Page 44 of Teach a Rogue New Tricks
Mr. Hopkins froze. His brow furrowed. “Cavendish? Any relation to Baron Eaden?”
“He’s my father.”
Mr. Hopkins’s frown deepened. “Did he send you here? What does he want?”
“Nothing. I’ve heard so much about you through the years, that—”
“Slander, all of it,” the shopkeeper said.
Cass stepped between her and Mr. Hopkins. “Hello, Mr. Hopkins, I’m Miss Cavendish’s betrothed. I’ve brought her here, and I’m afraid her father is none the wiser. I’m looking for a very particular tome, and she suggested you might have it.”
Mr. Hopkins stopped vibrating, and his frown melted into welcoming grin. “What is it you’re looking for? I pride myself on having the rarest of rare books. Leave the popular trash to that fool Hatchard. Here you’ll find nothing but gems.”
Cass scratched his jaw, accidently knocking the mustache with his knuckles. “We were looking for a popular guide on moral behavior, actually, by a Lady Hemsworth.”
Mr. Hopkins’s face fell. His shoulders slumped. “Oh. That. Yes, we have it. Can’t move the things. And no wonder, too, dull as a slice of day-old bread and just as hard to swallow.” He gestured to the side of the shop. “They’re over there.” He turned to Ada. “Please do not give my well-wishes to your father.” Then he disappeared.
Cass pulled Ada to the side of the shop. “I thought you said they were old school friends.”
“I thought my father’s grumbles about the man were the sort of jokes men make about good friends. I see he did not jest.”
“Look here.” Cass stopped at a table piled high with a thick, brown book. He picked one up. “This is it.Lady’s Guide to Moral Rectitude. Sounds … titilating.”
Ada nodded and picked up a copy. “At home, I received a shipment of books twice a year. One shipment included this.”
Cass cracked it open and read the first lines. “‘Many a young miss in this the second decade of the nineteenth century cannot rightly claim the name oflady, no matter her heritage. Girls today are filled to brimming with vanity and vice. And the men who surround them are no better. No, they are worse, hoping to encourage these already morally-questionable ladies—’”
“I thought she said we should not be calledladies.”
Cass put a finger to her lips then returned it to follow the line of text on the page. “Shh. I’m reading. Where was I? Ah, yes… ‘morally-questionable ladies to yet more dark deeds and sinful snares.’” He looked up at her, his eyes blinking wide and innocent. “She must have known about me.”
Ada swatted him on the arm. “It’s dramatic, I admit, but not entirely worthless.” She slipped the book from his hands and turned it, flipping through the pages. “Here. Oh, the page I want is not cut. But wait.” She flipped a few pages more. “This passage will do.”
Cass rubbed his hands together, dark eyes shining with glee. “I confess to sitting on pins and needles. Do read.”
Ada cleared her throat. “‘Lord Trevor, my son, is the best example of the dying breed of noble gentlemen. Ever attentive to his mother, he is gentle to a fault. His manliness lies not in brute muscle but in a strong and steady heart. In addition to this chief virtue, he knows how to perceive true value in a person, condescending to the right people when necessary.’”
Cass snorted. “Sounds like a prig to me.”
“I admit that last bit sounds conceited. Who wants to be condescended to?” She shook her head. “But this other bit rings true. About a strong and steady heart. I find that Lady Hemsworth is mostly nonsense but that every now and then, once a chapter or so, she hits on an admirable idea, and this is one of them.”
He scratched the back of his neck and leaned a hip against the table, throwing his long, lean body into relief. “A strong and steady heart, eh?”
She shook her head and ripped her eyes away from the outline of his thigh muscle snug against fine wool. She swallowed to wet her mouth so she could speak. “It… it’s not a bad idea to be attentive to your mother, I suppose. Especially if she’s nice.”
“At least that’s practical, concrete advice. All of these books—Franklin’s and the Lady Hemsworth’s they all claim to be able to guide the reader to some golden place of virtue. But it’s all shite.”
“Cassius!” she hissed.
But he didn’t seem to care. He held his hands before him as if he held a globe, and he peered into it, hair curling from the rain, eyes frustrated wild things. “Make lists, love your mother, find a good woman, look to the future. Being good is harder than all of that. I think you could accomplish the entire list and still not begood.” He made a growling sound in his throat and dropped his hands to his side.
“You’re correct.”
“Pardon?”
“You are correct. None of the advice seems particularly good for someone like you. Or possibly for anyone. Perhaps you should write your own book. You already keep that notebook on you. Who knows how many gems of wisdom you’ve written down in there.”
He scratched the hard line of his jaw. “I should count them.”
