“Do not give up hope yet, my friend. All you need is a little encouragement in the right direction.”
“Should I send her more flowers?”
“More?” Timothy asked with a laugh as he rounded his friend. “No. You have sent enough.”
“I thought ladies liked flowers. Is it not the custom?” Alexander asked, reaching under his top hat to scratch his head in thought.
“Well, yes, that is the problem,” Timothy said plainly, as if the answer were obvious. “All gentlemen send flowers to their loves. It has become the norm, the expected thing, but tell me this…” He stepped toward his friend. “Is it a personal gesture?”
“Personal?” Alexander seemed confused by the idea. “I am simply trying to make Lady Eliza happy.”
“Exactly.”
“Don’t flowers do that?”
“For a time,” Timothy nodded and turned away, gesturing to the shop around them. “If you wish to make her happy for longer, then you must buy her gifts that are more personal, and much more insightful. Here, look at this.”
Timothy hurried to the other side of the shop and beckoned his friend to follow. They were on an excursion with the express purpose of finding a gift for Lady Eliza and had come to Bond Street in search of that gift. With light streaming through the vast shop window, the sun was gleaming off all the items, drawing courting gentlemen into the shop, the way a magpie is drawn to all that glitters.
“What is it?” Alexander asked, coming up behind Timothy as he laid a hand upon a counter.
“This,” Timothy pointed beneath the glass counter. “You see that silver inkwell?”
“Yes.”
“That is the perfect gift for your love’s sister,” Timothy said by way of demonstration. “If I were courting Lady Rebecca, I would buy this gift in a heartbeat.”
“Why?” Alexander asked with an eyebrow quirked.
“Because it is a gift that I know she would truly love. She is fond of writing, Alexander, and from what I saw of her writing bureau the other day, she uses a rather old and scruffy inkwell. This is not only a fine thing,” he pointed down at the inkwell another time, admiring the way it was carved to resemble feathers of the quill one would use to write. “It is also something she would use and dote on. Do you see what I am saying?”
“I think so,” Alexander said with a growing smile. “I think you’re saying you’re finding it rather difficult to get Lady Rebecca off your mind.”
Timothy turned sharply away from the counter, irked at the notion.
“I am not finding it difficult,” he said sharply.
“Is it so bad to like her?”
“I do not like her,” he lied through gritted teeth and walked away, trying to put as much distance between him and the inkwell as possible. “I am trying to demonstrate to you how you should personalize your gifts to Lady Eliza. Now, what does she like to do?”
“She is fond of art,” Alexander began hurriedly. “She has great skills at drawing too, I have seen it myself. She loves Somerset Gallery, and I hope to take her someday soon.”
“Then we are looking for art supplies.” Timothy clapped his hands together and moved across the shop, where he found painting boxes. He laid his hand upon a fine mahogany one that had been opened for the customers to peruse. Not only was it full of new watercolor paints, but all the tools needed, including fine paintbrushes, with the handles made out of ivory. “How about this?”
“That is fine indeed,” Alexander moved to Timothy’s side, admiring the box. “I’m sure she would like it.”
“Then you have your answer, my friend. This is the gift you should buy her.”
Alexander’s smile grew wider as he went off to the shopkeeper to discuss purchasing the item. As Alexander took his time, Timothy found he couldn’t stand still in the shop. His eyes kept flicking back to the glass cabinet where the silver inkwell sat. With Alexander distracted, Timothy made his way across the shop, alighting by the cabinet again and staring down at the silver inkwell.
It was an elegant thing, and he could picture Lady Rebecca using the inkwell when she wrote her poetry. The mere thought of it made him wonder about the book of poetry he had sent her, wondering if she had liked it.
Why didn’t I leave a name on the note card?
“Because you are not courting her, you fool,” he muttered to himself, bending down to look at the inkwell again.
“Would sir like a closer look?” a small voice came toward him. Timothy looked up to see a second shop assistant had approached him and was standing on the other side. Small and hunched with age, a pair of spectacles were balanced on the end of his nose, hanging dangerously on the precipice, as if they would fall off at any moment.
