Beauty: an Everland Ever After Tale (5 page)

“I’ll teach your son, Mrs. Mayor. Music is a wondrously glorious thing. If he inherited his father’s talent, I’ll teach him to love music.”

Teach him to love music
. Until he’d said it, she hadn’t realized that’s what she wanted. What she wanted more than anything. “Thank you, sir.” It was all she could manage.

“Send a note to Gordy when he’s ready to start. We can meet here, in my music room.”

She nodded, but then realized he wouldn’t see it. “In return, however, I ask that you come to my bookstore.” His lips hardened into a harsh line, and she hurried through her explanation. “I had to close my store for a much longer-than-usual lunch today, to come here. Eddie is already at his afternoon apprenticeship with Mr. King, so he couldn’t watch the store for me. We don’t have so much business that a few extra minutes will break us, but I don’t want to set a precedent—“

“I understand, Mrs. Mayor. But you must understand that I do not go out in public.”

“Surely, sir, you can make an exception? Even in the evenings? I can leave Eddie to his studies, and sit with you in the store to read?” Swallowing her pride, she added, “Please?” She shouldn’t beg; it was improper and smacked of sharing shameful secrets. But she needed him to agree; she couldn’t come here again, not without risking her memories and her reputation, but she needed him to need her, so that he’d teach Eddie.

He nodded once, and she let go the breath she’d been holding. “Very well, Mrs. Mayor. I’ll have Gordy arrange an evening this week that I can come visit your charming store.”

There’d been a hint of mockery there, in those last words, but Arabella didn’t begrudge it. She’d gotten what she wanted. So, with a nod, she placed the basket beside her, and pulled out
The Innocents Abroad, or The New Pilgrims’ Progress
.

She opened the big book, and saw his ear jerk towards her at the flutter of the pages. “I thought that I’d give you a little taste of what’s to come, sir.”
Oh poot,
why did that have to sound so naughty? He hadn’t reacted, though, just stared intently at the wall over her right shoulder.

Clearing her throat, she began. “
For months the great pleasure excursion to Europe and the Holy Land was chatted about in the newspapers everywhere in America and discussed at countless fireside
s
.
” And as she read, she watched him relax, slowly sinking back into the chair. After the first page, his head tipped back against the chair, his fingers laced together in front of his vest, and his lips slackened. The only thing that told her he was still awake was the occasional smile that would flit across those lips when she read a particularly funny line.

And after five chapters, her voice scratchy from overuse, he escorted her all the way down the hall and into the foyer in silence. At the door, he ran his hand down her arm from her shoulder to her wrist, lifted her hand in his, and kissed the back of it, as if she were a princess. She forced herself to ignore the shiver of anticipation that crawled up her arm.

“Thank you, Mrs. Mayor, for bringing books back into my life.”

Thank you, Vincenzo, for bringing music back into mine.
But of course she didn’t say it. She just hurried through her goodbyes and walked home as fast as Milton’s dictates allowed, and tried not to think of the reclusive stranger who wasn’t as strange as she would’ve liked. It didn’t work; she didn’t sleep that night, thinking of him. Remembering his touch, and his music.

“There’s a step coming up.”

Vincenzo gritted his teeth when he felt Gordy’s hand on his elbow. It was a necessary evil, and one that he tolerated outside of his domain, but that didn’t mean that he had to like it. Still, he was lucky to have the gallingly cheerful and unfathomably loyal Scotsman by his side. At the gentle pressure, he stepped up and onto the wooden sidewalk that lined Everland’s main street.

He was outside. Granted, Gordy assured him that it was close to full dark, and that the only people out were hurrying from one building to another, but it was hard to convince himself that he couldn’t feel their stares. It was amazing that after only a few months out of the public eye, he was so uncomfortable being seen again. Apparently being a recluse suited him.

“Step to yer right, m’lord. This apple tree’s got a huge branch hangin’ over the sidewalk.”

Inhaling, Vincenzo followed instructions, but scowled under the red silk blindfold. “I can smell the blossoms, you know. I’m not an imbecile.”

“Never said you were, m’lord.” Normally Vincenzo gave Gordy a hard time over his incessant cheerfulness, but secretly appreciated it. “Just thank the good Lord ye don’t get a stuffy nose, or ye’d be out of luck, eh?”

But tonight, Gordy’s teasing wasn’t working. Vincenzo just scowled deeper, because to his complete surprise, he was nervous.
Him
, who’d played in front of—and later met—Kings and Queens, and even Pope Pius.
Him
, who’d stood proudly in front of thousands on four continents, and who’d charmed an untold number of women. He was nervous about walking down the street of his new hometown, to sit and listen to a woman he’d only met yesterday.

But the nervousness didn’t matter, because for some reason, it was absolutely imperative he visit with Mrs. Mayor again. If that meant going to her bookstore, if that meant parading in front of the entire town, so be it.

Finding her in his music room—his private, personal domain—yesterday had been…well, horrifying and exhilarating all at once. That faint, tantalizing whiff of honeysuckle had reminded him of a life he’d forfeited long ago, and his heart had clenched in a sort of unintentional, visceral response. To discover that there
was
a woman there in the room with him, but not the one that the honeysuckle scent always conjured, had been… Vincenzo took a deep breath and steadied himself as Gordy led him around a horse trough. He’d been through pain worse than many men could imagine, so he wasn’t going to call yesterday’s realization
painful
… but it hadn’t been pleasant.

He’d wanted to share some of that shock at finding a stranger in his domain, so he’d tried all of his rudest techniques on her. She’d actually let him
touch
her, touch her face, as if he was some sort of primitive beast who didn’t know better. But then he’d felt the tear tracks on her cheeks, and known that she wasn’t standing there out of pity, but out of that same shared pain. And the realization had almost broken him.

Yes, Mrs. Mayor was different. Special. She hadn’t come to gawk at him, she’d come to read to him… and to barter. And her barter meant that he’d be able to spend more time with her. If he ever got to her damn bookstore.

“Here’s the bannister, m’lord.” Gordy guided Vincenzo’s hand to the railing, and not for the first time, Vincenzo considered employing one of those sticks his last doctor had told him about, for feeling around. Of course, it wouldn’t be necessary, because he planned on spending all of his time in his own house from now on. “And here’s the door. The sign over it says ‘Mayor Books and Botany’, if ye can make any sense from that.” Yes, he remembered she’d said her husband had been a botanist. “So we’ll just head inside—“

“Wait.” Vincenzo swallowed, but held up his hand imperiously. “Go over to the saloon or something, Gordy. I’ll meet with Mrs. Mayor on my own.”

His manservant made a little noise of disbelief. “An’ leave ye standing here?”

Vincenzo groped for the door, feeling for the latch. “This is the handle? Then I’m sure I can manage to navigate inside.”

“But m’lord…”

“Gordy,” Vincenzo sighed. “Just let me do this, all right? Go, meet your new neighbors.” He could still sense his friend’s hesitation. “I’ll have Mrs. Mayor send her son to come fetch you when we’re through. Is that acceptable, mother hen?”

“If you think that’s best…?”

Hell no, he was barely thinking straight as it was. But on the other side of that door was Mrs. Mayor and the next few chapters of Twain’s uproariously funny travelogue, and the last thing he wanted was to share her company with Gordy. “Unless you’d rather spend your evening listening to her read—we’ve reached the chapters on the Azores, you know—than with a few beers, you’ll manage to get your head out of your rear, and do as I say.”

He could hear Gordy’s smile when the other man quipped, “Well, when ye put it like that, I’ll leave ye to it.”

Listening to his friend’s footsteps as they stamped down the main avenue, Vincenzo sighed. And then, squaring his shoulders, he pushed the door open.

There was a cheery little tinkling from the bell overhead, and his senses were assaulted with the twin scents of baking bread and honeysuckle. He hadn’t imagined it yesterday. Even though he’d been thinking of other things, the closer he’d stood to her; she smelled of honeysuckle, just as Jane had. He wondered if Mrs. Mayor distilled her own scent, the way his wife had long ago, or if her botanist husband had done it for her.

“I’ll be right out!” Her voice came from far away, as if she was in the back room. He just stood, unsure, until he heard her bustle out. The fresh-bread and honeysuckle scent followed her, and Vincenzo inhaled deeply.

And then she was standing right beside him, her fingers lightly resting on the fine broadcloth of his suit sleeve. “Thank you for being willing to come all this way,
Signore
.” Was it his imagination, or did she sound shyer today?

“It wasn’t so far.” He hadn’t meant to be so gruff, but there was something about this evening that was affecting him. Dredging up old memories.

With gentle pressure, she led him across the room and placed his hand on the arm of a wingback chair. “Please sit down. I had Eddie help me move these down today, after I knew you’d be coming.” Her skirts
swished
as she settled beside him, presumably on another chair.

She’d managed to surprise him. “You carried chairs down just for me?”

“Well, I’ve been meaning to create a cozier atmosphere in the shop, and this was a good excuse. The chairs are upholstered in a lovely robin’s-egg blue, and belonged to Milton’s—to my late husband’s—mother. I’ve set them up in this corner, along with two small tables and a lamp. The bookshelves are above and behind you, but this section isn’t as well-frequented as the others. Only a few of us care about botany treatises.” As she described her shop, and his location in it, he saw it come to life behind his empty eyes. She effortlessly spun a description—so unlike yesterday, when he’d asked her to describe herself—without prompting, making him comfortable here, in her domain. He wanted to thank her, but didn’t want to embarrass her. Instead, he addressed the original topic.

“Well, I appreciate that you created this cozy nook in time for my appointment. I can have Gordy order some replacement chairs, so that you won’t be deprived of your mother-in-law’s finery in your own apartment.”

“Oh, that’s all right.” Her assurance was a bit too fast. “We’re…” She cleared her throat. “Eddie and I are moving out of our apartment and down into the backroom of the shop. There’s less space there, so I’ll be moving more furniture in here, I’m sure. We’re renting our home upstairs to a lovely couple who are ready for their own space.”

“That must be hard on the boy.” It must be hard on her too, but he knew that she wouldn’t admit that.

He was right. “I’m afraid you’re correct.” She lowered her voice, and Vincenzo remembered her son was in the back room. “I’m hoping that taking lessons with you will focus him more, give him an outlet.”

So he smiled the smile that had charmed dozens of women before her. “I have confidence that he and I will work together well. I’m looking forward to meeting him.”

Another swish of her skirts, and then she said quietly, “I’ll arrange for it, this evening. But in the meantime…” He heard the rustle of paper, and then she began. “
I think the Azores must be very little known in America. Out of our whole ship's company there was not a solitary individual who knew anything whatever about them.”

Vincenzo rested his head on the back of the chair, and rested one foot on the opposite knee, and let her words sweep him away. Gordy had read him the same book a few years ago, but between his manservant’s brogue and unfamiliarity with the written word, it was nowhere near as pleasant as this. He found himself completely swept up in Twain’s adventure, chuckling at the appropriate times. Mrs. Mayor did her best not to laugh at the funny parts—he could tell by the way her tone of voice changed, that she was trying to hold in her giggles—but it didn’t always work.

And when her voice got rough from reading, he interrupted to talk about his travels in Europe. He’d never been to the Azores, for instance, but he’d spent a month in Lisbon, and told her all about the people he’d met and the foods that he’d eaten. Her questions were insightful, and told him that while she was well-read, she hadn’t traveled much, so he happily answered them. It felt good to repay her, in some small way, for reading to him.

And for an hour, at least, he wasn’t a deformed recluse, but a man. A man spending time with a woman that he wanted to charm… but not in the way he’d charmed all of Europe. For some reason, somehow, he wanted her to know
him
; not the him that he’d shown his audiences, not the him that had morbidly fascinated women across the world, but the real him.

It was an odd feeling.

Arabella was pleased that she’d taken the time to arrange this cozy nook in the corner of her store. It was something she’d been thinking about for a while; making the store more attractive as a reading location, and conveniently using some of the furniture that wouldn’t fit in the back room once they moved. But having a set appointment with
Signore
Bellini had been the impetus she’d needed.

As she’d read, she’d let her mind wander to the pretty things she’d already packed for the move. Her mother’s lace tablecloth would fit well over that little end table, and that chintz lap blanket Milton had purchased in New York would look lovely thrown over that chair. And Grandmama’s tea service could be placed just so for special occasions. Milton had believed in keeping a beautiful—if impractical—home, and since his death, they’d packed away many of the items that were too lovely for everyday use. But they’d look fine out here, and help create a more welcoming, inviting atmosphere.

Vincenzo—
Signore
Bellini, rather, told fascinating stories to supplement Twain’s observations, and before she’d realized it, more than an hour of entertaining company had passed. Who would’ve thought that a man who looked like him could be so charming?

“Mother! Look, I’ve finished! I wanted to—oh.” Eddie’s rush towards her halted when he saw that her guest was still seated in their store. Her son turned hesitant, not sure if he should continue, or leave them be. She put out her arm, gesturing for him to join them.