Love In The Library (11 page)

She could feel his gaze raking over her. Being the fashion conscious person he was, he would be sure to realize from her heavily wrinkled dress that she'd worn it for the past two days. He was also bound to wonder why she needed the heavy, hooded cloak on a sunny day like this one had become. She felt ever so dowdy standing beside the impeccably dressed man of small stature.

“Good day to you, Mrs. Bexley.” His eye flicked to the rented coach. Any hopes he’d had of discovering who she’d been with were dashed when the driver flicked the ribbons and sped off.

She knew just what to do to avoid his prying questions. She spun around to stare at his coach and four. The coach itself was shiny black with gilt paint edging the doors and rich claret velvet curtains. The four black horses looked identical. And they were beauties. Why in the world one would need four matched beauties like those to take him the distance of half a mile within the city of Bath? “I declare, Mr. Longford, I have not seen your magnificent conveyance in daylight before. I already thought your barouche the most elegant ride possible, but this is just too magnificent!”

The man positively glowed. “I commissioned it from the carriage maker to the Duke of Clarence.”

She attempted to effect a look of appreciative amazement. “How fortunate I am to have ridden in it. I declare, I shall feel connected to the Royal Family.”

“It was my intention to take you for a ride in it this very day.”

“You are frightfully kind, but alas, I cannot today. I have a great many business matters to attend to.”

His smiling face fell. “I have been attempting to see you these past three days.”

“My affairs are in a state of flux at present, and they demand my immediate attention.” She whirled toward the door. “I’m sorry I won’t be able to visit with you today.”

“Have you been with Melvin Steffington?” He nearly sneered the words.

She slowly turned back and gave him a cold stare. “Actually, I have been with both of the twins, but I fail to understand why that should concern you.” She rushed into the house.

In the entry corridor, Simpson met her. “Welcome home, madam. Should you wish to see the post?”

“Indeed I would.” She prayed that Mr. Christie had responded to her letter. She picked up a short stack of letters from the sideboard and quickly examined them. Her heartbeat drummed when she saw Mr. Christie’s distinctive handwriting. She rushed to the library, which was quite dark, and drew open the celadon-colored damask draperies. Now the light was good enough to read. She sat down at the desk that had belonged to Mr. Bexley. Really, she must start thinking of these things as
her
possessions.

She carefully unfolded Mr. Christie's letter and began to read.

My Dear Mrs. Bexley

It is with unimaginable disappointment that I read your letter informing me of the grievous loss of your nearly priceless manuscript of Chaucer’s major work. It would have been the greatest acquisition I’d ever presided over.

Equally as shocking to me is that I never heard of it coming on the market. It is a rare occurrence when something of that import is not presented to me.

I feel it my duty to point you toward two of the newest, most enthusiastic book collectors in the kingdom in the hopes that one of them can assist you where I have failed. (These would be in addition to Lords Oxford and Spencer, both of them known far and wide for their extensive collections of books.) One of the new collectors is Thomas Whitebread, and the other is Lord Seacrest. I pray this information is of assistance to you.

It grieves me that the theft occurred shortly after my visit. Such an occurrence has the ramification to impugn my character. I have tried to remember to whom I may have spoken of your treasure, but my memory is not so sharp after the passage of four months. If my recall should improve, I vow to contact you at once. Allow me once again to say how very sorry I am over your loss.

Yours ever truly,

J. Christie

By the time she had bathed and changed into fresh clothing, Simpson announced another caller: Mr. Steffington. This caller was far more welcome than Mr. Longford had been.

She understood why he would have been the top pupil in his class. He was possessed of a slavish determination to complete his tasks successfully. Not for the first time, she congratulated herself for having chosen him.

Though she normally saw callers in the drawing room, she felt most comfortable with Mr. Steffington in the library. They had spent so many comforting hours there with each other. "Please show Mr. Steffington to the library."

When she entered that chamber a few moments later, he stood. Her gaze swept from the top of his dark head, along his clean-shaven face, to his freshly starched but inexpertly tied cravat, and his chocolate-colored frockcoat, buff breeches that molded to his long, muscled legs and terminated in a pair of soft cowhide boots that were in need of shine. No doubt, his brother would cringe over his careless appearance.

"Mr. Steffington! I did not expect to see you today. Did I not tell you to climb into bed and catch up on the sleep you have missed?"
Because of his loyalty to me.

"We've only ten days."

She was so touched that he shared her heavy burden.

Her face brightened. "I have a lead!" She went to the desk, got Mr. Christie's letter, and offered it to him.

He scanned it, then looked up at her. "Do you know either of these men?"

She shook her head.

He went to the desk. "I shall write to each of them, apprising them of my scholarly pursuits and inviting myself to see their collections. I had originally hoped to have Dr. Mather open the doors for me, but we haven't time now."

She went to the shelf for her
Debrett's
and looked up Lord Seacrest's seat. "Lord Seacrest's home is Granfield Manor in Warwickshire." But how was she to discover the direction of Mr. Whitebread?

"I go there today." His square jaw set firmly, and she thought he looked more masculine than any man of her acquaintance.

"
We
go there," she said in her most authoritarian voice.

His head cocked as he regarded her from beneath lowered brows. "A lady does not ride on horseback for more than a hundred miles."

"We are not riding on horseback, nor are we taking a post chaise. I shall hire a coach. I'll send Simpson over to the livery at once."

His hand seized her arm. "You are certain you wish to come with me? It will be a long and grueling journey – not to mention the impropriety of it."

"I should die of curiosity were I to stay here." She started for the library door. "I do hope your brother can come with us." Traveling with two men was far more respectable than just the two of them. "Where is he? I thought he had taken an interest in assisting us."

"My brother collapsed on his bed. He has always needed sleep more than me."

She knew the strict discipline which guided Mr. Steffington's life deprived him of anything he considered frivolous – even sleep. "Do you think we can persuade him to journey with us?"

He shook his head. "As it happens, he has promised to preside over our sister Annie's debut tomorrow night. It's the sort of thing that falls into the realm of duties of the firstborn."

"I do believe you're happy not be the firstborn."

"You know me too well, madam."

"There is one thing I must request that you do on our journey."

His brows elevated.

"You are not to go without sleep. We will stop at coaching inns along the way. You've already forsaken too much sleep on my behalf."

"If you insist upon sleep, then I dictate the hours of rising."

"Fair enough."

"First, I know just the man who can tell me where Mr. Whitebread lives. I will dispatch both letters today on the overnight post. Then after I pack a few things I shall return here. Early afternoon."

* * *

Curiously, Long
mouth's
expensive coach and four was in front of his house on Green Park Road when Melvin returned. Why in the blazes was he there? Elvin would never willingly suffer the man's company.

As Melvin went to enter his home, Longford was leaving. The two men nearly collided. Longford gazed up at him, his eyes narrow. Melvin had never realized how short the man truly was. His nose was directed at the center of Melvin's chest.

"Ah, you're just the man I wished to see," Longford said. His booming voice exuded the manliness his body lacked.

Now it was Melvin's turn to narrow his gaze. "Pray, why would you need to see me?"

"Because you have been spending a considerable amount of time with the woman to whom I am betrothed."

"I don't know what you're referring to. The only woman who's been in my company is Mrs. Bexley."

Longford's green eyes chilled. "Precisely."

Melvin could not have been more stunned had the man declared he was a triplet to Melvin and Elvin. A shorter, more verbose triplet. His thoughts flashed to the last time he had seen Mrs. Bexley with Longford when they had danced. She had been so disinterested in what her partner was saying that she did not even try to maintain eye contact with him. Melvin thought listening to Lizzy discourse on her new bonnet might be more interesting than Long
mouth
. Er, Longford.

It suddenly occurred to him the reason Mrs. Bexley was keen to recover the Chaucer was so she would not be forced to unite herself with Longmouth.

He couldn’t blame her.

Yet he blamed her for agreeing to marry a man she could never love. All for money. Melvin's good opinion of her lowered.

Melvin's hostile gaze locked with the other man's. "What is the purpose of this visit?"

"I, ah, I just wanted you to know the lady is promised."

"You think I want her for myself?"

"I daresay she would hardly give you the time of day. After all, you are merely a younger son."

"But you're wrong Longford. She's given me more than the time of day." With that, Melvin entered the house and slammed the door on the other man.

* * *

Perhaps she should have stayed back in Bath. What good could she possibly be to this expedition? It was obvious Mr. Steffington had no use for her. He didn't even want to engage her in conversation. They had been traveling for four hours, and he had said fewer than a dozen words during that time.

She wondered if his silence was because he so exceedingly enjoyed the book he was reading or if it was because he found her as boring as she found Mr. Longford. A pity his brother hadn't come. At least he displayed all the courtly traits his twin lacked. He was just as smooth as Mr. Bexley—which might explain why she had heretofore preferred the quiet brother.

"Your book must be very good," she finally said. "Might I inquire what it is?"

He closed the book, keeping his index finger there to mark the page and glared at her. "Euripides."

Her nose scrunched. "No doubt it's about some kind of ancient war. Is it Greek or Roman? I never can remember all those foreign-sounding names."

"Euripides was Greek, madam." He re-opened his book.

"You are very fortunate that your stomach does not prevent you from reading in a moving carriage."

He gave her an impatient look. "Enlighten me, please, as to the relationship between your stomach and reading."

She began to giggle. She laughed so hard, tears began to stream along her face.

"Pray, what is so funny?"

It was a while before she could compose herself enough to answer, and when she did, her sentence came out in pieces. "I was picturing. . ." She broke into laugher again. ". . .a stomach with eyes."

He gazed at her as if she were mad. Then the expression on his face softened, and he, too, began to laugh. A moment later, he confessed. "I visualize a statue of Buddha with eyes protruding from his belly."

"And an opened book facing that huge belly!" She laughed anew.

When the pair of them eventually recovered, he asked, "Why do you link reading and stomachs? This is a new amalgam to me."

"Have you never heard of reading while in motion causing an upset stomach?"

"Never." He studied her. "You are cursed with this malady?"

She nodded ruefully.

"That is a most severe deprivation on a long journey like this." A moment later, he asked, "What do you do for amusement while traveling?"

He had to ask?
"When I am not alone. . ."

He removed his finger from the book and firmly closed it. "Forgive me. I have been a most rude traveling companion. To quote Lord Chesterfield, I lack
the Graces
."

"At last, Mr. Steffington, we have both read the same book."

"Tell me, did you laugh when you read
Lord Chesterfield's Letters to His Son
?"

She started giggling again. He must think her the silliest woman there could be. But, really, she had laughed aloud when she'd read Lord Chesterfield's admonition to his son regarding the . . . picking of noses, which of course, was not a topic she could discuss with the man sharing her carriage.

"
Under no circumstances are you to look at the finger
. . ." Mr. Steffington stopped himself from completing his lordship's words to his son. "Forgive me, 'tis a most indelicate topic to bring up with a lady."

She started laughing again. "It
was
awfully funny."

He tried to look serious, but he too began laughing. "My brother and I passed the book around Eton."

She nodded. "It is just the sort of thing lads of that age would especially love."

"I know the man was heavily criticized—posthumously—but never was a parent more obsessed that his offspring should achieve perfection."

"It is touching. Sad, but touching."

"The letters do have the benefit of improving lads who read them at Eton."

The carriage went quiet again.

"I am sure there must be other books we both have read," he finally said.

"But you don't like poetry, and you don’t read novels."