Hi all! I’ve got a new one coming out December 1st! I love a good modern when I’ve been in a Regency writing bout, and other than Catching Lizzy late last year, I’ve been eating, breathing, and writing Regency (and swimming) for a while now. A modern was long overdue!
If you missed the Prologue, it’s up on Austen Variations. Just click here!
If you’d like to follow along with my Pinterest Inspiration Board, click here!
To those who are sensitive to it, this book does contain some swearing and adult scenes.
October 11th (present day)-six months later
I stepped into the glittering ballroom and scanned those dressed in their finest tuxes and gowns while they milled around the room and gathered in small groups to chat about this or that. Waiters dressed in solid black wove through the guests with sparkling crystal glasses of champagne while a long oak bar along the right side of the enormous room beckoned to those who craved something stronger.
God, I missed Zio! While I held onto his arm, he would walk me through the room, whispering his scathing criticisms of those he disliked and ensuring I was introduced to those he tolerated. My uncle could navigate a room and avoid every pitfall and snake in the grass with an ease and grace I’d always envied.
Now, as I watched the crowd, my stomach was tight, and my fingers gripped my clutch so that the beading dug into my flesh without mercy. It wasn’t that I disliked parties, per se, but a charity gala with the supposed social “elite” wasn’t something I’d become accustomed to. Would I ever get used to this?
“Lizzy!” Marianne King, heiress to a magazine conglomerate, waved me to join her. We’d both gone to NYU; although, Marianne was a few years older than me and had gotten her degree in journalism. Her father had made her work for one of his magazines while in college, and as soon as she’d graduated, she was brought on staff. However, she’d busted her ass to make her way to editor-in-chief. While her father gave her the start, he wasn’t one to promote his own daughter over someone more qualified and had left it to the head of that magazine label to choose the new editor based on merit. Marianne had still earned the promotion. Her work over the years had spoken for itself.
I met her halfway, and she gave me a one-armed hug. “How are you doing? I’ve called, but I haven’t heard from you since the memorial service. I’m sorry for not making more of an effort.”
“I’m the one who should be sorry, Marianne. I’ve been so overwhelmed learning about the company and keeping up with the café that I’ve neglected everything but business. Until recently, it’s been all I can do to get into the bakery kitchen a couple of times a week. Thank heavens for Charlotte, my assistant—she’s been a godsend. She can bake everything we offer and direct the staff with no help from me, so she’s been running the bakery.” I’d met Charlotte Lu at Cordon Bleu in London, and we’d hit it off like we’d been friends for decades rather than a few months. She’d moved to New York after we’d both received our certificates. Zio hadn’t blinked at me hiring who I felt was the best person to be my right hand. In fact, after a ten-minute video call, he hadn’t hesitated to approve my choice.
“But you won’t be running both businesses day to day, will you? After all, the Buttercream Beanery was your brainchild, not your uncle’s.”
“The bookstore has a management staff. We’re in the process of mapping what will happen in the future. I will likely spend my mornings running the bakery and café, then spend an hour or two in the afternoon tending to some of the business of the bookstore. Zio didn’t spend much more than that. He’d delegated most of his responsibilities during the past ten or so years of his life. He just liked hearing the latest and being a part of the ordering decisions. He’d stayed on top of what was up and coming.”
“Just like you.”
I shrugged. “I do try, but I have to give my management team a ton of credit. We all keep our ears and noses to the ground for any rumor of something amazing coming down the pipeline.”
“I’m sure your uncle would’ve understood if you kept to the café and bakery side of the business.”
With a sigh, I shook my head. “I don’t know about that. After I had the café up and running, Zio brought me to these charity functions and insisted I meet everyone. He’d call me to the meetings where they discussed book orders and new releases. He’s been preparing me for this since he brought me into the business. I was just too blind to see his intentions for what they were.
“Did you know he bought a smaller building in the East Village and intended to open another store?”
Marianne’s forehead creased. “Are you going to carry through with his plans?”
“I don’t know,” I said and bit my bottom lip for a moment. “I feel like we’re sandwiched in by Pemberley Books. They own most of the big bookstores when you leave Manhattan. I don’t even know if I should make an attempt. I found out a month ago that they’ve been watching and waiting for me to fail so they can buy Novel Books for a song.”
“You’re kidding,” said Marianne. “How’d you even find that out?”
“My sister Jane of all people. When the lawsuit she’d filed in an attempt to gain part of Zio’s estate failed, she was furious and told me. I think it was for shock value, but you’d be proud of me. I didn’t so much as flinch.”
My long-time friend put a hand on my shoulder. “But you haven’t failed. From what I can tell, business is better than ever. I absolutely love the Halloween story time event you’ve started—and promoting it through the local schools was brilliant. My sister took my niece on Saturday, and she raved about it.” I’d mentioned the idea during one of our management meetings, and the idea had flourished from there. On weekends in the month of October, we had employees, children’s authors, and even actors who would dress to the theme of whatever book they were meant to read and set up in a corner of the children’s department. The turnout had been amazing. Every few hours, we had dozens of kids who would appear dressed as everything from a cat to a Marvel character to a terrifying witch.
“It’s been a lot of fun. I’m reading one of the weekends before Halloween. I can’t wait.”
Marianne glanced over my shoulder. “Oh, my father is giving me the ‘help’ signal. He’s been caught by Cruella de Bourgh.”
I laughed, and not so softly, at her name for Catherine de Bourgh. My uncle had mentioned Mrs. de Bourgh here and there. As anyone could imagine by the nickname, she was not known for her kindness.
“I haven’t met her yet.”
“Do yourself a favor,” said Marianne. “Make an effort not to.”
I held my breath so I wouldn’t snort in response as she kissed my cheek and rushed off. I pivoted on my heel glancing around the room. Marianne had stepped next to her father and was smiling and nodding to an imperious-looking woman with grey hair that was pulled back in a severe bun. She held a cane with one knobby hand while she dipped her chin with the air of a queen. Poor Marianne.
As I pivoted to take in the room, I sighed. This was the first event without Zio. Hopefully, I didn’t look as lost as I felt. I could do this!
I drew myself up and began walking toward the bar. I would pretend I owned the place—I would act as though I was in the café, except I’d never wear a couture evening gown in the café. My usual attire was leggings or jeans and a t-shirt when I was baking. If I worked the front, I usually wore jeans and a bakery polo. Now, standing here in a floor-length, fitted silver sheath gown with a halter neck and gunmetal beading, I was out of my depth. The vintage store down the street had called me the moment they’d gotten this piece, and I couldn’t argue with the price—not when I could never bring myself to buy a similar dress brand new. Nothing was out of place with the gown. It was me who was convinced I shouldn’t be here.
After speaking briefly with two friends of my grandfather, I searched for the ladies’ room. Maybe a moment with fewer people around would allow me to gather myself. I used the facilities and washed my hands before stepping in front of one of the large mirrors to ensure I had no toilet paper stuck to my heel, or my seam wasn’t hopelessly twisted around my body.
I took one more deep breath, exhaled, and opened the door to step into the large corridor. I’d taken no more than a couple of steps when I was bumped into from behind. My foot slipped to the side on my strappy heels, and my hands shot out to brace myself as I fell. However, the blow never came. Instead, strong arms wrapped around me, and the next thing I knew, I was hauled back to my feet.
“I’m sorry. I should’ve been looking where I was going.”
A pain shot through my ankle, and I winced. “It was an accident. No harm, no foul, you know.”
The man straightened from picking his phone and my clutch up from the carpet, and my entire body froze at the first glimpse of his crystal blue eyes. Holy hotness, Batman! No sooner had he handed me the clutch than I clenched it to keep from fanning myself.
“Are you hurt?” His watered-down English accent washed over me. I could’ve melted at the mellow baritone he possessed, but instead, I cleared my throat and glanced down to my feet.
“I don’t think so.” I took a step back and almost lost my balance when my foot slid from the sole of my shoe. My arms nearly burst into flames when he steadied me.
I lifted my foot. “One of the straps on my heel broke. I can’t wear them like this.” I started to hobble over to a chair, and he wrapped an arm around me to steady me.
When I sat and began to remove both shoes, he backed up a little. “You mean don’t mean to walk around the gala with bare feet, do you?”
“You act like the floors are filthy. Besides,” I cupped my hand like I was going to tell him a secret, “they’ll be hidden by my dress. No one will know.” I’d stage whispered in a tone that would’ve made my mother proud.
His eyebrows lifted while I unbuckled the straps on the good shoe. I’d had these heels for a few years and had used them often since silver matched just about everything. I suppose they were doomed to fail at some point. The timing was unfortunate, but what could I do? It wasn’t like I had a spare pair of shoes in my tiny clutch. I’d also break my ankle if I tried to wear them around the gala.
“Why even carry one of those? They seem rather useless?”
When I looked up, he was pointing to my bag that sat next to me on a side table. Although, it was more of a case since it had a clasp and wasn’t soft. “I have an ID, a little cash, a credit card, and some lip gloss in case of emergency.”
“Lip gloss,” he said dryly.
“No self-respecting girl would leave home without it.”
I stood once I’d taken off my heels and grabbed my clutch. As soon as I’d tossed the shoes in a gold trash can near the ladies’ room door, I ensured my feet were hidden by the hem of my gown. “See, no one will know.”
He stared down at where my bare feet were concealed. “This is all my fault. I know it won’t make up for the shoes, but can I buy you a drink?”
I squashed my inner teenager who was jumping up and down at the hot guy offering her a drink. She would ruin everything. “That would be lovely, thank you.”
When he held out his arm for me to take, I bit my cheek. A gentleman? How many men offered their arm these days? My uncle would’ve, but like I said, these days.
I slipped my hand into the crook, the expensive fabric of his coat tickling my palm. When we reached the bar, he waved down a bartender and leaned over to me. “What would you like?”
My eyes wandered over the selections. Zio and I always ordered Scotch at these functions, and it seemed appropriate to continue the tradition, particularly when my scan stopped on a familiar dark brown label. “The Balvenie seventeen-year double wood, please.”
Again, the man’s eyebrows shot up on his forehead. “You drink Scotch?”
“Mostly when I come to events like this,” I said, arching my brow to meet his look.
His lips quirked up on one side. “I’m Will.” He held out his hand.
“Just Will?”
One of his shoulders lifted. “For tonight, yes. If you don’t mind.” He leaned over the bar and ordered.
When he straightened, I tilted my head. “Then I’m Liz.” I couldn’t explain why I’d given him that nickname. No one called me Liz. My family had always called me Elizabeth, except for Zio, of course, and in England, everyone had called me Lizzy. I hadn’t minded. That was the beginning of a new life, so the change seemed appropriate. Now my friends and employees all called me Lizzy.
“So, how often do you come to these things?” asked Will.
A laugh spluttered from my chest. “I’m sorry, but was that meant to be a pick-up line?”
He frowned for a moment, then his expression lightened a little. “Not exactly. Call it genuine curiosity.”
“This is the first I’ve attended by myself. If I’m being honest, I miss the company and feel kind of lost on my own.”
The bartender put my drink beside me, and I curled my fingers around the glass, the familiar weight of it as I lifted soothing some of that unease in my chest.
“I suppose your excuse is better than mine.”
“What’s that?” Now my curiosity was piqued.
“I despise galas and balls and having to put on a polite face. I’d rather write a check and be done with it.” Will held his glass out, and I met it with mine. “To new acquaintances.”
“Not quite acquaintances you could say. It’s not like we’re giving each other much about ourselves.”
He lifted a shoulder. “I suppose if you consider identity, you’re correct. That doesn’t mean we aren’t sharing our true feelings on other matters.”
We both sipped our drinks, and I closed my eyes for a moment to savor the warm vanilla notes that lingered on my tongue. When my eyes opened, Will watched me with a strange look in his eyes.
“What is it?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Nothing. Forgive me. I know very few women who drink Scotch much less seem to enjoy it as you just did.”
“Perhaps I have a more refined palate than most women you know.” I allowed a small smile. Yes, I was flirting just a bit. I couldn’t deny this man looked like he’d just stepped from the pages of a GQ tuxedo spread. The designer tux he was wearing fit him to perfection, and his mahogany curls were a little long but were swept back some, allowing a view of his handsome face. I could stare at him for hours—if I wouldn’t make an idiot of myself.
He glanced around the room. “The ballroom is becoming crowded. Would you like to go to the balcony?”
I tore my gaze from him to where people were beginning to gather around the bar. “Yes, I think I’d like that.”
He offered his hand to help me weave out of the crowd and held the glass door open for me when we exited the room. The cool air of the evening hit me, and I let it wash over my skin. The ballroom had become warmer since I’d arrived, which wasn’t surprising with the number of people who’d entered since I’d left for the ladies’.
“Are you cold?” He set down his drink on the stone balustrade and reached for the button on his coat.
“No.” I held out my hand for him to stop. “It’s nice out tonight. I promise I’m not cold.”
He nodded and picked up his drink. “You’ll tell me if that changes?”
“But if you give me your jacket, you’ll be cold.”
“I’d still be wearing a long-sleeved shirt. Your shoulders are bare. What kind of a gentleman would I be if I let them become goosebumped?”
I laughed. “Goosebumped? Is that a word?”
“I don’t know, but it is now.” He gave a full smile this time. He was attractive before, but with those dimples peeking from his cheeks, he was every woman’s book fantasy—the image in their mind of the handsome leading man. He’d be my perfect adult version of Gilbert Blythe—like after Gilbert and Anne married in Anne’s House of Dreams. God, I loved Gilbert!
Okay! Next Chapter comes on Wednesday with my sale announcement on Austen Variations! Don’t forget to stop by and check it out!
