Grace hadn’t seen any in Drayton where the chances of being bombed weren’t high, but she’d heard of several cities where the Andys had been distributed. The small shelters were to be buried in the garden as a refuge if Hitler attacked Britain.

A tremor of unease rippled down Grace’s spine. Of all the times to finally make their way to London, it was at the start of a war. Now they were in the prime target for bombings.

Not that returning to Drayton was an option. She would rather face the possibility of danger where she was wanted than contend with her uncle’s hostility.

Viv peered out the window curiously and promptly looked away. After a lifetime of farming, she was—as she put it—“jolly well done with dirt.”

Mrs. Weatherford sighed again and took a sip of tea. “It was a fine garden once.”

“It will be again,” Grace reassured her with more confidence than she felt. For if there were bombings, would any garden ever be the same again? Would any of them for that matter?

Such thoughts nipped at the back of her mind and cast them in an eerie shadow. “Mrs. Weatherford,” she said abruptly, no longer wanting to think of war or bombings. “May I inquire as to what sort of shop Mr. Evans runs?”

“Of course, dear.” Mrs. Weatherford set her teacup in its saucer with a clink, her eyes lighting up with enthusiasm. “It’s a book shop.”

Grace masked a twinge of disappointment. After all, she knew very little about books. Any attempts at reading had been quashed by countless interruptions. She’d been far too busy at her uncle’s store, trying to earn enough money for her and her mother’s survival, to bother with reading. Then her mother had become ill...

Uncle Horace’s store had been easy enough to manage, especially as the household wares were items she personally used. Selling tea kettles, towels, vases and other goods she was familiar with came naturally. But she knew nothing about literature.

Well, that wasn’t entirely true.

She could still recall her mother’s copy of Grimm’s Fairy Tales with an elegant princess painted on its front. How she’d loved letting her gaze wander over the colorful illustrations while her mother’s voice spun magic with those fanciful tales. But outside of Grimm’s Fairy Tales, she’d never had time to read.

“Brilliant.” Grace smiled brightly to hide her apprehension. After all, she would make do. Anything would be better than working at her uncle’s store.

But how was she possibly supposed to sell something she knew so little about?

TWO

Grace’s first attempt with Primrose Hill Books did not go as planned.

Not that she’d harbored lofty expectations for success, but she had anticipated the owner would at least be prepared for her arrival.