Page 2 of Falling for a Forsaken Marquess
“I have white as well, but I think a good mix of the three colours will look cheerful against the yellow.”
William shrugged. “You are the expert, Mr Higgins. Do as you see fit.”
“My brother is the expert,” said the bookstore owner with a grin. “He is the one with the florist shop on High Street. I’m just a humble bookseller tucked away on Henrietta Street.”
“Do not be so modest, my good sir,” William argued. “I warrant your knowledge about flowers is just as vast as that of your brother.” William glanced at his watch again, grimacing. “I really must go, but if you could have the gift delivered before this evening, I’ll be much obliged.”
“Certainly, My Lord,” said Mr Higgins with a bow.
William thanked the man and left the store in a hurry. He had promised to meet Martin outside the club before the meeting started to discuss an important matter on the man’s mind, but William was already ten minutes late.
Martin should have picked a better time, preferably not the day of their meeting or at least after the meeting, but the note had been adamant about it being ahead of the club gathering. Tipping his hat at three women passing by William smiled at their giggles and pulled himself onto his horse.
He had neglected to take the phaeton as he preferred the freedom of movement upon a horse rather than having to ride around in a contraption that would just take up room on Cheltenham’s narrower streets. Besides, Stills Lane wasn’t too far from Henrietta Street, and William could reach it in under ten minutes, but given that he was already late, he could only meet his friend nearly twenty minutes later than the agreed-upon time.
Sighing, William urged his horse into a medium-paced trot and hoped his friend wouldn’t be too vexed with him. Martin was a stickler for punctuality and could have his whole routine thrown off course by a few minutes, resulting in a wasted day. William often tried to help the man practice flexibility, but his father— a high-ranking general in the English army— had instilled certain beliefs that were too ingrained to replace.
“Good day, Lord Hampton,” greeted a man leaving a hat shop. “Buying another book? Some might accuse you of being bookish, you know.”
“Good day, Mr Flint,” William returned. “One must exercise their mind to keep it sharp and aware of the world around them. Surely that cannot be seen as bookish?”
“That depends on who is judging the matter. I’m not one for reading, although I enjoy hearing others read. Mrs Flint has a particularly soothing voice that puts me to sleep within minutes.”
The solicitor never missed an opportunity to talk about his wife, a woman twenty years his junior. Despite the age gap, the pair were smitten with each other.
“How is Mrs Flint?” William asked. “I hope she is well.”
“She is much better now that the physician has prescribed bed rest for her delicate condition. She wasn’t too happy about it, but she understands her health is far more important to me than running the household. Her mother has come to help.”
The man said the last part with a look of pain and resignation to some challenging times ahead. His mother-in-law, who was but two years older than him, was a meddlesome woman who had poked her nose in their affairs one too many times.
“I’m afraid I cannot stay too long to chat, Mr Flint,” said William. “Please pass my regards to your wife and mother-in-law. Will I be seeing you this week for dinner?”
The man nodded. “Yes, My Lord, but I might come alone if you do not mind. I’ll bring the legal paperwork on the property your father enquired about.”
After a few more exchanged words, the men parted ways, with the solicitor entering a sweet shop soon after, undoubtedly to appease his wife’s sweet tooth. The charming front window of the store featured boiled sweets, fruity confectioneries, and a few exotic concoctions that William wasn’t brave enough to try. The owner loved the weird and wonderful, often drawing his inspiration from countries like India and China.
He had once offered a taste test of green tea ice for passersby, but it hadn’t been such a success. That hadn’t deterred the man from going above and beyond the usual flavour profiles of sweet treats, even calling himself an inventor born before his time.
William briefly considered getting some chocolate squares for his father, which would only waste further time. Breaking into a comfortable gallop, he arrived at Stills Lane and slowed his horse to allow a carriage to pass him, frowning as the gentleman didn’t bother thanking him.
The man appeared to be muttering angrily as he cracked a whip over his horse. Narrowing his eyes, William stared at the man’s retreating figure, recognising him as Thomas Milton, a man destined to end up like Beau Brummell if he didn’t curb his spending habits.
“There you are!” he heard a familiar voice say. “Is this an appropriate time to get here? The meeting is about to start, and I haven’t had the opportunity to tell you anything yet!”
William winced as he turned to his friend, nudging his horse away from a tuft of grass growing between stones. Martin was marching down the street towards him, his cheeks pink with either irritation or exertion.
“My apologies,” William called out, moving his horse forward. “I was thoroughly engrossed in another matter.”
“What matter would that be?” Martin asked, still approaching William and gesturing with his hand to climb off his horse.
“Well ...” William trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck.
Somehow, being in a bookshop and talking to the family solicitor didn’t seem like a good enough excuse. Throwing his leg over and jumping down to land neatly on both feet, William wrapped his horse’s reins around his hand and led him forward as he tested his words.
“We have just over five minutes left before Kinsey calls us in for the meeting,” said Martin. “I should say nothing and let you walk into your fate.”
“What fate would that be?” William asked, his interest piqued.
