Page 62 of Surrender Your Grace
“Yes. Although I don’t think ‘better’ is quite right. It shall be some time before I truly feel so. Still—I’ll try.”
“You need a distraction. Maggie has asked to attend the theater—Dion Boucicault’sThe Sleep of Twenty Years,I believe. It’s an adaptation of an American tale calledRip Van Winkle.They say it’s quite amusing. I’ll accompany you both.”
“Is a comedy this soon proper?”
“Full mourning for James is nearly past.Mama won’t be able to attend for some time yet. She’ll have spent three years in widow’s weeds before it ends. A ridiculous ritual, truly.” He eyed Cici more closely. She’d lost weight—most of her day gowns hung loose. “We’ll need to prevail upon the modiste for something suitable. And I’ll be monitoring your meals more closely. You’re far too thin.”
“I’m still too well-rounded to be fashionable. A few inches less would do me no harm.”
“Absolutely not. With Cook’s help, you’ll be every inch the delectable wife I married, and no gown will dare hang slack on you.”
She glanced about. With most of the ton away for the holidays and the park quiet, she relaxed and leaned against him once more. “Do you think I’ll ever grow accustomed to the things you say? Half a year wed, and I still blush every time.”
“I find your blushes quite fetching, sweeting. Why do you think I speak so candidly?”
“Just as I suspected. You really are incorrigible,” she said with a soft laugh.
Her warmth against him, the scent of her hair—it stirred thoughts he hadn’t allowed for weeks. The physician had cleared them, yes, but he’d waited. Her heart had needed healing first.
Now, with laughter returning and color in her cheeks… it might be time.
Chapter 19
The carriage jolted to a halt. Henry, the guard Andrew insisted be at her side whenever she left the house, opened the door and hopped down. That’s as far as he went, his gaze sweeping up and down the narrow side street just off Piccadilly.
“Are you certain this is the place?”
Cici drew back the curtain and peered out the window at the shuttered shops and a scattering of unsavory figures lingering near the shopfronts.Foxlow’s Books & Curiositieslooked anything but inviting. Its crooked, weathered sign listed precariously. The front window was so thick with grime, it might as well have been painted.
“This is the address Hatchard’s provided,” she said as she stepped down, tucking her gloved hands into her muff. “The owner was to set the book aside for me. It’s the only copy.”
Mary climbed down after her, looking ready to bolt. “I don’t like the look of this neighborhood.”
“Nor do I,” Henry muttered. “If His Grace hears you were let out here—”
“Let’s make sure he doesn’t,” Cici replied, moving forward with purpose. “We’ll be in and out in a wink. The book is to be his Christmas gift, so discretion is essential.”
Inside, the bell over the door gave a feeble jangle. The shop was dim, dusty, and far too warm. Books were stacked in leaning towers, jammed into groaning shelves, or piled on rickety tables in no discernible order.
Two men near the back glanced up eyes flaring wide at the sight of a well-dressed lady. A third entered behind them—tall, twitchy, his collar turned up against the cold outside. He carried a cane, though he didn’t appear to need it. When his gaze locked on her, he froze.
Cici’s breath caught. Something about him was familiar, but she couldn’t recall what exactly.
From the back came a voice. “Be with you in a tick!”
As if released from a trance, the fidgety man ducked between the shelves and vanished.
“Mind the floorboards,” the voice added. “Bit of a slope near the poetry.”
Cici blinked. “Charming.”
Henry stood at her elbow, visibly agitated. His hand hovered near his coat pocket—where she was certain a pistol hid. “Let me fetch the book. You should wait in the carriage.”
“Better I stay near you than without you in this neighborhood,” she countered. “Besides, while we’re here, I’d like to look around.”
“Beggin’ your pardon, Your Grace, but this ain’t the kind of place a duchess should be browsing.”
“You’re right, of course,” she conceded, the other patrons’ eyes still upon her, making her uneasy. “Could you see if you can hurry the proprietor along? He was supposed to be expecting me.”
