Page 69 of Till Death Us Do Part: Book 2
“That would defeat the purpose,” she laughed, “but I never force my wise counsel on anyone who does not want it. If you insist, you can buy every book in the shop.”
Then she grabbed the child from the cart. “Come along, Miriam. Let us see what Cook is up to. If a customer comes in, Mr Darcy, either yell at me or sell him something.”
With that, she picked up Miriam and walked away without looking back, while Darcy sat scratching his head in befuddlement. Eventually, he gave up and sat in the admittedly comfortable chair and perused her selections. The cart held at least twenty books on several subjects. A quick glance suggested he was likely to enjoy about half, and half were completely unfamiliar.
He sat in the same chair for four hours, as customers came and went. Contrary to Mrs Thorne’s instructions, he never had to sell anything, though he might have been willing to try if it came down to it. The owner returned whenever anyone entered. He wondered how she knew but assumed she had some system. A bell on the doors was commonplace, but she did not have one. Eventually, he just decided she probably had another desk where she could do her work and observe the shop at the same time.
The next month became terribly busy, between intense study of a few businesses he was considering, and attending entertainments among the local gentry. Most of his new acquaintances knew about the bookshop, but not much about the owner, save that she was a widow and not to be trifled with intellectually. She was regarded as honest to a fault. She was perfectly willing to tell any person of any status when she thought they were wrong and why, but also more than willing to admit that she did not know, or change her mind based on new information and reasoned arguments. On some subjects she would even say she did not know and did not want to, while recommending some other shop.
Her choices for his five books had been quite good, and he ended up reading most of them at least twice, thus proving the efficacy of her system.
On the Saturday when he planned to visit her shop, he stopped at the same coffee house. He had no idea whether he just liked their coffee (which was excellent), or he was being superstitious and considering that part of his Thorne Books ritual. He was trying to work it out when the talisman theory got a boost from the entrance of Mrs Thorne.
Darcy stood, left his hat on the chair, and approached her with a bow. “Good morning, Mrs Thorne.”
She looked him up and down, paused just a moment as if trying to judge if he had recovered from his madness, then curtseyed. “Good morning, Mr Darcy. I see you found the best coffee in Old Town.”
Feeling bold, Darcy smiled. “And perhaps the best company?”
“Miriam is back at the shop,” she laughed, then took pity on him, “but, if that was an invitation, I will accept.”
With a smile, he led her over to the table and pushed her chair in for her. It was obviously unnecessary, but the courtesies never hurt.
They had barely sat down when a waiter delivered two bowls of soup, a basket of bread, and a tub of butter.
Darcy looked confused, so Amanda said with a laugh, “It is not magic. I come here for my midday meal most days. Aiden knows what I like and assumes anyone eating with me will have enough sense to like the same thing.”
“Am I to understand that you are in charge of my readingandmy eating now?”
She laughed along with him, then just took her spoon and tucked in, so Darcy joined her. He had to admit it was excellent.
About halfway through the meal, she asked, “When you have formal dinners in your probably very grand dining room, do you ask your diners what they want?”
He chuckled. “In that analogy, you are the mistress and I the guest?”
“Not really. More like the housekeeper, I suppose. You are the guest in this neighbourhood, and I am the one who knows what is available. In the extremely unlikely scenario that we find ourselves eating in—what was that village again? Lambton—then I would take your advice.”
The teasing tone of the rejoinder made him laugh with her. A few more minutes passed with both eating their meals, and he asked curiously, “Pray let me know if I pry too much.”
“You can be assured that I shall without qualms.”
“You mentioned England in passing, and your accent places you as originating in the south. Do I miss the mark?”
“Ah, so you want gossip, is it?”
Darcy looked embarrassed, so she said, “I am only teasing. You state the obvious. Any Englishman could make the same conclusion. I imagine you would have been shocked to find me named O’Flannery or MacGowan?”
“That might have been unexpected,” he chuckled.
“I am from England. I left after my marriage ended.”
“Do you ever go back?”
“No, I have a buyer who is half bloodhound. We move a lot more books than you might think for our little shop. Much of what we buy never even makes it here. Quite a lot of my custom is done via the post. My buyer is particularly good at working out who among the gentry has a good library, is likely to die soon, and has relatives who are likely to need or want money more than books. It sounds a bit mercenary, but we always pay fair value. I really have no need to return.”
Darcy nodded, and they finished their soup with more common conversation. He found he liked Mrs Thorne quite a lot and was happy for the acquaintance. When they finished, they went to the shop and he asked the proprietress to repeat the earlier experience, with the same success.
A month later, Darcy felt a tugging on his trousers and looked down to see Miss Miriam staring at him pensively. Having worked out an adequate system, he simply picked the child up, placed her on his lap next to the book, and gave her his pocket watch. He judged that would give him twenty minutes of peace before he might have to entertain her, which was just enough time to choose between the last two books he had examined.
