Page 1 of Falling for a Forsaken Marquess
Chapter 1
The scene outside Nook & Brand Bookstore was reasonably quiet except for a carriage or two rambling past the buildings, but it suited William well. After this morning’s argument with his stubborn mother, he needed peace and quiet. The duchess kept insisting on marriage, but William wasn’t ready and doubted he would ever warm to the idea of tying himself to a woman.
One heartbreak had been enough to warn him away from matrimony and love, giving him the much-needed lesson that offering up one’s heart to a woman was foolish and irresponsible. Looking back on his relationship, William had not noticed the glaringly obvious signs of Charlotte’s treachery until it was too late and she had run off with his brother.
The open flirting, repeatedly finding them close to each other, and even their uncanny ability to always be in the same place as the other person had passed right over his head. It had simply never occurred to William that his own flesh and blood would betray him with the woman he had loved to the point of distraction, providing him with first-hand experience of the saying, “the blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb.”
Flicking through the book he held, William’s mind made no sense of the written words as his memories continued to taunt him. Charlotte had abhorred reading, believing it to be a mundane activity. The fair-haired beauty had certainly not been the brightest of women, but William had loved her vivacious nature and her ability to laugh off anything.
Perhaps the latter character trait might have grated on his nerves in time to come, especially when tackling challenging situations. Still, William had only looked favourably upon the quality in his blind love for Charlotte. Had they still been together today, she would have flocked to wherever the action was, leaving him to his book browsing.
Charlotte’s choice of place would have been High Street, where all the luxury shops were, or taking the waters at one of Cheltenham’s spa wells while sharing gossip with friends. William had thought to visit Pittville Pump Room today until his mother mentioned her intention to meet a friend there who wished to take the waters for her persistent stomach problems.
Lady Dalton had been taking the supposedly curative waters for several months without relief in sight but still held hope her health would return. Her stomach issues were likely caused by her lifestyle, but people were more inclined to look for other reasons than what they were doing to their bodies.
Everything taken in excess was certain to bring discomfort or illness, of which William knew well. At thirty-one, he was in a healthier condition than most of the men around his age as he had stopped taking in too much alcohol and food several years ago, especially at social events where these items flowed freely.
Waking up ill after a night at a ball or dinner party had eventually become monotonously annoying, so taking care of his habits had been an obvious course to embark upon.
“I have found the biography, My Lord,” the bookstore owner interrupted, handing a book to him. “I wasn’t sure I had it until I looked in the back.”
William took the book, running his hand over the front where the title was slightly grooved into the hardcover.The Life of Samuel Johnsonwas one of his favourite biographies and arguably one of the best to be found.
“Thank you, Mr Higgins,” he replied. “I had hoped you would have this book. I lent mine to a relative some months ago and haven’t seen hide nor hair of it since then.”
“It seems to have had a revival again,” said Mr Higgins. “I’ve had a few people request this book in the last month, hence my depleted stock.”
“Lord Figglesworth is to blame. He raved about the book to an audience of avid readers and mentioned King George III had even read it, but I doubt he has the proof to support his claim. Fortunately for him, no one questioned his words.”
Mr Higgins smiled. “I’m not complaining at all, but I would have appreciated a warning of some kind. I had to dig through dusty boxes to find the books and ended up with filthy attire and hair. I think I removed a cobweb or two from these grey locks when I eventually closed up for the day and headed home.”
Mr Higgins kept his silvery hair long, often leaving strands across his shoulders and counters. His sideburns were kept neatly clipped, but his eyebrows— still mostly black— were a nature unto themselves.
Wisps of hair grew every which way, crossing each other in some places and even reaching down to shade his deep-set eyes. William had often wished to take a pair of scissors and trim them a bit, but perhaps that would remove the bookstore owner’s eccentric charm.
“Would you please add this to my account?” William asked, briefly glancing at his pocket watch. “I see a few more books I might buy, but I’ll give them a better look-through another day. I have an appointment to fulfil soon.”
Martin, his best friend, had sent a note just before William left the house about attending their society’s weekly meetings. William regretted the day he ever joined an archery society as it had become something akin to being employed without pay. There were always things to do on behalf of the club or rules to be followed that left one stifled. He would leave the Bow & Quiver Society if not for Martin’s great grandfather being a founding member.
“Would you like me to send the book to your abode?” Mr Higgins asked. “I’m sure you would not wish to carry this book around wherever you go.”
“That is an excellent idea,” William agreed. “Please add whatever book is currently popular with the ladies and have it gift-wrapped for my mother.”
The book might soften his mother to forget about her favourite topic and give him a much-deserved break this evening.
“Certainly, Lord Hampton,” the bookstore owner assured. “Is there anything else you would like?”
“Not at this present moment, but I may return before the end of the week to look at a few other books. You seem to have new stock in.”
“Mainly French authors at the moment, but I have a few Scottish and English writers as well,” the older man replied. “The ton has a taste for all things French; thus, I thought it best to increase my range.”
“My mother certainly has an affinity for the French and is glad England is no longer at war with them,” William said in agreement. “Perhaps select two books— one English and the other French. Wrap them together with a yellow bow and include a bouquet of flowers.”
The bookstore owner didn’t bat an eyelid at the request. He was accustomed to arranging special requests ranging from gift-wrapping to hiring actors to perform a favourite part of a story or play for some customers. Calling Mr Higgins a bookstore owner didn’t do the man any justice, but he was content with his title.
“I still have some Sea Thrift growing in my garden,” the man said. “Would you like me to arrange those into a bouquet? I recall your mother was charmed by them when she came across them in the large vase I keep at the front of the shop.”
“Will the pink and lavender colours not clash with the yellow?” asked William.
