle.”

“Times were different then,” Estelle said, reaching for the correspondence, aware even as she did so that her sisters were not going to let this subject drop.

After all, no serious suitor had ever presented himself to any of them before. And she didn’t think any of them had ever dreamed that such a suitor might be as handsome and wealthy as Mr. Felix Yates.

He’s not a serious suitor, Estelle reminded herself sternly. For some reason, he’d decided to take his grandfather’s silly matchmaking idea and make a great jest of it, which would be all very well if she were not the butt of the jest.

The papers in her hands reminded her of serious things. “Father left us in charge of the bookshop, we have our instructions. Running off to marry was not amongst those instructions, were they?”

“If I recall correctly,” Louise said, “he told us to use our initiative.”

“That’s as may be,” Estelle said. “Which is why I am calling on all of us to use our initiative and find better ways of helping produce income. The advertisements in The Times are working very well at delivering more customers. We have a great deal of new books and we must let our customers know which titles have recently arrived. Marie, I take it you’ve completed the inventory of the books that arrived yesterday morning?”

“Nice try,” Marie said. “But you know the best way out of our many troubles is if you marry Mr Yates.”

The heat searing through Estelle could have set the books in the shop aflame. She loved her sisters dearly, but at this moment they were trying her very last nerve. “Father would be most upset to discover we spent his absence in argument instead of amity.”

That had them making soft mutters of agreement. Finally, something was going Estelle’s way.

“Speaking of Father,” Louise said, “I hope he writes more regularly, so we can keep Cousin Joshua at bay. That was a very unpleasant confrontation.”

That brought another round of agreement as well.

“He has left us in a delicate situation,” Estelle agreed.

At least there was peace again in France, which gave them one less thing to worry about.

The doorbell rang as new customers arrived. They looked about and smiled as they entered. One lady had a copy of their last advertisement from The Times and enquired about an almanack. Estelle was only too happy to assist them and not have to answer any more questions about marriage and Mr Yates from her inquisitive sisters. She was soon learning about this lovely couple, a Mr and Mrs Craddock, who were journeying north and had made a point of visiting their shop on the way through.

They soon had several titles they wanted to purchase, and promised to visit on their return south after the summer. Estelle wrote their details in their ledger and made a note of the topics they enjoyed.

When she waved them off, Estelle turned around and beamed. “Let’s get the next advertisement sent into The Times this very afternoon, it is definitely worth the expense.”

With the front door open, the noise from the street filled their ears. Estelle turned to see Marie with her hands over her ears.

“Sorry Marie. I forget how noisy it gets when the post carriage heads off.” She closed the door quickly, wincing in sympathy with her sister. Marie was sensitive to loud noises and would often find a megrim coming on if she was exposed to them for long.

Soon Estelle and her sisters were working through the rest of the correspondence, sorting out orders and requests. The expenses were stacked into another pile, arranged by due-dates. It would be a close run thing to keep ahead of them. Estelle chewed on her lips as she mentally totted up the total owed; a truly terrifying sum. She re-sorted the pile by creditors who could be put off and those who could not.

Marie fulfilled several orders and wrapped them safely, ready to send out with the next mail-coach to London.

“So long as the crates of books keep arriving, we will be fine,” Estelle said, more with hope than evidence. “Father’s letter said he was heading to Tours next. I can only imagine what might arrive!”

“I just hope he sends a better letter next time,” Marie said.

A young lady came into the shop, opening the door so carefully the bell didn’t ring. Bernadette put down her stitching and walked over to her. The other three carried on talking as if nothing was happening. This was what they did, they gave Bernadette and her customers privacy.

Louise asked, “Wasn’t our mother’s family from the Loire region? Isn’t Tours close to there? Or am I confusing it with somewhere else?”

“Yes, it was the Loire,” Marie said. “Perhaps he might take a detour in book hunting and look up Mama’s family?”

Estelle shook her head, “He would have to literally fall over them to notice, he’d be so blinded by the vast array of books.”

They shared a giggle at that. Their father had had two great loves in his life, their mother and books. They sometimes suspected he loved books just that little bit more.

“I can’t really blame him for going,” Estelle said. “I’m still a little cross he didn’t take me along. We used to travel all over England on our book hunts.”

Louise shrugged. “He said France wasn’t safe.”

“Yes but Napoleon is in exile, the Terrors are over!” Estelle complained. “I would have been safe by his side. And anyway, our mother was French, Mama taught the language to me as well. I think I could probably even pass as French, if I had to! Certainly better than Father can.”

The others shrugged. Estelle continued. “Anyway, Mother was French, and she was fine.”

“No she wasn’t,” Marie said. “She had to flee France, and almost all of her family are dead. I’d hardly call that safe.”

“I’m glad she did,” Louise added. “If she hadn’t, she would not have met Father and none of us would be here.”

They heard the rear door open and close, as Bernadette quietly took their customer to the courtyard to pick herbs.

Marie said, “Perhaps if he finds one of Mama’s cousins he might gain local knowledge to help him negotiate good prices. I can only imagine how much extra the French are demanding when an English accent does the asking.”

The front doorbell rang and it was a delivery for Louise. She excitedly accepted the small bundle and thanked the man. Then she took herself upstairs to the kitchen. In a short while, acrid smells assailed Estelle and Marie.

Estelle stood up and called out, “Louise! You must shut the door when you make glue, it stinks out the whole shop!”

“Sorry!” Louise called back, “I forgot, and I can’t step away as I have to keep stirring.”

Estelle ran upstairs and opened the window at the landing, hoping the stairs would act a little like a chimney and draw the smells upwards and out of the building.

From there, she spotted Bernadette and the young woman collecting herbs. The young woman looked miserable and was retching. Poor lass.

“Sorry about the smell,” Estelle said, “Louise is making glue again.”

Returning downstairs, Estelle firmly closed the door at the bottom of the stairs and held her nose to cover the smell. It was hideous. The only thing for it was to wedge open the shop door to the high street.

Well, the cat had already escaped, so the damage was done.

It only served to remind Estelle of how cross she was with Felix Yates for pretending they were getting married, and for letting the cat out.

It was a close run thing which of the two topics annoyed her the most.