Brynthwaite Summer_A Silver Foxes of Westminster Novella Page 5

  She moved even closer to him. “The world is changing every day, Andrew. I want to be at the front of the change. I believe that the two of us are meant for each other, and that we can show the world that it’s what’s on the inside that matters, it’s love that matters, not appearance or race.”

  “I want you to be right,” he said, touching her hand where it rested in the grass.

  “Let me prove it to you,” she said, mischief twinkling in her eyes.

  “I thought proving your point was the purpose of this picnic,” he said.

  “It is,” she agreed, straightening to look around at the number of people watching them. “But….”

  Instead of finishing with words, she leaned into him, closing her mouth over his. Her kiss was like an electric current passing through him, filling him with joy and desire, fear and worry. She tasted sweet in spite of their savory meal. Her lips were soft against his and full of promise. He instantly saw himself taking her to bed, spending hours instead of mere seconds exploring her and giving her all the pleasure he could manage to give. He imagined a lifetime with her, children and grandchildren, growing old and being happy.

  “Good gracious!” The outraged shout from the edge of the square pulled him out of his fantasy and back to reality. The town gossips looked ready to go into fits. Other observers looked as though they might call the police.

  Aggie pulled back from him with a broad smile and a devilish giggle. “See?” she said, blushing with excitement. “There was nothing wrong with that. Nothing at all.”

  “Aggie,” Andrew whispered, darting anxious glances at their disapproving audience. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

  “Didn’t you like it?” she asked, batting her lashes coyly.

  She was going to be the death of him, in more ways than one. “I loved it,” he whispered. “But discretion is the better part of valor.”

  “And love is the soul of the universe.” She leaned toward him as though she would kiss him again.

  As desperately as Andrew wanted to take her into his arms, he held her off. “Not here,” he whispered. “Not now.”

  “Later then?” she whispered back, reckless, bold, wild, adorable, and as subtle as a hurricane.

  “I’ll kiss you as much as you like,” he said, not so much as a promise, but as an admission that he wouldn’t be able to stop himself. “When we’re alone.”

  “I’ll hold you to that,” she said, giggling once more. She straightened, picking up the last of her meat pie. “I can’t wait.”

  If he were honest, he couldn’t either. But the circle of disapproval that surrounded them in the form of the shocked residents of Brynthwaite told him they were going to have to brave a storm before they could find safety on the other side.

  Chapter 5

  Aggie’s heart thumped excitedly in her chest as she stood behind the counter of her father’s shop the next morning.

  “You’ve swept all the aisles and straightened the shelves?” her father asked from the other side of the counter, hands clasped behind his back, standing straight.

  “Yes, Papa. The shop is clean as a whistle,” Aggie replied.

  “You’ve checked the morning inventory lists?” her father asked.

  “Twice,” Aggie said with a smile.

  Her father beamed with pride, rocking on his heels in a rare expression of enthusiasm. “Lloyd Garrett’s special order is waiting in the back room, ready to go,” he said.

  “And Mrs. Hamilton’s order of India cotton is sitting right next to it,” Aggie finished for him. “I’m prepared for everything, Papa.” She was more than prepared. Aggie felt as though she’d been waiting her entire life for that moment.

  Her father smiled at her with approval and handed the ring of shop keys to her. “The shop is yours, my dear. I entrust it to you with full confidence.”

  As much as she felt she should have been sober and serious about it, Aggie couldn’t help but grin from ear to ear as she took the keys. “Thank you, Papa.”

  She walked around the counter and headed to the door. Her father followed, and with a tremor of pride and excitement in her gut, Aggie turned the sign on the grocery’s front door from “Closed” to “Open”. She unlocked the door, then held it open for her father. He walked through, then took a deep, satisfying breath.

  “This is an important day,” he said. “You’re not a little girl anymore, you’re a grown woman.” He blinked rapidly, his eyes going glassy, which caused a lump to form in Aggie’s throat. “I have complete faith in you, my dear,” he went on, his voice rough. “I’ve no doubt that you’ll step into my shoes where the shop is concerned, and in no time, you’ll be one of the most important ladies in this town.”

  “I hope to be one of the most important people in town, Papa,” Aggie replied, her heart swelling with mischief.

  Her father chuckled. “No doubt you will be.” He cleared his throat and resumed an authoritative air. “Now, I’m headed to the town hall to discuss my candidacy for mayor. I’ll be back later to check on your progress, though I’m certain you’ll do excellently all on your own.”

  “I’m ready for this,” Aggie said, agreeing with him.

  Her father gazed at her with joy and pride for a moment before letting out a satisfied breath, then turning to stroll down the street toward the town hall, a decided spring in his step.

  Aggie watched him go with a strange feeling of satisfaction. She’d never felt as close to him as she did right then. He’d been a stern father, the kind that gave her attention while keeping her at arm’s length. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d embraced him or kissed his cheek, like she saw some daughters do with their fathers. His smile of approval was almost as good as a hug, though. She was determined to take the newfound closeness between them and make him feel as though he’d made the right decision in leaving her in charge of the shop.

  With a happy sigh, she pivoted to glance down the street. Brynthwaite was bustling in the morning. The summer heat had been far more intense than usual of late, which meant people were out and about, doing their errands before the sun reached its zenith. And with the summer festival and its myriad contests coming up in just a few days’ time, she fully expected the shop to be packed with customers purchasing supplies for everything from crocheted doilies to strawberry tarts. In fact, she was surprised there wasn’t a queue of people waiting to dive into the shop as soon as it opened.

  She turned and marched inside, taking up her place behind the counter. It was going to be a busy day, she was sure. She probably wouldn’t be able to take a breath between customers. Paul, the young man who helped out in the afternoons, would be along eventually, but for the moment, all responsibility fell on her shoulders.

  Andrew would be so proud of the responsibility her father had given her. Just the thought of him widened her smile and softened her shoulders. Their picnic the day before had been marvelous. Andrew had looked so handsome in his fine suit, his collar so white against his skin. His smile as she’d shared her hopes for their future still gave her shivers. And his kiss had been the perfect cap to a beautiful afternoon.

  She touched her fingers to her lips, still feeling the tingle of warmth their kiss had given her. A giggle bubbled up from her chest. She had been shockingly bold to kiss him the way she had, but it had been worth it. She’d seen the flash of longing in his eyes, felt the enthusiasm in the way his lips met hers. All she’d been able to think about since the picnic—besides running the shop—was when she could kiss him again, when she could feel his arms around her. The sooner their life together could start, the better. And best of all, she was certain beyond a shadow of a doubt that the two of them could be together. Everything that had happened between them yesterday proved it.

  She sighed, shaking herself out of her daydreams. There was work to be done. She couldn’t go off with the fairies when the store was open and customers were…well, not exactly flooding in. Not yet, at least.

  The shop was oddly s
ilent without patrons filling it. Aggie relaxed her formal posture and tapped her foot impatiently. She checked the watch pinned to her bodice. The shop had been opened for fifteen entire minutes. It came as a complete surprise. Normally, at least two or three people would be shopping so long after the door was unlocked. At the very least, Mrs. Hamilton should have come in to pick up her order.

  Aggie bit her lip and walked out from behind the counter. She strode up and down the aisle, checking to see if anyone had come in while she was daydreaming about Andrew. But the exercise was ridiculous. The shelves were low enough that she would have been able to see anyone in the place. The shop was thoroughly empty.

  Her mind began to race. Perhaps potential patrons thought they weren’t truly open, since her father wasn’t there. She marched to the front of the store and opened the door to make it more obvious and to let a breeze in. Her mind started to race. Her father sometimes left the opening of the shop to Paul and customers still knew it was open. They couldn’t possibly be keeping away because she was a woman, could they?

  Throwing caution to the wind, Aggie stepped outside, standing just on the other side of the door. She put on an inviting smile and scanned the street to see who was out and about.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Lovejoy,” she greeted the cobbler’s wife as she walked past, a basket on her arm. “How are you this fine day?”

  Mrs. Lovejoy glanced to Aggie with wide eyes, as though the friendly greeting had been a string of insults. She huffed, tilted her head up, and walked on, leaving Aggie frowning and confused. But only for a moment. Aggie assumed the woman was simply in a bad mood about something.

  “It’s a fine day, isn’t it, Mr. Matthews,” Aggie greeted the banker as he strode past, presumably on his way to work.

  Mr. Matthews took one look at her and muttered something under his breath before rushing on.

  Aggie dropped her shoulders, staring after the man in confusion. What had gotten into the people of Brynthwaite? Perhaps it was the heat. Heat made everyone touchy.

  “How are you today, Mrs. Morrison,” she tried again as the fisherman’s wife walked past, her new baby in her arms. “And how is Lionel today?”

  Aggie stepped forward to get a look at the baby, but Mrs. Morrison yanked him away from her. “I don’t want the likes of you soiling him,” she said, then marched on with a quickened pace.

  “I beg your pardon?” Aggie snapped, her eyes going wide. A moment later, Mrs. Marks, the postman’s wife, walked by. “Did you see that, Mrs. Marks? Is something wrong with Mrs. Morrison this morning?”

  Mrs. Marks made an unkind noise. “There’s nothing wrong with Mrs. Morrison,” she said with an inflection and a look that made it quite clear she thought something was wrong with Aggie.

  Aggie merely shook her head and gaped at the woman. “What has gotten into people today?”

  Mrs. Marks leaned closer, a sneer marring her usually pretty face. “I think it’s what—or rather who—has gotten into you that matters.”

  There was such a lasciviousness to her comment that Aggie’s face went hot with anger and embarrassment. “I beg your pardon?” She pressed a hand to her chest.

  Mrs. Marks merely sniffed and walked on, but just before she was out of earshot, she muttered, “Slut.”

  Aggie’s mouth dropped and she gaped at Mrs. Marks’ retreating back. She’d never, in all the time she’d been acquainted with the woman, known her to hurl insults like that. Her words stung deeply, but they also tickled the seeds of suspicion.

  That suspicion grew like wildfire as Aggie tried to resume her smile and friendly manner.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Catz. We’ve just had a shipment of that treacle that you love so much. Would you like to come in and purchase some?” she asked the passing, older woman.

  “No,” Mrs. Catz told her in no uncertain terms. “I’ll be doing my shopping in Windermere from now on.”

  “But Windermere is a train journey away,” Aggie said.

  It was too late. Mrs. Catz had walked on. But as she left, Mrs. Hamilton came striding toward the shop. Aggie could have cried in relief.

  “Mrs. Hamilton,” she greeted the woman with a smile. “I’m so glad to see you. Your order of India cotton is here.”

  Aggie turned to head inside, but Mrs. Hamilton stopped her. “That’s what I’ve come about,” she said. She cleared her throat and tilted her head up to look down her nose at Aggie. “I won’t be needing that order after all.”

  Aggie blinked in surprise. “But we’ve ordered it for you all the way from London.”

  Mrs. Hamilton studied her with narrowed eyes for a moment. “Is it true that your father has handed complete control of this shop over to you?”

  Aggie’s back itched with suspicion. “Yes, it is,” she answered, standing straight and proud.

  “And is it true you were seen kissing Andrew Noble in the town square yesterday?” Mrs. Hamilton’s nose wrinkled in distaste.

  Aggie swallowed, but answered, “Yes,” all the same.

  Mrs. Hamilton let out a short, sharp, “Hmph.” She shook her head. “I won’t do business with a race-mixing strumpet. I have my morals to think of.” Without another word, she marched away, her chin held high.

  Aggie gaped after her, a painful knot forming in her heart. She couldn’t believe her ears, couldn’t believe her eyes. It seemed absurd to her that long-time customers of her father’s shop, like Mrs. Hamilton, would refuse to do business with her simply because of her connection to Andrew. She had to have imagined the whole thing. There was no possible way something as glorious as love could ruffle so many feathers so badly.

  She refused to believe it as she stood outside the shop, smiling at passersby and inviting them to come inside. She refused to believe it when men and women whom she’d known since she was a girl turned away from her as they passed. She refused to believe it as an hour went by without a single customer coming to shop. But she couldn’t refuse to believe forever.

  At last, her heart heavy, she headed back inside. She clung on to a last bit of hope by leaving the door open, but as she took up her position behind the counter, she leaned her weight against it, no will to stand on her own.

  She was just beginning to give up hope when Elaine Bond, the Countess of Waltham, swept into the store with a bright smile. “Good morning, Aggie.”

  Aggie pushed herself to stand straight and return the warm greeting. “Good morning, my lady.”

  Elaine made an undignified sound and waved the honorific away. “It will always be Elaine to you,” she said. She marched right up to the counter and let out a happy sigh. “I came to see how you were doing on your first day of prominence.”

  Aggie’s smile vanished. “I’m doing terribly,” she said. The urge to confess all to her friend was too much to resist. “You’re the first customer to come through the doors all day. I stood outside, but people who I thought were my friends have been snubbing me all morning.”

  “Why would they do something like that?” Elaine asked, her expression utterly confused.

  Aggie winced, then admitted, “I fear it’s because I kissed Andrew in the middle of the town square yesterday.”

  She braced herself for censure like she’d had all morning, but Elaine merely shrugged and said, “Why would kissing Andrew cause such a furor?”

  As much as Aggie would have liked to play innocent, as Elaine seemed to be doing, she couldn’t. The truth was staring her in the face with bitter ferocity. “Because he’s a black man,” she said. It hurt to admit it out loud. It disproved everything she’d worked so hard to demonstrate the day before, everything she held dear.

  But Elaine shrugged a second time. “It shouldn’t matter whether he’s black or blue or violet.” She tilted her head to the side with one of the daffy, dreamy looks that Aggie loved so much about her. “Perhaps people object to the whole kissing in public thing. Basil and I have been married for months now, and we still get odd looks when we’re caught in a delicate position i
n public. Of course, our delicate positions have been exceedingly delicate, if you catch my meaning.” Her cheeks pinked and a look of mischief came to her eyes.

  Aggie was sure the comment was meant to make her feel better, but instead, it flooded her with embarrassment so acute that her temperature rose ten degrees. Elaine and Basil were notoriously indiscreet with their love affair. The two of them had been caught in wildly inappropriate circumstances several times since returning from London. The only thing that had prevented the two of them from being pilloried was Basil’s status as an earl. No one would dare to censure an earl, especially when it came to his wife.

  Aggie was not a countess. And she and Andrew weren’t married. The stinging realization that some people could get away with things while others most certainly could not tortured her.

  “I wouldn’t worry about it,” Elaine said with a wave of her hand. “Perhaps people have their noses out of joint today, but I’m certain they’ll come to their senses.”

  “Do you think so?” Aggie asked, believing it less and less.

  “I know it,” Elaine said, full of confidence. She burst into a smile. “It will be such a delight to have a fellow non-conformist in town. Why, you’ll have to come see me about the Artistic Dress movement. I would be more than happy to supply you with patterns and ideas for embroidery, if you have time.”

  “Oh. Thank you,” Aggie said, her heart sinking so low she could have cried. Truth be told, she didn’t like Elaine’s clothes. She certainly didn’t want to dress that way. Elaine had always had a reputation as an eccentric—a reputation that Aggie didn’t want to share. She liked being a part of society. She liked fitting in and wearing the latest fashions. She liked having people like her. The thought of being snickered at the way Elaine was behind her back left Aggie cold.

  “This is a lovely pair,” Andrew said as he walked into the shop.