Page 14 of Bookshop Cinderella

“A Contribution to the Critique of Political Economy,” she read aloud, and hope of literary excitement fizzled and died. “How...ahem...delightful,” she added, reminding herself that it was the thought that counted.

“It’s one of my favorite political tracts, Evie. It’s brilliant. I know you’ll find it as fascinating as I do.”

“I’m sure I will,” she lied, even as she feared there was no way to avoid reading it without hurting his feelings. “Thank you.”

The door opened, tinkling the bell, and Evie glanced past Rory, to watch a stunning blonde woman in a fashionably tailored blue walking suit come floating into the shop.

“Margery,” she greeted her cousin, suppressing a sigh as her cousin approached the counter. “This is a surprise. What brings you down from Hampstead Heath?”

“Evie, darling, it’s so delightful to see you. It’s been far too long.” Margery squeezed Evie’s hands as she leaned over the counter and planted a perfunctory kiss an inch from each of her cheeks in the French fashion, just as they’d been taught in finishing school. “I hope you’re well?”

“Well enough,” she began, a partial answer that seemed satisfactory to her cousin.

“I’m so happy to hear it.” Letting go of Evie’s hands, she straightened away from the counter. “What have you been up to? You must give me all the details.”

“I’d be happy to, but—”

“Did I tell you Randolph is off at school now? Winchester. I’m so pleased. It’s a very exclusive school, you know. Most boys who apply don’t get in. But of course, Randolph is so keen, so intelligent, we never doubted.”

“Of course you didn’t.”

Margery, thankfully, didn’t notice the dry note of her voice. “But the twins are at home still,” she chirped on happily. “They wanted to go with their brother, naturally, but they are much too young yet. Though they are very advanced for their age. Why, they’re learning Latin already. Oh, and Susan is learning French! Can you believe it? She’s such a clever little thing—she’ll attend Chaltonbury, of course, just as we did. And enjoy it just as much.”

“No doubt,” Evie murmured.

“We did have fun, didn’t we?” Margery went on, taking no notice of Rory’s presence. “Remember the dances by the river?”

You mean the ones where no one wanted to dance with me?The words hovered on the tip of her tongue, but Rory’s presence kept her silent. With a handsome young man in the room, what self-respecting girl wanted to admit to being a wallflower?

“The setting sun on the water,” Margery went on, her voice dreamy, “the paper lanterns strung over the dance floor, the refreshment tables laden with fruit and cheese. And the boys coming over from Eton, looking so grand and yet so awkward in their white tie and tails.” She gave a wistful sigh. “Oh, those were such halcyon days.”

“Oh, yes,” Evie agreed, her hands curling into fists behind the counter. “Halcyon.”

“Susan’s dance card will be full for every one of those cotillions when her time comes, I’m sure.”

“Of course.” Her hands were aching now, and she forced herself to unclench them, reminding herself she was past all that. The wellborn girls looking down their noses at her inferior pedigree, the relentless teasing about her unimpressive bosom and her abysmal French accent, the dismay on the faces of the Eton boys who’d had to be forced by well-meaning matrons and tutors to partner with her—none of it mattered now. She was just tired and out of sorts, her spirits low, making her cousin’s glowing descriptions of their life at Chaltonbury seem particularly trying today.

Rory gave a cough, and she seized on his presence like a lifeline. “Margery, you remember Rory, of course?”

Her cousin turned, her big blue eyes narrowing as she gave Rory the same sort of look a conscientious housekeeper might give a scurrying black beetle. “Oh, yes,” she said in a voice reeking of disapproval. “The confectioner’s boy.”

Her opinion was plain, not only to Evie, but also to Rory, who muttered at once that he really must be off. Tipping his bowler hat, he beat a hasty retreat.

Evie sighed as she watched him go, her spirits sinking even further at what she could not help but feel was a craven defection.

“Oh, Evie,” Margery wailed as the door closed behind him, “why is that awful young man hanging about?”

“You only think he’s awful because you don’t approve of his station in life.”

“And what station is that, pray?”

She thought of Margery’s prosperous banker husband and titled stepfather, and she decided not to mention Rory’s political ambition to bring down the bankers and the aristocrats. “The same station we came from, Cousin,” she said instead.

Margery sniffed at this reminder of their middle-class roots. “Mama elevated me above that when she married Harold.”

“How fortunate for you.”

The sarcasm behind that lightly uttered remark penetrated Margery’s armor. “And for you,” she said with asperity. “My stepfather paid for both of us to attend one of the finest finishing schools in England. It was a great gift. Had you taken advantage of the opportunity, as I did, you could have become acquainted with a much higher social sphere and found someone desirable to marry, but instead you chose—”

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