<< Go Back

Bound by Grace

By Amber Stockton

Order Now!

one

Brandywine, Delaware, 1881

“So, was your venture successful? Did the gentleman have
what he promised? Were you able to locate it?”
Charlotte Pringle’s youngest sister barely allowed her to
step through the door to the bookshop before the verbal
interrogation began. Her assistant, Mary, looked up from
behind the front counter, the same place Charlotte had left
her nearly two hours ago.
Charlotte pushed back and untied the hood on her cape.
After inhaling the familiar smells of leather, wood, and vanilla
incense, she gave Anastasia a teasing grin. “Might I have a
moment to relax from my journey before you plague me with
questions? I might need to burn some lavender incense if you
continue in this fashion.”
Anastasia looked as if she might bust a seam in her daffodil
walking dress, but she could wait a few more moments.
“Mary.” Charlotte addressed her assistant. “Thank you for
tending the store in my absence.”
“It was my pleasure, Miss Charlotte.” Mary averted her gaze
and wrung her hands on the apron she wore. “If you have no
other need for me at the front, I’ll return to reconciling our
inventory.”
“That will be fine, Mary. Thank you again.”
Just one year younger than Charlotte’s own age of twenty,
Mary wasn’t much for conversation. But she worked hard
and was quite thorough. Given Anastasia’s fanciful notions,
Charlotte appreciated having someone dependable to help her.
“So–o. . .” Anastasia splayed her hands on the edge of one
of the front tables, barely acknowledging Mary’s departure.
“What was the result?”
With a calm that contradicted the butterflies fluttering
in her stomach, Charlotte reached into her satchel and
withdrew a worn but well-kept volume of Robinson Crusoe.
She closed her eyes and ran her fingers across the smooth
surface of the binding, her mind replaying the name written
just inside the front cover. A first edition. Once owned
by her great-grandmother’s great-grandmother, Raelene
Strattford. Charlotte’s mother loved telling the story of how
the book played into the courting of Gustaf and Raelene. But
somewhere along the line, the book had been lost. A chance
meeting with a bookstore owner in Philadelphia alerted
Charlotte to the book’s location. After six generations of
history, she had finally brought it back into the family once
more.
“You did find it!” Anastasia clasped her hands together just
beneath her chin, her bright eyes resembling those of a child
who’d just stepped into an ice-cream shop. Leave it to her
sister to be overly dramatic.
Charlotte shook her head. “Yes, although judging by your
reaction, one might think you were the one who had been
searching for three years to find this treasure.”
“Can a girl not be truly happy for her sister?” The gleam
in Anastasia’s eyes matched Charlotte’s excitement. “I love
books as much as you do.” An impish grin overtook her lips
as she turned away and moved from behind the counter,
assuming an air of nonchalance. “Besides, one day some of
these cherished tomes may very well become mine. And I
have already been making a list.”
Charlotte raised one eyebrow. “Oh, you have, have you?”
She crossed her arms. “Suppose I decide to live well beyond
you. What will you do then?”
“Borrow them when you are not looking,” her sister said
with a shrug.
Anastasia winked and pranced away toward the four long
aisles of books, but not before Charlotte reached out and
tugged one of the bouncing locks hanging down her back.
How nice it must be. So carefree and young. Of course,
Anastasia was almost fourteen. And she’d already had at least
two young men express interest in pursuing a courtship with
her. Not so young, after all.
If only those young men had older brothers or knew of
some men who weren’t already engaged or married. The
selection seemed to grow thinner with each passing day.
Charlotte sometimes wondered if she’d ever meet a man who
understood her passion. Her friends told her she needed to
give up the bookshop if she hoped to find a suitable match,
but that was out of the question. She loved her books too
much. And if a man couldn’t love her along with everything
she brought to the relationship, she’d rather remain alone.
As the eldest daughter, however, she owed it to her parents
to make a suitable match. With her older brother married
and poised to follow in their father’s footsteps in gunpowder
manufacturing, working closely with the du Pont family, the
mantle now rested on her shoulders. If another season passed
without any prospects, her parents might be forced to choose
someone for her. She prayed that wouldn’t be the case, but
she’d honor them if it happened.
“Charlotte?” Anastasia called from the back of the shop.
“Where did you shelve that copy of Emma you had last
week? I can’t seem to find it. Someone didn’t borrow it, did
they?” She gasped. “Or purchase it? I have wanted to read it
for several days, but I had to finish Pride and Prejudice first. I
shall simply swoon if it’s gone.”
Charlotte erupted into laughter. “It’s the next aisle over,
you silly goose, with the rest of the books by Jane Austen.”
She peeked down the aisle and caught her sister’s eye. “As
much time as you spend here, you would think you’d know
the location of every book by heart.”
“No, that honor belongs only to you, dear sister.” Anastasia
grinned as she flounced around the corner to the appropriate
shelf.
Charlotte smiled. Yes, she did know each and every
precious volume and the treasured locations where they
rested. She reached out and caressed the spine of the nearest
title. Some days, the books served as better companions
than her friends or the latest unsuitable suitor her parents
attempted to send her way.
“Found it!” Her sister’s voice floated to the front of the
shop, preceding Anastasia’s appearance by mere seconds. She
clutched the book to her chest. “I’ll have it back to you in less
than a week. No one will know it’s gone.” She pursed her lips.
“Except you, of course.”
Charlotte reached out and tipped her sister’s chin
with her finger. “Just be certain you don’t allow any more
matchmaking ideas to enter that pretty little head of yours.
Remember what happened the last time you attempted to
orchestrate a rendezvous between Jeremiah Graham and
Amanda Stewart?”
“Oh, must you remind me of that again?” Anastasia held
up the book to hide her face. “You have to admit they did
appear rather fond of each other.” She peered over the top
of the book. “How was I to know their grandmothers were
sisters?”
“You would have had you been paying more attention
to the conversations around you and less to your latest
matchmaking schemes.” Charlotte rolled her eyes. “Honestly,
I can’t fathom why you continue to interfere in other people’s
lives in such a manner. Why not allow young ladies and
gentlemen to choose for themselves who they shall marry?
The results are so much better that way.”
“Not always.” Anastasia wagged one finger. “Do you recall
how I arranged for shy and unassuming Paulina Whetstone
to accidentally bump into the much-sought-after Matthew
Adams? Those two likely would never have given each other
a moment’s notice had I not moved things along a bit.” She
took on an air of smug triumph. “Even you cannot deny how
perfectly suited they are for each other.”
“It is true.” Charlotte pressed a finger to her lips. “I have
never seen either one of them so happy, nor more suitably
matched.” She shook a warning finger in her sister’s direction.
“But that is not the case with most of your attempts. And I
fear reading that book”—she gestured toward the volume her
sister held—“will only make matters worse.”
“Or it might improve my skills,” Anastasia countered.
“Perhaps I only need a lesson or two in observation skills. If
I paid closer attention, I might become far more successful
than I have been.”
“And if you do not, I shall be forced to go behind you
to clean up the pieces of your failed attempts.” Charlotte
covered her sister’s hands with her own, imploring her with
her eyes. “Just promise to be more careful next time. Please?”
Anastasia tilted her head, peering up at Charlotte. “Very
well,” she sighed. “But I suppose I should tell you I have
already selected the fortunate young lady who will become
the next focus of my attentions.”
Charlotte raised both eyebrows. “Oh? And who might
that be?”
Her sister stepped out of reach and fairly skipped the few
steps toward the back door of the shop. She placed one hand
on the doorknob and pulled open the door leading to the
common courtyard area behind the buildings. Peering over
her shoulder, she tossed her sister an impish grin. “You.”
With that, she was gone.
The final word hung in the air like an ominous storm
cloud about to release everything it held. Charlotte turned
her face heavenward and sent up a silent prayer asking when
the cloud finally did burst, she wouldn’t get too wet.

❧

More than a week later, Charlotte marveled over how many
new customers had visited her shop. It seemed as if someone
had posted banners around the area, announcing the shop’s
location. But she wasn’t about to complain. She did own the
only shop that both sold and loaned books between here and
Philadelphia. The increased patronage helped both her sales
and the shop’s reputation. If each one of those who visited
her shop told one or two other people, she might have to
consider taking on another assistant and extending the hours
she was open to the public.
Even the courier had been making more frequent visits.
He seemed to deliver a letter every other day from someone
inquiring about this title or that, asking if she had it in stock
and if she might set it aside for them until they had the
opportunity to come in person. One such letter had just been
delivered yesterday, but Charlotte had read it at least a dozen
times since. She kept it folded and tucked in her pocket.
During a brief lull, she withdrew the now-worn paper again
and read:

To the Owner of Cobblestone Books:
I have recently learned of the existence of your shop from
various acquaintances. It appears I might need to pay a visit,
but I wanted to write and notify you of my possible arrival
beforehand, for I did not wish to appear unannounced.
Since the purpose of my visit is to locate a handful of specific
titles, I would like to make you aware of those titles in the
hopes that you might secure them beforehand and have them
ready. My niece is rather fond of reading, and she has read
everything I’ve given her at least twice over. Enclosed is a
complete list of titles I would like to locate. Any of them will
suffice, as I do not expect you to have them all available. I
shall be happy to compensate you for your time and assistance.
Please use the address accompanying this letter for any reply.
Thank you for your time. I look forward to visiting as soon
as time permits.
With regards,
Richard Baxton

Charlotte couldn’t place her finger on exactly what drew her
to the letter, but something about the words the gentleman
chose and the manner in which he framed them spoke to her.
His obvious love for his niece might be part of the attraction,
as well. After all, how could she turn away a doting uncle who
wanted to appease his niece’s insatiable appetite for reading?
She felt a kinship with the girl already.
Not wanting to allow any more time to pass, Charlotte
opened a drawer of her desk behind the counter and withdrew
a sheet of paper. She reached for the pen and dipped it in ink,
preparing to compose a reply.

Dear Mr. Baxton:
I have received your note and would be honored to
welcome you to my shop. The books you listed are ones I
already have among my inventory. So you need not allow
any more time to pass before making arrangements to visit.
I have set the titles aside as you requested. Please come at
your earliest convenience. I look forward to meeting you.
Sincerely,
Miss Charlotte Pringle
Owner

That should do it. Charlotte read over her response three
times, making certain it didn’t sound too forward but wanting it
to be both sincere and professional. With a nod of satisfaction,
she folded the page and tucked it inside an envelope, sealing
it with wax and addressing the outside as Mr. Baxton had
instructed. The next time the courier arrived, she would give
him the letter to post. After that, she had only to wait for Mr.
Baxton’s arrival.
Oh, how she prayed it wouldn’t be long.

❧

Richard Baxton stepped into the dark study, illuminated by
the lone gas lamp on the desk. He’d been procrastinating
for several weeks, but this task needed attention. Everything
about the room seemed to bear a direct connection to his
older brother. From the rich Aubusson rug covering most
of the floor and the heavy velvet drapes at the windows to
the custom-built, floor-to-ceiling shelves holding a wide
selection of books, references, and ledgers, every nook and
cranny said Elliott Baxton had once spent most of his time
here.
Even the leather chair bore evidence of Elliott’s presence.
Richard pulled the chair away from the desk and sat down.
He felt like a traitor, sitting there. This seat didn’t belong
to him. It belonged to his brother. What right did he have
to sit in it now? Maybe he should take the work needing to
be done and return to his own place. But that would mean
taking his niece away from the only home she’d ever known.
It had been only two months since the accident, and barely
four weeks since she’d come home from the hospital. Richard
didn’t have the heart to pull her away.
He raised his head and gazed at the wall. Portraits of his
family’s patriarchs going back a half dozen generations lined
the wall. They seemed to stare at him in condescension, their
expectations high that he not be the one to see the family
business fall to ruin. And he’d do everything in his power
to see that it didn’t. Even if working with his hands and
managing the building of the ships suited him better than
overseeing business affairs, he wouldn’t disappoint his family.
With a sigh, Richard shifted his attention to the ledger
on the desk in front of him. He’d happily pass on this task
to someone else—anyone else—but at the moment, no one
available possessed the necessary skills. Truth be told, he didn’t
either. But their accountant had left just before the accident,
and Richard hadn’t hired anyone else yet. As the new owner,
he had to get it done.
Numbers had never been his strength. He’d left that to
his more studious older brother. But with Elliott gone, the
task fell to him. How he wished he’d paid more attention
during his schooling. But if Richard allowed his thoughts to
drift anymore, another week would pass and the ledgers still
wouldn’t be settled. The release of the funds associated with
his brother’s estate depended on the accounts being balanced.
Like it or not, he had to get to work.
Three hours later, Richard drummed his fingers on top of
the ledger, tempted to let his head fall to the desktop. He’d
been over the numbers in every column at least a dozen
times, and they simply refused to cooperate. How had the
accounting gotten so out of hand in such a short time? Or
was it him? Could his figuring be that rusty?
His brother had repeatedly told him how organized the
financial side of the business was. Their former accountant
possessed a degree from one of the finest schools in
Philadelphia. So why could Richard not balance the spreadsheet?
What was he doing wrong?
Steady footfalls sounded in the hallway outside the study.
Eager for the interruption, Richard looked up as the butler
appeared in the doorway. The man cleared his throat.
“Pardon the interruption, sir, but a missive has just arrived
for you.”
“Harrison, please tell me it isn’t another note from our
lawyer.” Richard stood and rubbed his temples with his
fingers. “I might be tempted to ask you to return it without
my reading it.”
“No, sir. This is not from the lawyer.” The butler glanced
down at the envelope. “It is from a Miss Charlotte Pringle,
sir. Of Cobblestone Books.” He started to turn away. “Shall I
leave it on the tray in the front hall?”
Charlotte Pringle? From the bookstore Richard had
contacted? He’d expected the owner to be a gentleman.
“No!” Richard stood and nearly toppled his leather chair.
He spoke more calmly. “I will take it.” He held out his hand.
Harrison stepped to the dark cherry desk and handed the
letter to Richard. “Will that be all, sir?”
“Thank you, Harrison. Yes, that will be all. I will call upon
you if a reply is necessary.”
“Very good, sir.”
Richard lowered himself into the well-worn chair once
more and stared at the envelope. If this response was as he
hoped, one of his less pressing dilemmas would be solved. He
slit the seal and removed the single sheet of paper.
So, the owner was a lady. Or perhaps a matron. She might
even be an old spinster with poor matrimonial prospects
who had chosen to run an old bookshop instead. Glancing
at the distinctive feminine script, Richard made up his mind.
Definitely a lady. And judging by the feel of the paper as well
as the words chosen, a lady of class. The carefully centered
seal in the wax should have told him that from the start.
Richard read the letter three times, a pleased smile
forming on his lips. The owner had signed the letter with
a Miss preceding her name. That usually indicated a young
lady, although it didn’t rule out the spinster possibility.
Nevertheless, he had a mission in mind, and Miss Pringle
had not only obliged him with a response, but she had
also set aside every title he’d requested. His niece would be
thrilled.
“Are you busy?”
Richard started at the young voice. “Grace, what did I tell
you about sneaking up on me like that?” It had been almost a
month, yet sharing a home with a child still felt foreign.
Grace gave him an apologetic look mixed with a hint of
indignation. “I didn’t sneak up on you, Uncle Richard. I came
down the hall as I normally do.” She placed her hands on
the large wheels to each side of her chair and moved them
forward, bringing her into the study. Her expression reflected
both sorrow and melancholy. “Besides, one cannot exactly be
silent in a contraption like this.”
“You have a point.” Richard nodded, his heart going out to
his niece, confined to a chair after the carriage accident that
took her parents. “I suppose I was lost in thought. Do forgive
me for snapping.”
“Oh, I could never be cross with you, Uncle.” Her eyes
reflected sadness, yet a pixie-like smile graced her face. “Who
else is going to get me every book I could ever want? As well
as all the sugar sticks I can eat?”
An answering grin parted his lips. “Now who said anything
about sugar sticks?”
She pressed her hands against the wheels and raised
herself up. “You mean I truly can have any book I want?”
Grace wheeled closer. “Does that mean you heard back from
one of the shops?”
“As a matter of fact. . .” Richard stood and moved around
the desk to stand in front of his niece. He kneeled to be at
eye level with her, placing his hands over hers. “Yes, I did.”
Eagerness filled her expression. “What did they say?”
Richard glanced back toward the desk then again at Grace.
“The owner has each and every title on your list, and she has
set them aside for us to come see.”
Grace’s eyes widened. “She?” A wrinkle formed in the
middle of her brow, and she pressed her lips into a thin line.
“That doesn’t mean the owner is a dour old spinster, does it?”
“That will be enough of that, young lady,” Richard
reprimanded. “We have yet to meet Miss Pringle. I’ll not
have you forming assumptions and passing judgment
before we meet her.” Of course he had done that very thing
moments before. He’d do well to heed his own instructions.
Appearing immediately contrite, Grace lowered her gaze.
“Yes, sir. I’m sorry.”
Richard tipped up her chin with the crook of his finger.
“Very well. Shall we begin making plans for our journey?”
“Do you mean I can join you?” The shift from contrition
to joy nearly caused Richard to fall back. Ah, the exuberance
of youth.
“I would not have it any other way, my dear.” He tapped
Grace’s nose and smiled, silently praying Cobblestone Books
had street-level access.

Order Now!

<< Go Back