Free Suddenly You by Lisa Kleypas Page B

hold open the glass door with the deference one might have accorded to visiting royalty. As soon as her foot touched the threshold, Amanda was instantly met by a blond gentleman in his late twenties or early thirties. Although his height was average, his slim, well-exercised physique made him appear taller. His smile was warm and genuine, and his sea-green eyes sparkled beneath a pair of steel-framed spectacles.
    â€œMiss Briars,” he said quietly, giving her a welcoming bow, “what an honor it is to make your acquaintance. I am Mr. Oscar Fretwell. And this”—he gestured to their bustling surroundings with unmistakable pride—“is Devlin’s. A store, circulating library, bindery, stationer, printer, and publisher, all under one roof.”
    Amanda curtsied and allowed him to guide her to a relatively sheltered corner, where bundles of books had been placed on a mahogany counter. “Mr. Fretwell, in what capacity do you work for Mr. Devlin?”
    â€œI am his chief manager. Occasionally I serve as a reader and editor, and I bring unpublished novels to his attention if I discover they have merit.” He smiled once again. “And it is my good fortune to be of service to any of Mr. Devlin’s writers, whenever they require it.”
    â€œI am not one of Mr. Devlin’s writers,” Amanda said firmly.
    â€œYes, of course,” Fretwell said, clearly anxious not to offend. “I did not intend to imply that you were. May I express what great pleasure your work has brought to myself and our subscribers? Your books are constantly on loan, and the sales are quite brisk. For the last one, Shades of the Past , we could not get by with an order of less than five hundred.”
    â€œFive hundred?” Amanda was too startled by the figure to conceal her amazement. Books were luxury items, too dear for most people to afford, and therefore, her sales of nearly three thousand volumes had been considered exceptional. However, she had not realized until this moment that a large percentage of her sales could be attributed to Devlin’s support.
    â€œOh, yes,” Fretwell began earnestly, but paused as he became aware of a minor disturbance at one of the counters. It appeared that a clerk was perturbed by the return of a book in poor condition. The subscriber, a lady covered in heavily applied face paint and perfume, was vigorously protesting the charge that the book had been damaged. “Ah, it’s Mrs. Sandby,” Fretwell said with a sigh. “One of our frequent subscribers. Unfortunately, she likes to borrow a book and read it at the hairdresser’s. When she returns a volume, it is usually caked with powder and the pages sealed together with pomade.”
    Amanda laughed suddenly, glancing at the woman’s old-fashioned pile of powdered hair. No doubt she—and the novel—had spent a great deal of time at the hairdresser’s. “It appears that your attention is required, Mr. Fretwell. Perhaps you should settle the dispute while I wait here.”
    â€œI shouldn’t like to leave you unattended,” he said with a slight frown. “However…”
    â€œI’ll stay in this exact spot,” Amanda said, her smile lingering. “I don’t mind waiting.”
    While Oscar Fretwell hurried to smooth over the situation, Amanda gazed at her surroundings. Books were everywhere, lined neatly on shelves that went from floor to ceiling. The ceiling was two stories high, with an upper balcony that provided access to a second-floor gallery. The dazzling array of red, gold, green, and brown bindings was a feast for the eyes, while the wonderful smells of vellum, parchment, and pungent leather almost caused Amanda to salivate. An exquisite waft of tea leaves lingered in the air. For anyone who enjoyed the pursuit of reading, this place was surely paradise.
    Subscribers and purchasers waited in lines at counters laden with catalogs and