Page 8 of Estelle’s Ardent Admirer (The Bookshop Belles #1)

CHAPTER 8

Felix Isn’t A Quitter

H aving spent a miserable night in an uncomfortably hard and lumpy bed with a draft blowing on him the whole night, Felix fled The Swan not long after dawn. He made his way back to the Red Lion and was able to obtain a decent breakfast, at least, though the dining room was deplorably packed with other guests. Finishing his eggs, sausage and bread, he paid his shot and debated what to do next. He suspected it was likely to be another fruitless day of looking for the darned cat. First, though, he really should go and get some fresh clothes - he’d only brought one change of linen in his saddlebags, and he would rather like a bath too. The bed at The Swan had been none too clean.

Mind made up, he pushed back from the table and stood up. He’d ride back to Ferndale Hall, bathe and change, pack some more clothes and be back in Hatfield within a few hours to resume searching for Estelle’s cat.

His plans immediately fell to pieces when his grandfather discovered him dressing after completing his ablutions.

“There you are, Felix! I missed you last night at supper. Have you been entertaining yourself in Hatfield?”

Quite the opposite. Hatfield seemed to be entertaining itself at his expense. “Grandpapa, it’s lovely to see you, but I cannot remain. I am on a mission!”

“Excellent!” the old man clapped his hands together with glee. “Has she accepted you?”

“Ah, not yet. You’re getting ahead of yourself. First, I must retrieve a cat.”

Silence hung in the air between them for a while, until his grandfather said, “Not sure I’m familiar with that phrase. Is it the new variation of ‘slaying a dragon’ to win the heart of a fair maiden?”

Felix made a wry chuckle. “It could well be. Their cat, Crafty, accidentally ran out onto the High Street and she got away. Miss Baxter has entrusted me to find her and bring her safely home.”

The old man smirked. “Entrusted, demanded, same difference.”

Felix’s shoulders sagged. “Demanded is perhaps the more accurate description. However, I have omitted pertinent information. I was the one to let the cat out, so I must bring her home.”

His grandfather laughed directly at him, and Felix deserved his derision.

“That seems fair. And I take it you accepted this task after you bought multiple books from the store, discovered how much you have in common with each other, dropped to bended knee and asked her to marry you?”

Felix pressed his lips together in frustration.

His grandfather needled him even more. “You gave up? That’s not the Ferndale way!”

“I did not give up. Rome wasn’t built in a day, and all that. I have not given up. I simply …” he didn’t know what he’d done. He scratched his neck in thought. He still hadn’t bought the books, which was a terrible oversight.

Well, he hadn’t thought it would take so long to find that blasted cat!

Grandpapa said, “You didn’t give up because you have barely started, is that what I’m hearing?”

The old man could be so infuriatingly accurate at times.

“All will be well once I find Crafty’s whereabouts. Then I shall win the heart of the fair maiden.” He made an exaggerated bow to his grandfather.

Instead of seeing a smile on the old man’s face, he saw a frown. “Well? Don’t just stand about pontificating! Pack your things and get to it!”

“That was the plan, Grandfather. If you’ll excuse me.”

“Is that Felix?” a female voice called from outside his door. “Don’t you dare send him off again without a decent meal in his belly, brother! And I want to hear all about how your courtship of Miss Baxter is proceeding!”

“It would proceed a great deal better if I wasn’t being pressed at every turn,” Felix muttered under his breath, but aloud he called back; “Yes, Aunt Florence, I shall certainly stay for dinner!”

It would still be light enough after dinner for him to ride back to Hatfield tonight, he thought. Although… perhaps he should have reserved a room at the Red Lion before he left, it suddenly occurred to him. He shrank from the thought of another night at The Swan.

“I’ll stay the night,” he decided. “Go back in the morning. Take a room at the Red Lion for a few days, until I find the cat.”

“Crafty might have made her way home on her own by then,” his grandfather pointed out.

For a moment, Felix was cheered by the idea, but then his shoulders sank again. Yes, Estelle would have her cat back, but if Felix wasn’t the one to deliver the elusive feline, it wouldn’t make her look any more kindly upon him. He’d have to find some other way to win her favour. Well, he’d buy a trunkload of books, that would surely help?

Felix enjoyed an expansive breakfast the following morning and was packed and ready to head back to Hatfield. Grandpapa walked out to the stables with him. “Now that you’re back, it would be good for you to familiarise yourself with the duties of the barony.

It was as if someone had tipped a bucket of cold water on Felix. “You’re not ill, are you?” he asked in sudden terror.

“What?” his grandfather laughed with shock. “Not in the slightest. But you need to learn about what’s involved. May as well make a start.”

“What aren’t you telling me?” His grandfather had always been old, obviously, but was he looking tired? Felix saw no hints of frailty about him. But perhaps he hadn’t been paying attention?

“I’m fine. But I do need some help. The town council meetings can be a trial, and I feel like I’m being boxed in. I think you should attend with me at the next one, and start taking on some of the duties that will one day be yours.”

It started to make sense to Felix; this must be why the marriage chatter had started up so suddenly. His grandfather must be hiding his poor health. “I would be honoured to assist in any way you see fit,” he said, suddenly feeling the weight of responsibility.

Felix mounted his horse and the groom attached the saddle bag. His grandfather’s request replayed in his head as Hatfield came back into view. He would not let the family down.

That meant he would not let Miss Estelle Baxter down either.

From his position high up on horseback, he had a better view of things, and kept a keen eye out for any black cats with shorter tails and heart-shaped white patches on their chest.

His saddle was making him itchy this morning, and he wriggled uncomfortably, wondering if the groom who cleaned it yesterday had used some new type of leather oil or something. He was used to spending hours and even days in the saddle after spending so much time travelling, but today he could not wait to get down from his horse. What a strange sensation that was. Perhaps he was actually falling for Miss Baxter? Perhaps this unease was the result of forming romantic attachments. How fascinating!

He was glad to dismount at the stables behind the Red Lion, and leave his horse with the grooms to care for. He tried his luck again to see about a room for the night and was delighted that they had one!

“I’ll take it for a week,” he announced, and paid in advance.

It was a top floor room, so he had to climb several flights of stairs, but the thought of not having to return to The Swan any time soon filled him with lightness. This had to be A Good Sign that things were playing out in his favour, especially if he needed to remain in town to keep searching for Crafty.

The close proximity to Baxter’s Fine Books also played its part. The dormer window looked out across the rooftops towards Miss Baxter and her sisters.

He gave the porter a coin for his troubles when the man brought up his bag, and set about washing his hands and face after his ride. A cool breeze flowed through from the two open windows, bringing the smells of the hotel into his room. Hops, roasted vegetables and pastries. There was also something freshly earthy and … yes, the smells of the street included fresh horse droppings. He closed the windows and turned to the bed, thinking he might have a short rest before resuming his search.

Were his eyes playing tricks? There on the dark brown cover was a round black lump. The black lump opened her green eyes and miaowed. Then she stretched her body and made a little squeak of effort.

Felix reached for her. “Crafty?”

The cat made a miaow, as if she recognised her name.

He gave her a scritch under her ears and she leaned into it, purring into the bargain. It certainly had the same tone as the cat from the shop. He rubbed the top of her head and then checked the front of her chest.

His heart leapt into his throat. There was an undeniable white patch right there. Was it shaped like a heart? It was hard to tell with the cat still in her prone position.

He patted her again down the length of her body. She flicked her tail. Was it shorter than usual? That still eluded him. How short was a shorter tail?

His own heart beating faster, Felix lifted her up and examined her by the light of the window. It was indeed a heart shaped patch on her chest.

“Crafty!” he cried out. He hugged the cat close and looked out the window, over the rooftops to the Baxters’ abode.

He couldn’t wait to see the expression on Estelle’s face when he returned triumphant.

Crafty did not appear particularly pleased to be hugged, nor to be carried down the stairs and out of the inn under his arm. He recalled the serving maid who said the landlord was allergic to cats, so made sure to keep the cat well out of Mr Haye’s sight.

“You are a good deal less obliging than your son,” Felix told the cat, unhooking an exceedingly sharp claw from the back of his hand. “Still, your mistress will be pleased to see you, and I am her most devoted servant, though apparently I’m to shed blood for the privilege of serving her.” He managed to get the bookshop door open and step inside with Crafty still secured under his arm, though she twisted about and tried to climb up his lapels, caterwauling loudly.

“Crafty!” Estelle cried out with delight, coming out from behind the counter.

Felix closed the door and leaned back firmly against it before releasing the cat, who left yet one more scratch down his hand before leaping down and streaking away among the bookshelves.

“Please tell me that actually was your cat,” he begged Estelle, “and I did not kidnap yet another unfortunate creature?”

“That was definitely Crafty.” Estelle actually smiled at him! Lord have mercy, she was so pretty when she smiled, Felix wanted to swoon at her feet. He might well swoon from the stinging in his hand where the cat had drawn blood.

“Well done, Mr Yates; where did you find her?”

Her voice was music to his soul. “She was asleep on my bed.”

Estelle blinked and cocked her head at him, obviously bemused.

“I’ve taken a room at the Red Lion,” Felix elaborated. “It was merely a lucky coincidence, I suppose, that Crafty had chosen that particular bed to lie on.”

“Crafty’s not permitted in the Red Lion; cats make Mr Haye sneeze. You’re very fortunate indeed that nobody shooed her out before you could find her, Mr Yates. Unfortunately, since she was out for two nights and I highly doubt she was sleeping in that room this whole time, she has undoubtedly been, ah, visiting with her paramours.”

“Oh.” Felix realised what Estelle was getting at. “Kittens?”

“In about nine weeks. Yes. Kittens.”

“Well.” Felix straightened up and put on what he hoped was his most earnest and trustworthy expression. “I am an honourable man, Miss Baxter; I shall do the right thing by your cat, since I feel responsible for the situation. I shall endeavour to find good homes for her offspring.”

“I appreciate your valour,” she said, still beaming.

Her smile filled him with a warm inner glow. But the stinging sensation burned strongly on his hand where Crafty had ploughed a red line through his skin.

Miss Baxter looked at his injury and said, “It appears you have paid a heavy price. Let’s have a look at that.”

The words, “It is but a scratch,” were on his lips but he shut them hard the moment she took his hand in hers.

The touch of her hands upon his tender skin sent his heart soaring. Her gentle caresses soothing his soul. He decided to say nothing at all lest he break the enchantment.

Miss Baxter tisked and slowly shook her head. “I’ll get some balm so it doesn’t get any worse. Wollstonecraft has cut deeply.”

“Er, Wollstonecraft?”

“Yes.” Miss Baxter looked directly into his eyes - still holding his hands - and blinked long lashes. “It’s her full name, but we only call her that when she’s been naughty. And she’s been incredibly naughty doing this to you.” Then Miss Baxter looked about the shop and caught sight of the creature on the top of a shelf. “It’s straight to bed for you, Wollstonecraft, with no supper. You hear me?”

Heart hammering against his chest, Felix could only stand there and hope no customers would enter the store to interrupt them.

His good luck continued as Miss Baxter called out to Marie to mind the shop so they could move to the kitchen upstairs to tend his wounds. He followed her up the narrow stairs at the back of the shop and into a surprisingly large kitchen area, well-lit by sunlight pouring in through a tall window. After the dimly lamplit shop, he had to blink a few times for his eyes to adjust to the brightness.

“Sit, sit.” Estelle urged him to take a seat at the table, and Felix sat down and let her wash his hand with a clean rag and some water, and then smear some eye-wateringly smelly yellow balm on the scratches.

Her hands were caressing him the whole time, and he nearly stopped breathing.

“Here.” She dispensed a little of the balm into a small vial and stoppered it, handing it to him. “Rub a little of this in twice a day until the scratches are completely healed. Come back and see me again if you begin to feel feverish at all.”

Felix looked at the dresser on the east wall of the kitchen when she put the pot back on a shelf. There were rows and rows of pots and bottles, bundles of dried herbs hanging up, and none of them looked as though they belonged in a kitchen.

“You’re interested in herbs?” he asked curiously as Estelle placed the kettle on the stove.

Estelle paused for a moment, glanced over at him. “Somewhat,” she said, a little evasively. “My mother taught me. It’s Bernadette’s passion really, but we all know the basics.”

“Undoubtedly a very useful skill,” he said honestly, intrigued by yet another facet to her. Miss Baxter was a woman with a great many talents.

“Tea?” Estelle offered.

“I should love a cup of tea. With honey, if you have any.”

“Do you have a sweet tooth, Mr Yates? I did notice that you certainly did justice to the desserts served at Ferndale Hall.”

He admitted that he did. It was lovely to be able to sit and merely watch her as she moved about the kitchen, her hands deft as she took down two cups and a teapot, spooned tea leaves and placed a pot of honey on the table. She also opened a biscuit jar and pushed it in front of him, with an apology that she had no cake to offer.

“But these smell delicious. Caraway seed?” Felix nibbled at the biscuit and found it excellent, spicy, buttery and crumbly. “Did you make them?”

“Not I. Mrs Poole, who is our housekeeper-companion - she lives with us, to give us countenance while Papa is away.” Estelle looked briefly conscious. “I probably shouldn’t be alone with you, actually…”

“We might be forced to marry?” He grinned, to lighten the moment. “I certainly wouldn’t mind.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you are a menace, Mr Yates?” Her words might have been damning, but she delivered them so sweetly his heart swelled. She was smiling too, though, as she used a hook to swing the kettle off the hot stove and pour steaming water into the teapot.

“Oh, frequently,” he said cheerfully. “But my charm wins most people over in the end.”

She actually laughed before taking a seat at the table and reaching for a biscuit herself. They shared a cup of tea and a little inconsequential chatter before Estelle said that she should really be getting back to the shop.

He committed the scene to memory, as he watched her sip tea and nibble on her biscuit. He drank his tea deliberately slowly, to prolong their time together.

Eventually though, he ran out of tea and she did not offer a second cup.

Also, he was trying very hard to sit still, but his seat itched and he had not the faintest idea if it was the result of the chair or himself. Too afraid to look, he did his best to ignore it.

“Thank you, Miss Baxter, for both the sustenance and the medical attention.” Felix rose politely and bowed to her. “And now that I have completed my mission and returned your cat, I can complete my purchase of books. I still need to look for a gift for Grandfather’s birthday next month, too; perhaps you can make some suggestions?”

Estelle looked quite delighted at these remarks, and said that of course she could help him. “I put aside another few books I thought might interest you,” she said as they descended the stairs back into the shop. “You’re under no obligation to take them, of course…”

“One can never have too many books, Miss Baxter. Unless I already own them, I have no doubt I’ll find them of interest.”

Estelle showed him the rather large pile of books on the counter. Felix only saw one he already owned, which he removed regretfully from the stack. “That’s an interesting choice,” he murmured, picking up Shaw’s Travels Into Barbary . “Do you have any other books on Barbary, or Egypt perhaps?”

“A very good copy of Norden’s Egypt and Nubia , two volumes in one. On elephant paper!” Estelle took a ring of keys from her belt and unlocked a bookcase at one side of the counter. “One of the best books we have. It might make a suitable gift for your grandfather, if your budget stretches to it.”

“Dare I even ask how much?” It was a large, stunningly beautiful book, bound in hand-tooled Russia calf leather.

“Thirteen pounds.”

Felix let out a low whistle, but he set the book on the counter and opened it carefully, leafing through a few of the thick pages, admiring the beautifully printed plates. “Worth it, I dare say. This is a rare book, Miss Baxter, and in magnificent condition. I’m a little surprised my grandfather hasn’t already bought it.”

“He doesn’t know about it yet.” Estelle smirked a little. “It arrived in the crate of books my father shipped from France - the books you helped carry in a few days ago. The book I delivered to Lord Ferndale was one he’d been searching for, for a long while. We hadn’t catalogued this one at that point. I was planning to show it to him next time he called into the shop.”

“Well, it won’t be here.” Felix closed the book. “Wrap it well for me, would you? It’ll be a marvellous surprise for his birthday.” And he was making Estelle happy too by spending lots of money on books, he thought as she picked up the book with a wide smile. A winning situation all around.

In fact, now that he was here, he wanted to add more to the account, if it meant more beautiful smiles from Miss Baxter.

He returned to the shelf of travelogues to browse some more, bidding a polite good morning to Miss Bernadette as she entered the shop in company with another woman. Miss Bernadette nodded in return, but made no effort to introduce her companion to him, indeed hurrying the other woman past him to the back of the shop.

“Wait here. I’ll have it for you in a moment,” he heard Bernadette say, before the sound of feet pattered away up the stairs.

The woman stood at the foot of the stairs, head bowed, twisting her hands together anxiously. She looked like a farmwife, not really the sort of person he’d expect to see in a bookshop, and indeed she wasn’t looking at the books at all, Felix couldn’t help but notice.

Bernadette returned down the stairs and pressed a packet into the woman’s hands, saying to her in a low voice, “There are five portions here. Brew a tea and take it morning and night. Now, you’re sure you haven’t quickened?”

“Oh yes, Miss Bernadette. Only missed my courses by a week.” The woman clutched the packet to her. “I can’t have another one. We’ve too many mouths to feed as it is.”

Oh. Those sorts of herbs . Felix turned away discreetly as Bernadette reassured the woman she was doing the right thing and escorted her out of the shop.

“Bernadette!” His sharp ears picked up Estelle hissing at her sister. “You must be more careful!” She was speaking French, he registered in sudden surprise. Felix was fluent in French, having been tutored since he was small in the modern languages by his grandfather. Estelle’s French might be even better than his though, he thought as she went on, rapid and colloquial, her accent perfect. Where did a young woman from Hertfordshire learn to speak French like that?

Curiosity piqued, he made his way back to the counter with two more books in hand. Bernadette fled with only a quick sideways glance at him; he offered what he hoped was a reassuring smile. Bernadette was engaged in women’s business which was absolutely none of his, he judged.

“You speak excellent French,” he noted as Estelle packed up his books, wrapping them carefully in brown paper. “Where did you learn it, and with such a good accent?”

“At my mother’s knee.” Estelle tied a coarse twine around one package, securing it with a firm knot. “She was French, from the Loire Valley. Papa met her there in 1785, before the Revolution began, and they married and came back to England. A good thing too. Her parents were aristocratic. We haven’t heard from any of her family, save for one distant cousin, in a very long time.”

“I’m so sorry. Is your mother still alive?”

Estelle shook her head, sorrow passing across her face. “She passed five years ago.”

“You must miss her very much,” Felix said gently. He felt responsible for the shadow of grief that crossed her pretty face.

“Always.” She mustered a small smile. “What of your parents? I know Lord Ferndale said you are his heir… your father?”

“Passed when I was quite young. My mother still lives; she remarried when I was eleven and lives in Ireland now. Her new husband has an estate near Wexford, in the south.”

The transaction neared completion as he handed the money her way. His hand rested on the books, but he found his feet did not want to remove him from Estelle’s presence.

“Terrible business, what’s happened in France,” he said, starting up a new conversation as an excuse to remain in the shop.

Estelle nodded and said, “It is a little safer now, at least, with the Corsican secured on Elba.”

“You must be terribly worried about your father?”

Estelle let out a sigh. “I daresay we won’t be truly at ease until he is safely home.”

“I did want to head over there to fight,” he said. “But Grandfather vetoed it, on account of me being the sole heir to Ferndale.”

She delivered another smile that made his heart rally and asked, “Do you always do what your grandfather asks of you?”

He read the double meaning in that question and gave a polite laugh. “Most of the time, yes. I am, of course, fully capable of making my own decisions. And mistakes. But he is a sensible man and has an exceptional head on his shoulders.”

This conversation was marvellous and he found himself enjoying Estelle’s company a great deal. They should have more of these, he decided. They would get to know each other as they talked of books and travel and languages.

The bell rang and more customers entered the store.

“Please excuse me, Mr Yates,” Estelle said. “Thank you for your generosity, it is well-timed.”

Ahh, yes. Being a bookshop, there would often be other customers. He couldn’t monopolise Miss Baxter the whole time. “Of course!” he nodded and lifted his hefty collection of books. Then he spoke a little louder for the benefit of the new customers. “Thank you for these marvellous books, which are in excellent condition.”

He left the store - careful to make sure not to let the cat out again - and blinked into the light. The bell tinkled as the door closed behind him. He swiftly walked back to his room at the Red Lion and set the books down on the side table. Momentarily he scratched his arm in thought as he contemplated having a lie down to start reading one of them. The aroma of fresh baked goods wafted in through the window on the warm summer’s breeze. Perhaps he would get some food first, then come back and luxuriate in bookish goodness.

In the public room, there were several people already enjoying a meal. He nodded to the maid that he would like a table. Within a few minutes, he was seated near a window, digging into a satisfying stew with freshly-baked bread and a small pot of dripping on the side. The seat of his pants itched, but he was in a public house and this was not the place to scratch. Perhaps he was allergic to cats, like the hotel landlord? But then, wouldn’t his hand be itching more, if that were the case? He wasn’t sure how allergies worked, as he’d thankfully never experienced that particular affliction yet.

The itching could be ignored, mostly, if he focused on the food. Yes, that would help enormously. And the beer. It tasted better at the Red Lion than The Swan. When the maid came to take his plate, Felix asked about reserving a table for that evening’s meal. He’d had the splendid idea of treating the Baxter sisters and even their housekeeper if she wanted to, to a deliciously filling meal.

“Tonight?” The maid scoffed as she cleared his empty tankard. “The ’ssembly’s tonight. Nobody will be eating down here. Half the town’ll be in ’tendance upstairs. There’ll be food there to eat.”

“Is that this evening?” He must have lost count of the days. Hardly surprising with his focus on Estelle and searching for her cat. “Do I have time to return to Ferndale House so that I may dress for the occasion?”

“I’d not worry about that, sir. You’ll be the best dressed one there as is!”

The whole town, did she say? Felix smiled at the thought that the Baxter sisters would be there. One of them in particular.