Beresford glanced around as though on the verge of doing something he ought not. Leaning forward slightly, he met Matthew’s gaze. “She’s a beauty, doesn’t giggle or simper. Appears to be a woman of intelligence.”

That was an understatement.

“She asked after my family and my hobbies. I’ve never had a woman ask questions of me. They generally just talk about themselves or the weather. She was quite a delight to be honest.”

She was most definitely that.

“However, she’s unlawfully born. Her father could be a murderer for all we know.”

He almost revealed that her father was a war hero, but then he’d have to explain how he knew, and things could get a bit complicated from there. “I don’t believe criminal tendencies are inherited.”

“Still, tainted blood and all that. A man could lose some power and prestige taking her to wife.”

Or he could gain it. “Thornley married her sister, a by-blow.”

“He’s a duke from one of the most powerful families in all of England. He can do whatever he bloody well likes and suffer very little for it. You and I are mere earls.”

It was true that Thornley came from an incredibly formidable family, but Matthew could hold his own when it came to power, prestige, and influence. “Is that the reason you don’t marry your mistress?”

A sadness coming over him, Beresford settled back in his chair. “Duty before love. They were the first words I was taught.”

They’d been battered into Matthew as well. They were the reason he’d married a woman knowing her treachery would forever prevent him from loving her. When he was in Fancy’s company, the past no longer mattered. She made him believe the potential for love hovered within reach, if he would but dare to grasp it.

Fancy took great satisfaction in watching people wander through her shop, taking books from the shelves, opening them, perusing a few words, putting them back. Or hugging them close and bringing them to the counter to purchase. This particular Saturday afternoon, more people were about than usual and helping them select books kept her mind occupied so she wasn’t thinking about Matthew or the fact that she hadn’t seen him since the kiss.

She had just finished helping a woman with her book purchase when the bells above her door jingled—and Matthew was dominating her thoughts once again because he stepped over the threshold and approached the counter. “Mr. Sommersby.” She wondered why she had to sound so breathless when she’d said his name a hundred times already, whenever she saw him in her dreams.

“Miss Trewlove. How are you this fine day?”

Wonderful now that you’ve made an appearance. “Very well, thank you, and you?”

“At a bit of a loss. I’m in need of a book for my niece and was hoping you might have a suggestion.”