Except it was also next to a to-do list that seemingly had no end. She was either at the shop working or she was jotting down ideas for advertising or organizing at home. And when she finally did take a moment to catch her breath, it was to fall asleep and start over again the next day.

“I hear business has picked up for this place.” Mr. Pritchard straightened from the sign and peered down at her from his beak of a nose. “Do you think it’s these adverts?”

She lifted her shoulder in a noncommittal shrug, unsure if Mr. Evans would want any information divulged.

Mr. Pritchard stepped closer to her, bringing with him the scent of peppermint and mothballs. “I’ll pay you a shilling more an hour than what you’re currently earning if you come to Pritchard & Potts.”

“Mr. Pritchard.” Mr. Evans appeared behind them.

Before Grace could open her mouth to protest that she wouldn’t work for Mr. Pritchard for a pound more an hour, Mr. Evans continued in an even tone. “If you want to come and look at my shop, you’re welcome. Feel free even to tout your dissatisfaction with the world and make your radical claims about the war.” His blue eyes narrowed behind the thick glass of his spectacles. “But if you mean to come in here to lure away Miss Bennett, I shall ask you to take your leave.”

Elation prickled over Grace’s skin. Her uncle would have never stood up for her in such a manner.

Mr. Pritchard drew upright and clicked his tongue in annoyance, making the white wisps of hair on the top of his head tremble. “She would be better used in a book shop on Paternoster Row, a place far more prestigious than Hosier Lane.” He curled his lips at the last word. With that, he strode from the shop on his spindly legs with Tabby loping after him.

“I wasn’t going to accept,” Grace said.

“I imagine you wouldn’t.” Mr. Evans lowered his head to peer at her over the rims of his spectacles. “You’re already more than two months into your allotted time here.”

His dry wit was one of the things she’d come to appreciate about him over the last several months. She smiled in response. “Are you certain you won’t want me to stay longer?”

He waved his hand dismissively and shuffled toward the counter where he proceeded to go through the ledger she’d assembled several weeks prior. Yet another bit of organizing and tracking of sales and popular titles she’d implimented. He tended to look at it often and comment on the comparison of day-to-day sales.