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silent and bitter. He had seen that dynamic during his childhood, James and Sophia ingesting their meals and then parting ways. It had much to do with James’s behavior, but Elias knew that Sophia’s conduct had also played a part.
    There were many times he wished to have been born a stable boy, where his choices could be his own. His sister said he would have made a terrible farm lad; with his face, the wolves would think he was one of their own. That Alessandra was going to be quite a catch for some man, some day.
    Elias’s mother never knocked. She would never think her admittance was not welcome, even in his private chambers.
    “Do hurry, darling boy. I want there to be fresh flowers when we arrive at the market, and we still have not had breakfast. Alessandra is not feeling well, so she cannot accompany us today.”
    “How convenient,” he muttered, examining his mother’s still stylish mourning gown and her elaborate hairstyle. She was powdered and painted to an outlandish level. She would never be seen in public looking anything less than the most expensive widowed duchess. Truly, she had always looked much younger than she was in reality. It had only gotten worse since his father’s death… she was still a beautiful woman for her age, and he suspected that she was starting to look for a male companion. He shuddered inwardly. It was none of his business.
    “I expect you downstairs in ten minutes,” she chirped. “Dryden will have the phaeton ready for our trip as soon as we finish dining.”
    “Yes, Mother.”
    After a hurried breakfast where he listened to his mother chatter about what she intended to purchase and how she hoped it wouldnot rain, Elias sat unhappily in the phaeton, wondering how he would make it through this journey.

    “Four crates arrived today, Josie!” Sally exclaimed. Though she was known as Crimson at the Dove, she was just Sally Hopewell at the Paper Garden. “Four crates of new books and some old ones that look like they’ll be worth some money!”
    Perhaps she could be excited about the prospect of new inventory, but Josephine only saw more things to put away and sort through. Her back was aching, not only from sitting rigid at the piano last night to not shame the duke with her poor posture, but from shifting tomes back and forth while trying to arrange the front window to entice shoppers. There were not many who stopped in before passing by.
    Josephine looked around her bookstore and let out a long breath of air. Mother Superior had taken over half the money that Elias had given to her last night. She did not mind as much, because it had been an interesting evening, but the money was becoming even more necessary. As it stood, the combination of money from the Dove and the Garden was barely keeping her afloat. Having Sally around helped, and the poor girl really had no other option. Orphans like herself were especially vulnerable at the Sleeping Dove. On the nights that certain groups of men came in and girls disappeared forever, it was always a girl without family who fell victim to them.
    “You’re worrying again,” Sally remarked, fussing with a stack of books to be delivered to infirm customers. “Don’t be anxious. I’m just sure things will turn around.”
    “You are being far too optimistic. Too like your Lord Thackeray. He is filling your head with nonsense.”
    The bells jingled to announce a customer, an overly made-up and obviously wealthy woman who looked as if she was trying to compensate for her advanced age with a mass of face powder. She was doing a sufficient job of it, Josephine thought to herself, but some of the age lines could not be hidden. Trailing behind her was a tall man in a crisp velvet-lined overcoat, smelling of… sandalwood and leather and wealth. Josephine cursed and turned away. Of all the bloody rotten luck. It simply could not be him. What would he be doing here?
    “I am finally ready to read some of this Miss Austen material,” the