Splendor Read Online Free Page B

deeply.
    She loved the somewhat musty smell of the bookstore, a smell of leather bindings and old paper, just as she loved

    the smell of the early morning. Now sunlight filtered into the dimly illuminated two-story shop, which was lined wall-to-wall with books. The shop was Carolyn's home. She had been bom in the bedroom above it.
    But today she missed her father. He had been gone for almost two weeks now, and she expected him back at any moment. He was delivering a rare medieval manuscript to a client in Copenhagen. She wished he could entrust the task to a courier, but she knew the value of rare tomes, and understood why he could not and would not do so. George Browne was all the family she had. Her mother had died when she was six, and Carolyn did not count her mother's relatives as family, because they had disowned Margaret Owsley Browne many years ago, just as they had ignored the fact of Carolyn's existence, too, ever since she was bom. The Dowager Viscountess of Stafford had one other grandchild, Margaret having had an older sister, but she had never forgiven her eldest for mnning off with a commoner. Their love, apparently, did not matter.
    When George was out of the country, Carolyn was always somewhat lonely—her father and her books were her best friends. She had never had friends her own age. She had yet to meet a woman who had read David Hume or Adam Smith or who could discuss Plato intelligently. Carolyn read everything she could get her hands on, whether it was a tract on the origins of mankind by Lx)rd Monboddo or a popular poem by Walter Scott. And she had undoubtedly become a bluestocking because of her father. George had told her, many times, that Margaret had loved to read.
    As Carolyn crossed the bookshop, she smiled at the thought of their many fervent discussions, not only on the subject of books, both old and new, instmctional and fictional, but on politics, philosophy, science, and even unfashionable topics such as astronomy. Then Carolyn wondered what he would think of the Russian envoy recently come to London.
    But there was so much to do today, so Carolyn made sure she had plenty of coin in the cash drawer in order to

    make change for any customers she might have. Of course, sales were very slow, and it was possible they might not have a single one. Carolyn knew that a part of the economy's problems were caused by the war on the Continent. She sighed, picking up a duster, thinking about how lucky they were to still be in business, but before she could approach a single book, the bell over the front door tinkled as it opened. She turned with a smile. A well-clad young gentleman stood in the doorway. He smiled at her, his blue eyes intent.
    **Good morning. Lord Anthony," Carolyn said, forgetting to set the duster down.
    He came forward. "What a beautiful day, Miss Browne." His gaze roamed over her face.
    "Do not tell me you have already read the tract on metaphysics by Sir William Hamilton which I gave you?" She thought that it was impossible. She had only sold it to him yesterday.
    His smile was engaging. He was a very attractive young man of medium height and build with boyish good looks. He wore fine, expensive clothing. Earlier in the week he had let it slip that he was the youngest son of an earl. Carolyn had learned that his father, Stuart Davison, was a ranking member of the foreign ministry, working closely with Castlereagh. "Actually, I have not. But I was passing by, and thought I might pick up a gift for my sister. You see, she likes to read."
    "Oh! Well, does she prefer novels or poems? Or could I interest her in something philosophical?"
    He stepped closer. Since he had entered the store, his blue gaze had not moved from her face. "I think you should choose," he said. "Anything you think a young woman about your age would enjoy."
    "Well, most young ladies come here for novels, my lord. I personally am rereading a tract by Jeremy Bentham, a very enlightened thinker, I should say. Of