Love Is a Rogue (Wallflowers vs. Rogues #1) - Lenora Bell Page 0,12

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A maid helped Beatrice into a frothy day dress. At least she could breathe in this one. She filled her lungs with air. “I daresay I’ll even be able to eat a ham sandwich,” she mused.

“Lettuce, not ham, dear,” called her mother. “You must forego ham in the pursuit of the greater prize.”

Mrs. Adler and her wedding cake gown departed. Unfortunately, the sonnet bonnet remained.

The dowager duchess handed Beatrice an envelope. “This came by post for you today. It’s about the property.”

“What property?”

“Didn’t I tell you? It must have slipped my mind. While you were in the country, your Aunt Matilda bequeathed you a property.”

“I’ve never heard of an Aunt Matilda.”

“She was your father’s eldest sister. No one spoke of her.”

“Why? What did she do?”

“She married a bookseller.”

“Is that all?” Beatrice had been imagining scandalous liaisons, or secret babies out of wedlock.

“That’s more than enough,” said her mother with a frown. “Your father, may he rest in peace, was furious. First, his sister married a shopkeeper, and then, when Mr. Castle died and she inherited the shop, she refused to sell. She continued to run the shop herself. The sister of a duke engaged in commerce. It used to keep him up at night and give him terrible dyspepsia. He tried to run her out of business, but the woman was very stubborn.”

“Did you say Mr. Castle, as in Castle’s Bookshop on the Strand?”

“That’s the one.”

“I visited it once. I remember it very clearly. He had a marvelous collection of antiquarian volumes. Did I inherit his inventory, as well?”

“I’ve no idea. All I know is that the building has fallen into disrepair lately, and there’s been quite a generous offer on the derelict bookshop and I told your brother’s solicitor to accept it.”

Beatrice regarded her mother with disbelief. “Are you telling me that I inherited a bookshop, and you’ve already instructed Greenaway to sell it?”

Why should she be surprised? This was only the latest rung on a long ladder of indignities stretching back to her childhood.

“That’s right, now come along. I want you to try this darling pair of slippers I found in the window at—”

“Mother.”

“Yes, my dear?”

“You can’t make decisions like that on my behalf without consulting me.”

“Well!” Her mother picked an imaginary speck of lint off Beatrice’s gown. “I don’t know what you’re so cross about. It’s best to let the men of business deal with these things, and if it’s a derelict property, we’re best rid of it. I thought you’d be pleased with the profit from the sale.”

“But the books. What about the books? I must go visit the shop to see if the rare and ancient volumes and manuscripts are still there. May I go with my friends this afternoon?”

“I suppose you may go for a brief visit to view the inventory. I believe there was a small inheritance, as well, though Greenaway will have the details.”

“Did I inherit a leasehold, or the property outright?”

“Outright, I believe, though I’ve really no idea. I don’t concern myself with such things, and neither should you. As I recall, there’s some scandal attached to the shop. I think your aunt Matilda was not a virtuous or pious woman. There are . . . rumors.”

Beatrice waited for her mother to elaborate. “Rumors of . . . ?”

“Lovers,” her mother whispered. “After Mr. Castle died.”

So that was it—Aunt Matilda had been scandalous because she’d been a merry widow. Men were expected, even encouraged, to have their diversions, but Lord help a woman if she decided to pursue diversions of her own.

“Now you see that it’s quite impossible for you to keep the property,” said her mother. “So do come and see these darling slippers. Every detail must be perfect.”

Beatrice followed her mother out of the room, her mind still reeling from the news of the inheritance. Wait until she told Isobel about this; she’d be so excited.

Her mother stopped and placed her hand on Beatrice’s arm. “I’m simply determined that you’ll conquer society this year. Though I’d settle for you conquering one eligible earl.”

Unfortunately for her mother, Beatrice had no intention of conquering anything other than etymological dictionaries.

“Now that you’re a warrant officer, with the blue coat to prove it, it’s your solemn duty to marry, Mr. Wright,” said Mrs. Meade, Tiny’s sister, passing Ford the butter dish.

Ford normally took lodgings in a boardinghouse for sailors while in London, but this time he’d traveled to London with Tiny, and his friend had insisted that he stay with

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