Page 36 of My Best Friend’s Earl (Bluestocking Booksellers #2)

Stay the course… or not

Maybe just accept reality?

Ask for help

S omewhere in London, a clock struck two right after Constance opened her eyes.

Sleep had come in fits and starts because her busy mind wouldn’t permit true rest. As she stared into the dark, listening to the rain that never seemed to abate these days, she tried to settle her brain enough to go back to sleep.

When the same distant clock chimed three, she gave up. Hattie didn’t stir as Constance slipped from the bed, but Gingersnap opened one eye, grunted, then tucked his head under a paw.

Slippers protected her feet from the chilly floorboards as she donned her warmest wrapper over Southwyn’s coat—stopping to indulge in another stiff of his heady citrus and sandalwood scent—then fumbled on the bedside table until she found the iron candleholder.

Once in the hall, she lit the candle and crept by her parents’ room, carefully avoiding the squeaky boards on her way to the stairs.

Down in the office of her silent bookshop, Connie stoked the fire, lit a lamp, and put the kettle on.

Everything was still. At this time of day, even the streets of London were fairly quiet.

She sat at the desk and ran a hand over the scarred and stained wood surface.

On the front right-hand corner were initials, carved with a penknife when she’d been about five.

As usual, her sister had hissed at her to stop, that they’d get in trouble, and Connie had done it anyway.

B&CM. Betsy and Constance Martin. Tracing the lines, she smiled.

This desk, this office, this shop. Home. The only place she’d ever felt entirely safe to be herself. Even when she didn’t understand what that was.

She’d always been curious, absorbing knowledge like a sponge from the many books around her. At times, creativity seized her and she easily picked up new skills like knitting, sewing, writing poetry. She’d even made new games to play with her family based on the globe in the map section.

Other times, the number of things to do held her in place, unable to accomplish anything. Not because she didn’t understand the importance of the tasks awaiting her attention, but because she understood all too well how important they were. And somehow that knowledge made it impossible to begin.

In this shop, it didn’t matter if it was a good or bad day. People who loved her accepted whatever she could give that day. In return, she loved them fiercely.

But this desk? This was where her parents forced her to sit and write endless letters and sums. At times, her mum resorted to bribery to get the work done. Now the desk held papers she needed to somehow conquer if she was going to convince her parents that Martin House would be safe in her hands.

And… she didn’t think she could do it. Not alone, anyway.

Admitting that made her chest expand in a deep breath she didn’t realize she needed.

Yes, she could take care of the store and keep the home that meant so much to her, but she needed to convince Hattie and Caro to help.

Caro might not be in a position to work here anymore, but having her as a partner would open possibilities and resources for the store Constance couldn’t provide.

And with Caro willing to contribute, it might help Hattie to feel less trapped, knowing she wouldn’t be abandoning Connie entirely if she needed to run.

Constance had tried to do it herself. Schedules and lists only went so far, though. While she’d made some progress, if she was being honest, the amount of effort it took to make that small dent wasn’t sustainable. Not when it meant pushing equally hard until the day she died.

What a depressing thought.

Pulling the smaller-than-usual stack of paperwork toward her, she examined the top sheet—a reminder to write quarterly payment slips for each of the mail accounts and lending library patrons. She could do that.

But when she put pen to paper, it wasn’t the standard request for payment she wrote.

What I want:

Martin House

A home where I feel safe

Trustworthy friends

Him

The last word’s letters were smaller, and an ink blotch spread from the tail of the m , where her pen had lingered.

What I can have:

Friends

Partnership with cousins=Martin House=safe home

Tears gathered as she stared at that ink blotch. When one fell onto the paper and turned the script into a murky river, it felt oddly fitting.

“Couldn’t you sleep?” Hattie’s voice, drowsy and rough, came from behind her. “Your kettle’s hot. Were you wanting tea?”

Connie swiped at her eyes before her cousin could see the tears. “Yes. Thank you.”

The familiar sounds of tea preparation came from behind her, and Connie knew Hattie would give her a few minutes before she pressed.

True to form, it wasn’t until the cup appeared at her elbow and Hattie sat down that she spoke. “Any particular reason you decided to do paperwork at three in the morning? Usually, if you’re up like this, you’re bustling about. You’re not like that tonight.”

Wordlessly, Connie handed her the list she’d made. A moment later, Hattie murmured, “I see. Can you help me understand what this means, exactly?”

Like a dam breaking, the worries over her parents retiring, losing her home if the store sold, and the things she’d tried in an effort to fix the problems her father foresaw, came pouring out of her.

“I need help. If we band together, I’m sure my parents will let us run the store.

As much as I hate to admit it, I can’t do this alone.

This blasted brain of mine doesn’t work like yours or Caro’s.

She actually enjoys recordkeeping. Which makes me think she’s sick in the head, but that’s another matter entirely.

Please, Hat. We work well together. You’re much more consistent regarding these office things than I am.

If we divide everything up, or if Caro wants to hire a bookkeeper, we could keep Martin House.

When my parents move to Kent, one of us will take their room, and we can grow old together. We’ll make a grand time of it.”

Above the collar of her wrapper, Hattie’s throat worked. Before she could protest, Constance added, “Including Caro means you can leave at any time if you need to. I know you don’t want to feel bound to one place.”

Hattie’s eyes lowered to the cup she held, then the paper. One finger reached out and settled on the list. “What about this?”

Him with the tearful ink spot.

“I think we both know the likelihood of two Martin House girls becoming titled ladies is a bit far-fetched.”

A furrow appeared between Hattie’s eyebrows. “You’re giving up? That’s not like you. You’re one of the most resilient, determined people I know.”

Connie cocked her head. “What?”

“No matter what happens, no matter how hard you struggle with something, you don’t give up. Determination. And eventually, you find a way through. That’s resilience.”

“I suppose I’ve never viewed it that way. I think I tend to see the struggle rather than the perseverance. Thank you for that.”

“You’re welcome. Now, are you going to apply that determination to Southwyn?”

Oh, she wanted to. How Connie wished she could stand and declare, like the hero in a book, that no obstacle was large enough to keep her from what she wanted. Alas, reality and logic pointed toward nothing but failure.

The thought sparked a bitter laugh. Southwyn must be rubbing off on her.

“I want him. I don’t deny that. And after our little interlude the other night, I think we need to have an honest discussion.

The problem is, he’s engaged to Althea. Even if they aren’t happy about it, her mother is planning a grand society wedding.

Unless Althea’s beau finds a way for them to be together, the engagement stands. ”

“Will you call on him this morning?”

Constance nodded. Taking matters into her own hands, marching into Southwyn’s home, and telling him to explain exactly where they stood was the right thing to do. “As soon as it’s a reasonable hour, yes.”

“I’ll look after the shop. You take care of this. Get whatever answers you can.” Hattie squeezed her shoulder, then stood.

“What about the rest of it? Being an official partner in the shop with me?”

At the bottom of the stairs to their flat, Hattie turned. “If Caro agrees, then so do I.”

Connie rose. “And if she doesn’t, and it’s just us?”

Several seconds passed before Hattie sighed. “I won’t be the reason you lose your list, Connie. I suppose I’m willing, no matter what. It will be easier with Caro, though.”

Connie charged across the room and threw her arms around her. “Thank you.” Tears choked her words. “Thank you.”

“I love you. We’ll figure out the details when the sun is up. All right?”

Nodding, she let her cousin go back to bed.

Gingersnap padded down the stairs, pausing for a pet from Hattie on the way.

His inquisitive mew made Connie smile. Like he was asking what he’d missed.

“Are you going to keep me company? These payment requests aren’t going to make themselves, Mr. Gingersnap. ”

When the cat flopped on his side in front of the fireplace and gave her a slow blink, Connie returned to the desk, smiling.

“What the hell. It won’t hurt anything.”

“Nothing except my eyes and your dignity, milord,” came his valet’s reply.

Oliver laughed as he slipped into the ugly orange waistcoat and pocketed the ace of spades out of habit. Something told him that when the day came to leave the card on his dressing table, he’d know. For now, the ace, like the change in waistcoats, was part of the reality he must accept.

The newspapers at the breakfast table were depressing, so Oliver decided that what he needed was a day to play hermit. He’d sit in his most comfortable chair, wearing this godawful waistcoat, and cuddle his cat while reading a good book.

And that’s where Roberts found him, with the unexpected news that Miss Constance Martin had come to call.