She looked up at the somberly dressed but friendly-faced man in her study doorway, and gestured for him to take a seat before her desk. “Good morning, Mr. Reynolds.” “An excellent morning, Miss Martin.” Terrance Reynolds sat and placed his satchel at his feet. She shook her head at the butler, who’d been waiting to relay a tea service request to the housekeeper. While she knew she should offer the courtesy, she truly didn’t have much to say, and she dreaded the awkwardness that would arise when she couldn’t fill the additional time with conversation. Some women possessed a talent for charming but meaningless discourse. Sadly, she was not one of them. “You will be happy to hear,” Reynolds began, “that I’ve found a shopkeeper for the vacant space on Peony Way. A purveyor of soaps, candles, and such.” “Excellent. You are most efficient, Mr. Reynolds.” “Thank you.” She set her quill aside, noting how much more comfortable she was talking to Reynolds than she was to Mr.
