It had been a week since Elena settled into her new home in the capital. Frank had done his best to transform the old cottage into a livable haven for her and Catherine. The once dusty rooms had become a beautifully furnished country retreat. 

Elena’s attic bedroom now reflected her personality. Her daybed was pushed against the window, allowing her to gaze out at the newly landscaped backyard garden. Her bookshelves were filled with volumes she had brought from Valtara, and her grandfather’s old piano—the only surviving relic of the dusty attic—stood as the focal point of the room. 

In the first few days, Elena spent her time exploring the neighborhood. Curious neighbors were eager to meet the new occupants of the long-uninhabited cottage. She found an old bicycle in the small greenhouse, which Donovan, the servant of Lady Timothy, diligently repaired and returned to her. 

Catherine spent most of her time in the garden, conversing with Bethany, one of the servants who had come with them from Valtara. Bethany, having become a servant of the viscountess after her marriage, had watched Elena grow up and was now a close confidant to Catherine. Consequently, she decided to follow the Sinclairs to the capital. 

With two months left before Elena was to begin her studies at Ashwood Academy, she was already feeling confined by the cottage. Having explored most of their neighborhood, she now longed to venture further into the city on her bicycle. 

Elena was well aware of her family’s financial situation. While they would be fine for now, she wanted to find a part-time job. Growing up, she had often helped her father or assisted shopkeepers at the seaside in Valtara—a testament to her free spirit and unconventional upbringing. 

As she pedaled through the winding streets, warm sunlight danced across her face, making her feel alive. She left behind the charming suburban villas with their tidy gardens and leafy trees, entering the grandeur of the city center. 

Majestic stone buildings, adorned with ornate facades and gleaming gas lamps, seemed to stretch up to the sky, their windows glinting like diamonds in the morning light. The sound of horseshoes clinking on cobblestones, the calls of street vendors, and the chug of steam-powered carriages filled the air. 

Elena's gaze drifted over the opulent shops and cafés, their elegant signs creaking in the gentle breeze. She passed a milliner’s with a display of colorful feathers and silks, and a patisserie whose freshly baked croissants tempted her with their delightful aroma. The air was thick with the scents of coal smoke, horse dung, and the sweet fragrance of blooming flowers in the nearby park. 

As she rode, her awareness of her unconventional attire and solo journey grew. Her dark hair was tucked beneath a simple straw hat, and she wore a practical yet stylish riding costume, complete with a tailored jacket and divided skirt. Her gloves were tucked into her pocket, and she grasped the handlebars with a confidence that belied the curious glances from passersby. Women of her social class didn’t ride bicycles alone, especially not through the city’s main thoroughfares. 

Despite her initial awe, Elena's thoughts turned to the stark contrasts between this polished world and the rugged coastline she called home. Valtara’s salty breeze, the cries of seagulls, and the rough-hewn cliffs felt like a lifetime away from this refined, aristocratic landscape. A pang of homesickness tugged at her heart, but she pushed it aside, eager to explore this new realm. 

Dismounting her bicycle outside a bookstore, she smoothed her skirts and took a deep breath. The sign above the door read "Frowde's Fine Books" in elegant gold lettering. A sense of pride and defiance swelled within her; in this unfamiliar city, she was already breaking the rules. Her eyes sparkled with determination as she prepared to face whatever challenges lay ahead. 

A melodious ding announced the arrival of a newcomer to the cozy bookstore. The sound was familiar to Mr. Frowde, who had a steady but modest stream of customers each day. Sebastian preferred the second floor, where he could observe the street below and Geoff, the driver’s usual spot by the florists. He also positioned himself to keep an eye on Mr. Frowde’s desk in case he needed to signal for a chat or a fresh cup of tea. 

Sebastian frequently visited Frowde’s Fine Books, not because the library at the duke’s mansion lacked books, but because he enjoyed his conversations with Mr. Frowde. It was the only place where he could lose himself in reading without being interrupted by the duchess or his younger siblings. 

As Elena pushed open the creaky wooden door, a warm stream of golden light poured out onto the sidewalk, enveloping her in its inviting glow. Inside, the soft illumination from antique lamps danced across the dusty oak-paneled walls, casting a cozy atmosphere that wrapped around her like a welcoming blanket. The soft glow from the antique lamps inside illuminated the dusty oak-paneled walls, filling the air with a comforting blend of musty pages and subtle hints of polished mahogany. 

Meanwhile, in a quiet corner of the second floor, Sebastian sat engrossed in his reading, dark hair falling across his forehead as he leaned over the page. A delicate teacup, a whisper of steam rising from the tea within, rested beside him. 

 The soft chime of the bell faded behind her. Sebastian’s gaze instinctively lifted. Their eyes locked across the room, and for a fleeting moment, the world outside the bookstore seemed to vanish. He was mesmerized by her sun-kissed complexion, which glowed against the dimly lit room, and the wild, untamed curls of her hair that framed her face with an almost ethereal quality. 

Elena felt the weight of his gaze like a gentle touch on her skin. She couldn’t quite explain the sensation, but it unsettled her, as if she had been seen and understood in a way she didn’t fully comprehend. Turning back to Mr. Frowde, she couldn’t shake the feeling that the young man’s eyes still lingered on her. 

“Hello, sir. My name is Elena.” Her voice came out softer than she intended, and she immediately felt her cheeks warm with self-consciousness.   

Should I ask now? Is it too soon? Maybe I should have waited longer, talked a bit more first... Her gaze flickered around the cozy bookstore, trying to steady herself. No, this is ridiculous. I’m being too hesitant. Father always said confidence is key.  

She bit her lip and glanced at Mr. Frowde, gathering her courage. “Are you still looking for a part-time clerk?” Her voice was more controlled now, though her heart still raced in her chest.  

As she stood before him, a sudden wave of doubt crept in, threatening to undo her resolve. She had imagined this moment so many times—hadn’t it felt easier then? But now, the reality was much more daunting. Ladies of her social standing didn’t work, and certainly not in a city like this. What if Mr. Frowde thought she was overstepping? What if she was making a mistake?  

The thought of her mother’s disapproving look flashed in her mind. Catherine would caution her, gently but firmly, that this wasn’t the “done thing” for a young lady from a respectable family. But Elena wasn’t just doing this for herself. The dwindling funds from the estate were a constant reminder that independence, however unconventional, was necessary. And besides, if Father were here, he’d understand.  

She fidgeted with the hem of her jacket, her fingers twitching nervously. Am I even ready for this? What if I’m not good enough? What if he says no? The question buzzed in her mind like a persistent insect she couldn’t shake.  

But then she glanced at Mr. Frowde again. His eyes, soft and kind, met hers with a calm understanding. He didn’t seem like someone who would judge her for wanting to work. In fact, there was something comforting in his demeanor, something that reminded her of her father—a quiet wisdom, a patience she desperately needed right now. 

“Indeed, I am, Lady Elena. I’m Douglas Frowde, the owner of this bookstore. Most people call me Professor or Mr. Frowde; feel free to use whichever you prefer.” 

“Professor?” 

“Yes, I taught at the Academy and university for many years, but I’m retired now—just a humble bookstore owner.” 

Mr. Frowde gestured to a small, cozy table by the window, surrounded by towering shelves of classics and modern bestsellers. "Let's sit down, my dear, and have a nice cup of tea while we chat." 

Cradling her cup of tea, its surface shimmering with the golden hue of the brew, she took a moment to savor the delicate aroma before her words spilled forth with enthusiasm.  

Her eyes sparkled as she spoke about her passion for literature and languages, her voice weaving through the air like a melodic song, each word infused with genuine excitement, her former nervousness completely erased. 

Mr. Frowde listened intently, nodding along with delight. 

As Elena spoke, she couldn’t help but steal glances at Sebastian. 

“Who’s that?” she finally asked, nodding discreetly toward him. 

Mr. Frowde followed her gaze and chuckled. “Ah, that’s Sebastian. He’s a regular here—a bit of a bookworm, but a good soul.” Hoping to get a reaction from Sebastian, Mr. Frowde lingered, but as usual, Sebastian remained composed, his movements unchanged. 

However, beneath his calm demeanor, Sebastian found himself distracted from his book, his gaze often returning to Elena as she laughed with Mr. Frowde. There was an undeniable allure to her, a vibrant energy that seemed to breathe life into the dimly lit bookstore. It was as if her very presence cast a radiant glow, making the shadows dance and lending an almost magical quality to the room. 

 He set his cup down, his tea forgotten, as he listened to the music of her voice, which danced through the space like a sunbeam. 

As the conversation drew to a close, Mr. Frowde smiled warmly at Elena. “I think you’d be a perfect fit for our little bookstore. When would you be available to start?” 

Elena smiled, feeling a sense of gratitude toward the kind old professor. As she finished her tea and prepared to leave, she noticed Sebastian watching her from the second floor. Again, their eyes met for a brief moment, and Elena felt a shiver run down her spine, her heart skipping a beat. Something about Sebastian's gaze made her feel seen, as if he could unravel the tangled threads of her own secrets—if she had any. 

With a quiet nod, he returned to his book, leaving Elena to wonder if she had imagined the whole thing. As she pushed open the door to leave, she felt his gaze linger, like a gentle caress that stayed with her long after she stepped into the cool evening air. 

Elena pedaled home, the warm sunset casting a golden glow over the city's terracotta rooftops, her heart aglow with satisfaction. The day's boredom had transformed, like alchemy, into purpose. No longer would she be trapped within the confines of her attic window, watching life unfold without her. 

As she approached her new home, trepidation crept in, tempering her triumph. Should she reveal her newfound adventure to her mother? The memory of Catherine's worried expression, etched with concerns about Elena's adaptation to life in the capital, lingered. 

Elena's thoughts swirled as she leaned her bicycle against the wall, the sound of gravel crunching beneath her tires. She took a deep breath, steeling herself for the conversation to come. With a familiar sense of determination, she pushed open the door, ready to reassure her mother that she had made a thoughtful, considered decision. 

The foyer's warm light enveloped her, and the scent of roasting dinner wafted from the kitchen, a comforting reminder of the haven that awaited her. 

Stepping into the foyer, her mind wandered back to the bookstore. Mr. Frowde's kind smile and the musty scent of old pages lingered in her thoughts. Yet it was the enigmatic customer, Sebastian, who truly captured her attention. 

His piercing gaze had left an indelible mark. Elena's cheeks flushed at the memory, her heart skipping a beat. Why did his presence evoke such a strong reaction? 

Ascending the stairs, she lost herself in thought. The soft rustle of her skirts and the creaking of the steps echoed through the hallway, but her mind was elsewhere. 

Elena’s thoughts swirled, a maelstrom of curiosity and fascination. She had never felt this way before, as if the very fabric of her world had shifted. 

Taking a deep breath, Elena composed herself, ready to face her mother's inquiries.