“They continued to educate themselves. Informally. They pooled their earnings together and paid a guinea a year to a lending library. They could only borrow one book at a time, and they took turns deciding who would choose the book to be borrowed, but it opened up worlds to them—and to me. My fondest memories are of each of them reading to me, when I was quite small. It was magical. So, I wanted to open a bookshop in order to surround myself with the stories that my brothers and sister had loved enough to share with me. When I see the spines lined up on a shelf, it makes me happy. I’m happier still when someone takes a book home with them. Tales of adventure or romance or mystery bring undeniable and unending joy. Biographies, history, geography expand our knowledge of what surrounds us. Even if I don’t necessarily agree with all the sentiments expressed, I find value in every word written, every word read. That’s the reason I have a bookshop.”

As though she’d not just upended his world with her impassioned diatribe, she settled back and took a long, slow sip of her beer. When she was done, she licked her lips before lifting her gaze back to his, and he couldn’t help but believe he’d never been so enthralled by a person in his entire life, nor would he ever again be so. Her love of books was genuine, she was genuine.

“Did you attend the ragged schools?” Knowing the moniker had come about because so many of the children who attended wore rags, he hated the thought of her in worn and tattered frocks, possibly without shoes. Although he was aware people grew up in poverty, he’d never before carried on a conversation with one who had. He routinely made donations to one charity or another but didn’t have an active role in doing good works. He was suddenly feeling quite ashamed that his lack of action might have resulted in a harsher life for her or others.

“Oh no. By the time I was old enough to be schooled, my siblings were all working, and they again pooled their coins, this time to ensure I went to a private school and later to a finishing school. In both cases, the students’ parents were merchants, bankers, tradesmen, or some other occupation that saw them with a decent income, but still I wasn’t fully embraced. Unfortunately, the circumstances of my birth carry a stigma.” She didn’t elaborate regarding the circumstances, but then she didn’t need to. It was common knowledge that the Trewloves wore their bastardy like a badge of honor. “I found my years at school quite lonely, not that I ever told my siblings that. I don’t know why I confessed it to you or rambled on about it. I do hope you’ll forgive my dip into self-pity.”