Glancing out the window, she couldn’t help but feel that her marriage to a noble would be the crowning achievement of all he’d worked toward. Although she knew a good many young ladies would envy her position, she sometimes found herself wishing she had no dowry at all so no doubts would creep in regarding the reasons a man had asked for her hand. If one ever did. She was truly in no rush to take a husband. If she had two or three Seasons, she wouldn’t be disappointed. Her shop sustained her. For now, it was all she really needed.

“I’d like to go see Mum in the morning, let her know how the night went.”

“You won’t mention—”

“No, I’ll not mention how you and the others interfered,” she assured him.

“What’s this?” Aslyn asked.

“I’ll explain later.”

She’d like to be a fly on the wall when Mick did that. She suspected her sister-by-marriage would have a reaction similar to Gillie’s.

“What time would you like the carriage readied?” Mick asked.

“Seven.”

In the dark confines, with only the occasional streetlamp casting light to wash away the shadows, she saw the flash of Mick’s smile. “Most ladies would sleep the morning away after attending a ball.”

“I want to be back early enough to open the shop on time.”

“I think people would understand if it opened later than usual.”

“I’m as serious about my business as you are about yours, Mick. I’ll be unlocking the door at nine.”

When the carriage came to a stop in front of the hotel, Mick leapt out and then handed Aslyn down before reaching back in for Fancy. Once her feet hit the bricked walk, she rose up on her toes to kiss his cheek. “Good night.”

“I’ll see you safely home.”

“Mick, I’m across the street. No one is about.” It was after two in the morning and the streets were quiet, every business shut down for the night.

“Still.” He escorted her to the shop and waited until she’d closed the door behind her and turned the lock.

When Mr. Tittlefitz had locked up, he’d left a gaslight burning low to welcome her home. Shadows quivered around the bookshelves. With her back against the door, she inhaled the beloved fragrance of ink, paper, leather, and binding that filled shelf upon shelf. If she could find a way to capture the scent, she would dip candles in it and burn them throughout her future residence so she would always be comforted. She did hope her husband had an extensive library, was a reader of books. Could she marry someone who wasn’t?

Shoving away from the wood, she headed up the stairs, her steps increasing in tempo as she neared her private rooms.