Grace tossed him a skeptical look and replaced a book from Stephens Booksellers into a gap.

“Look what your compassion has done.” He indicated the shelves of books designated for other stores. “You give every part of yourself to help others. Not just with what you do with the ARP. But here, with the other booksellers, with the people you read to. Out there, you save lives. In here, you save souls.”

Heat spread across Grace’s cheeks at such praise. “I think you might be exaggerating.” She murmured her reply, but truly the pleasure of his words ran through her with a glow of warmth.

Judging from the tender smile on his face, he was well aware.

Mrs. Nesbitt pushed through the door with her usual air of self-importance. But this time, she didn’t look herself. Gone was the dark macintosh belted at her thin waist and a pillbox hat stabbed through her hair with a wicked hat pin. In their place was a dull green WVS uniform and cap.

“Oh come now, don’t look at me as though you’ve never seen a woman in a WVS uniform before, Miss Bennett.” Mrs. Nesbitt strode toward her shelf of books, her sensible low-heeled shoes clicking over the floor.

Grace said nothing as she admired the change Mrs. Weatherford had wrought in Mrs. Nesbitt.

“I just finished the accounts if you’d like to see.” Mr. Evans lifted the ledger in preparation to show Mrs. Nesbitt the neat row of numbers she typically asked for on her visits.

“No, thank you,” she replied airily as she lifted a bright yellow children’s book from the shelf. “I only came to collect a few things to bring for the orphanage. Their stock of books is abysmal, truly.” She selected five more, then rattled off their titles to Mr. Evans. “Have these removed from my stock. They’ll be staying with the children.”

Mr. Evans lifted his bushy brows with incredulity at Grace. “Consider it done.” He pulled the pencil from where it lay nestled in the spine and jotted the titles across the page.

“Thank you, Mr. Evans,” she replied in a crisp tone.

“It isn’t me you should be thanking.” He nodded to Grace.

Mrs. Nesbitt paused before Grace and studied her thoughtfully. Her hard features softened, if only for a moment. “Thank you, Miss Bennett. For everything.”

With that she lifted her head, haughty once more, and departed from the shop.

The next month flew by in a whirl of activity with Grace’s daily readings growing in popularity along with the bookshop. Where Foyles continued to attract celebrities for their infamous teas, Primrose Hill Books had become distinguished for Grace’s readings and the many discussions about the books afterward as people clustered together to rehash what they’d heard.