Page 67 of The Duke and Lady Scandal
Now she imagined taking that trip with Ben.
It was as if a new clarity had come from those moments with him.
Warmth bloomed in her chest when she thought of the night they’d spent, and she had no regrets. She’d chosen those hours with him, knowing she might face judgement, if only from his sister or the Drake housekeeper, if either of them realized she’d slept over. And, of course, there was the Prince household staff. She suspected at least one of them had noted her absence in her bed last night. But making the choice had freed her somehow, or at least given her a taste of what making a life for herself felt like—a life that had nothing to do with living up to the precedence of her father or siblings.
She and Ben had made no promises to each other, not even plans for when they’d meet again,but she knew they would. She had a brazen kind of confidence now and would go to him this evening if need be.
After washing and dressing, she made her way to the shop. One of her ideas involved reorganizing the shelving. Everything had been the same for so long, and she’d felt a responsibility to maintain it that way, but now she wondered why. The shop was not a mausoleum. It should be a vibrant place, emphasizing color and providing better space for browsing.
Their walk around the Tower fortress reminded her how much visitors brought a place to life. And that each piece should have its place. Princes’ shelves should be organized, not cluttered.
By the time Mr. Gibson arrived, she’d made a proper mess, though she felt certain the displays would be more enticing once she’d finished.
“I would offer help, but I have a sense you’re possessed with a vision of what you want, and I might simply get in the way,” Mr. Gibson offered thoughtfully after removing his coat and opening up his workroom.
“I do have a vision,” she told him as she polished a vase that hadn’t been dusted in far too long. “And I have a few fresh ideas for the shop too.”
“Should they wait until your brother and sister return?”
“No,” Allie told him a bit more sharply than she intended. “I’m no longer waiting on Dom and Eve’s approval when it comes to matters of the shop.”Though they had an equal share in ownership, they took virtually no interest in its day-to-day operations or its ongoing success. But she did. She always had, and not simply because she’d been left behind while they went off on adventures.
She loved the idea of finding new owners for antiques, especially among those who not only appreciated their history but would also give them a new life or pass them on to the next generation.
Mr. Gibson made a murmuring sound, usually an indication that he was giving a matter deep consideration.
When Allie glanced back at him, he gave her a firm nod.
“You are the heart and soul of this shop, Miss Prince, and I trust that whatever changes you make will be improvements.”
“Thank you, Mr. Gibson. Though I think you’re a good deal of the heart of this shop too.”
He cleared his throat as if the overly complimentary moment had evoked the sort of emotions he was usually keen to hide.
“Well, then. Since you are quite occupied, I shall fetch our morning coffee.”
Allie’s stomach growled at the very thought of a scone or crumpet or some other baked treat from Hawlston’s.
“Thank you, Mr. Gibson. That sounds divine.”
“Shall I leave the sign to CLOSED until I return?”
It was more than a quarter hour past their usual opening time, and Allie had been too engrossed to notice.
“No, we should open. I can manage.”
Within another twenty minutes, she had the shelving refilled with fewer pieces, but those intended to catch the eye. She’d collected the other items into a crate and lifted it, intending to take it into the back room, when the front doorbell chimed.
She expected Mr. Gibson and set the box down to help him carry whatever treats he’d brought back, but it wasn’t Mr. Gibson who watched her from just inside the front door.
“Good morning, miss.” The man adjusted his pince-nez with a gloved hand. “You are most definitely not the gentleman I spoke to a couple of days ago.”
“That would be Mr. Gibson. I am Miss Prince.”
“Are you indeed? Then you must betheproprietress based on the name on your lintel.”
“I am.” A strange feeling worked its way down Allie’s back. An inexplicable sense of déjà vu. “And may I know your name, sir?”
“Lord Holcroft. Of the uncut diamond that your man Gibson swore he could fashion to my specifications.”
