Page 14 of The Duke's Scottish Bride
“We could be seen.” He knew they were close to their destination and was sure his sister comprehended their location, as well.
“Oh, what’s the harm? We can just say that Marion is a distant cousin.”
“We haven’t a maid.” He strove to make his apprehension clear as he continued to point out issues. “It would not look proper.”
“Then we’ll say she ismymaid. And that is if anyone even asks,” Verity said with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “You worry too much, brother. What trouble could we get into?”
Anselm groaned. It was a sound of pure exasperation. He was tired as hell, too tired to fight. He scowled at his sister, then at Marion, who tried to look innocent. He hated losing control of his meticulously planned schedule, but Verity’s stubbornness was a force to be reckoned with.
“Fine,” he bit out, realizing it was best to pick his battles now that Verity was with him. “But we do not linger. When I say it is time to go, we go.”
After leaving the carriage at the inn to give the horses a rest, Anselm accompanied the two women into the bustling streets of Stamford.
Predictably, Verity’s gaze lit up the moment she spotted a quaint little bookshop tucked between a milliner’s and a tearoom.
Inside, Anselm drew in a deep breath, savoring the rich, musty scent of old paper and leather bindings. He’d always loved to read—though time for it had grown scarce under the weight of his responsibilities. Still, there was comfort in the presence of books.
Quiet. Order. A world where everything made sense.
He watched Verity as she became instantly engrossed by discussing the finer points of a locally printed collection of poetry with the eager shopkeeper. Anselm was sure that he rarely had such a captive audience as his sister.
“Please, please do tell me that you have it,” she pleaded. Her voice was bubbly in anticipation.
“Sadly, we do not carry it, my lady,” the shopkeeper sighed. “But the print shop down the laneoccasionallybinds short-run artistic volumes. They might have a copy.”
“I will have to see about that,” Verity said with satisfaction. “I am sure there are many other lovely books in this shop I can find before I go that way. Could you point me in the direction of the latest novels?”
Verity dragged Marion through the shop as they combed through tomes in search of books to entertain and enlighten the mind.
Despite his usual aloofness, Anselm watched them with interest. He bought Verity a new, beautifully bound volume of poetry in hopes she would be satiated.
“Oh Anselm, we must get something for Marion to read! The carriage rides have become such a bore. We have nothing left to speak of! Can we get her something?”
“Very well, select something quickly so we can be on with it,” he said, the gesture a rare, almost imperceptible softening of his hard façade.
“Marion, you must read this one,” Verity said, placing a novel in her hands. “It follows a handsome earl and a commoner with lots of intrigue, travel, crime, and drama.”
“Oh, I cannae let ye do this for me, Yer Grace,” Marion said as she her cheeks flushed as she looked up at Anselm and tried to set the book back on the shelf.
“I insist, Lady Marion,” he pushed as he took the book from her hands and placed it on the counter in front of the shopkeeper.
“Thank ye, Yer Grace,” she said. Her small smile stretched across her face.
As they left the shop, Verity bounced on the balls of her feet. “I am just going to pop over to the print shop. I will only be five minutes!”
“We’ll go together,” Anselm barked, already turning towards the lane.
He was not ready to let his sister wander off alone, no matter how innocent she seemed.
Verity shook her head. She was already halfway to the door. “No, really, I will be quick. It is broad daylight, and it is onlya few minutes away. I will keep my head down and I promise not to run off! Besides,” she added, her eyes again glinting mischievously as she looked between them. “You and Marion look like you could use a moment to talk.”
Marion gasped and a hot blush bloomed across her neck. “Verity!” she hissed, scandalized—but her friend was already gone, slipping through the crowd and into the little shop like a wisp of smoke.
Anselm muttered something unintelligible under his breath. He shook his head as he stared after Verity.
They lingered in the narrow alleyway beside the print shop, half-shadowed from view. Marion folded her arms, more for balance than irritation, and peeked up at him with a lopsided smile.
“Even when ye’re annoyed, ye cannae seem to tell her no,” she teased. “That must be infuriatin’.”
