Page 1 of Marie’s Merry Gentleman (The Bookshop Belles #2)

August, 1814

“ C umbria. What an absolutely ridiculous idea!”

Marie Baxter, the second eldest and definitely the most sensitive of the four Baxter daughters of Baxter’s Bookshop in Hatfield, Hertfordshire, looked at the correspondence in her hand and sighed with frustration.

The composer of the correspondence may well be an Earl, but there was simply no way she was about to travel all the way to Cumbria and deliver two books. No matter how valuable they were. She lifted her pen and wrote a note of response, the nib digging into the paper with her frustration.

“I have neither the time, nor the inclination to subject myself to the interior of a mail coach with all and sundry for the best part of a fortnight to deliver two books. There are people I trust in Hatfield who could easily do this task, whilst I remain at the bookshop and keep an eye out for more of the titles on your list.

Yours etc, M. Baxter.”

Why would this man not entrust a messenger to carry the books? His entitlement knew no bounds! She sanded the letter, then folded it and headed straight to the Red Lion next door to get it on the next postal carriage taking the Great North Road. The late afternoon had turned cool and she wrapped her shawl around her shoulders and ears to keep warm.

The door bell tinkled as she re-entered the shop. Crafty the cat did not bolt for the door as she expected. Now that she thought about it, she hadn’t seen the rotund black cat for a little while now. She’d either escaped when nobody was paying attention, or she’d found somewhere to make a nest for her soon-to-be-born kittens.

September 1814

The next letter from the earl was no better.

“I trust nobody to deliver these titles other than your good self. Third parties are worse than useless, they are careless. The books may arrive, but in what condition? Only someone with your breadth of knowledge and experience would understand not merely their monetary value, but their symbolic and deeply intrinsic value to the world of literature. That is why you and you alone must deliver the books to me. You will be compensated accordingly for your time and trouble. They would be here already and you would be well on your return journey if you’d done as I originally requested.”

Marie rolled her eyes. They weren’t requests, they were demands, and they were growing more demanding.

“We would have successfully concluded our business by now. No more delays. Bring me my books.

Renwick.”

She showed the letter to her sister Louise, who was stretching out her back after stirring a fresh vat of stinky glue. The cooler autumn wind howled through the windows and nipped at their necks, but open windows were the only way to draw the stink out.

Crafty’s little kittens scarpered through the bookshop like fluffy black voids. When two of them rolled about and played together, it was impossible to see where one kitten began and another ended.

“They are so adorable,” Louise said, laughing as one of the kittens pounced on a trailing boot lace.

“That they are, and we shall need to find homes for them very soon.”

“Why can’t we just keep one of them, to give Crafty company?”

“Because if we kept a boy, he’d grow up and spray his scent on the books. And if we kept a girl, she’d probably be just as bad as her mother. Then we’d no doubt have two batches of kittens to find homes for at some point,” Marie said practically. Someone had to be practical.

“Then I shall enjoy them while they are small and adorable,” Louise said, scooping up a passing kitten and smushing its soft little body against her face. “You’d better write back to the Earl of Demanding and tell him where to shove his demands.”

“I need to be nicer than that! He sends another letter every time we put an advertisement in The Times , requesting we add more books to the order. It’s almost a hundred pounds’ worth by now.”

Louise whistled between her teeth in an unladylike manner. “Perhaps you should go. Estelle definitely would have.”

That truthful observation caused Marie a pang. She had faithfully promised their eldest sister that they were perfectly capable of running the bookshop in Estelle’s absence.

The four Baxter sisters had already been running the bookshop in their father’s absence. Then Estelle had married her dear Mr Yates and was currently in Ireland visiting his mother.

Louise was right: Estelle would have long since set off for Cumbria, viewing the trip as an adventure. Marie, however, considered it a nightmare. She had never been further away from Hatfield than London, and on that trip had despised both the journey and the city. The noise of the city drilled into her head, giving her the worst megrims. The very last thing she wanted to do was spend a week or more each way in a crowded, stuffy coach being jolted through every rut from here to very nearly Scotland!

Marie came up with an excellent rebuttal: “Estelle would have taken the books, come back, and then been immediately confronted with an order for more books,” she pointed out.

Louise nodded. “Fair point. Well, you’ll have to find some way to convince him, Marie. A hundred pounds is not to be sneezed at!” She kissed the kitten one more time, making it squeak in protest, before setting it down and making her way back upstairs again.

Marie penned her reply and was as polite as possible, which included the final paragraph;

“We are short staffed at the moment and I cannot leave the responsibility of the bookshop. Please reconsider your preferred delivery method.

Yours, M Baxter.”

October 1814

“Where are you, and where are my books? I need them here by Christmas!”

This last missive from The Earl of Demanding really irked Marie. They were coping well enough without their father and Estelle, but their workload had increased of late. They were lucky to have some extra help with young Ruth Millings and their cousin Brutus Baxter assisting in the store. Brutus also didn’t mind the glue stink and seemed genuinely excited to be learning the craft of repairing and binding books, proving a competent and enthusiastic apprentice to Louise. They were able to increase the number of titles they could repair and bind in any given week, which was a welcome boost to the bookstore’s income.

To their delight, two crates of books had arrived in quick succession, and the titles had proved incredibly popular. Selling them was easy, and helped them build funds towards paying off their father’s enormous bank loan.

Even more delightful than the books was finding a short note from Papa, which was an incredible relief. It was undated, however, which proved an irritation. Louise cleverly spotted the clue about the date in Papa’s hastily scribbled note.

Am in Tours again. Heavy autumn rains roads north miserable at best.

“Aha! The last note said he’d arrived in Tours,” Lousie said. “That one did have a date on it. So this one says he’s in Tours again , therefore, this note was written after the previous one.” It almost had to be, since that note had arrived almost three months previously, but it was good to have confirmation.

“You’re a genius!” Bernadette said.

“I have my moments.” Louise grinned at solving the puzzle.

Marie chuckled and said, “He’s obviously having far too much fun.” It was a relief that Louise had worked it out so quickly. They were a good team.

But if Marie left Hatfield to travel, the previous work of four sisters would land on only two sets of shoulders while she was away. She was the eldest sister left at home

She couldn’t go. She absolutely couldn’t.

Not even with two additional books the Earl had requested, bringing his total order to a hundred and ten pounds.

It was entirely out of the question.