Love In The Library (22 page)

With her new-found radiance, she felt invincible. What better time to snuff Mr. Longford's unfounded hopes?

As soon as she reached their scarlet settee back in the ballroom, she smiled upon Mr. Longford. "I beg that you will come with me to the Octagon. There's a matter I wish to discuss with you."

Smiling widely, he leapt to his feet, offered her his crooked arm, and the pair of them strolled from the ballroom.

"I am ever so glad to have the opportunity to have you almost to myself, my dear Catherine."

She spun toward him and glared. "You are not permitted to call me by my first name."

"But, my dearest, you've done me the goodness of consenting to become my wife."

She drew in a deep breath. "I beg your forgiveness. It was never my intention to consent to such a proposal. If I did so, it was because I misunderstood what you were saying. My hearing is most faulty. I daresay it's because as a child I was forever sick with the earache." That part was true; the part about her faulty hearing was a necessary lie.

"I don't see how I could be so mistaken. You clearly smiled at me and nodded when I told you I have been in love with you since you came out all those years ago and that I wished to ask for your hand in marriage."

Oh dear
. "I am deeply appreciative, but I must point out that a crowded ballroom is
not
the best place from which to ask for a woman's hand in marriage. It was far too noisy for me to clearly hear the words you were saying."

Had she just told him that his esteemed carriage maker to the crown was a fraud, his face could not have fallen any lower.

Then he brightened. "Can you hear me now?"

Uh oh
. "I hear you very well."

"Then I will repeat my offer. Even though I had once hoped to marry a woman whose name is preceded by
lady
, I find I shall have to settle for one whose mother's name is preceded by lady." He took her hand. "There you have it. No other woman will do for me. You're the one I want to share my name and all my wealth. As my wife, you'll never want for anything the rest of your life."

"I cannot tell you how honored I am, but I must decline. I have no intention of ever marrying again."

"You can't be that loyal to Bexley! He was never worthy of you."

Should she allow him to believe that loyalty to Mr. Bexley prevented her from remarrying? That would be the easiest explanation. But it was so false. One falsehood was quite enough for one night.

She could hardly tell him the truth—that Mr. Bexley exemplified all that was wrong with his gender. She had vowed that she would never sully her husband's memory. "If you must know," she finally said, "I found that I excessively disliked being married."

Eyes rounded, he nodded. "If you were my wife, I would never patronize Mrs. Baddele's."

She had never been more humiliated.
So everyone in Bath had known about Mr. Bexley's attachment to Cyprians
. "Mr. Longford! I am mortified that you would bring up such a scandalous topic in the presence of a lady." She turned on her heel and left.

She would have gone straight home if it weren't for Glee, but good manners compelled her to take leave of her dear old friend. As soon as they exchanged farewells and promised to write to one another, Catherine returned to Number 17 Royal Crescent.

There, she dispatched Simpson to make arrangements for hiring a coach on the morrow. Not sure how long the journey to Mr. Whitebread's would take, she packed her valise before readying for bed.

Why was it the night before leaving town she could never sleep? There were more spokes than normal wheeling around the hub of her brain. She thought of how soundly she had put down Mr. Longford. Looking back on it, she realized it had been fortuitous that he had offended her because it made it easier for her to rebuke him. She sincerely hoped she had seen the last of him.

She thought about the Chaucer and prayed that Mr. Whitebread would be the key to finding it. If the trip to his Stipley Hall did not prove helpful, she would lose everything. The thought of such destitution made her melancholy.

But it was difficult to be too melancholy now that she and Airy would be together again. His offer to help her was almost as good as actually reclaiming the Chaucer. With his aid, she had confidence that they would be successful. It wasn't just his intelligence that inspired confidence. Everything about him, from his wise counsel to his perceptive humor, gave her a security unlike anything she had experienced in her entire adulthood.

Not for the first time, a spark of jealousy spiked when she thought of the fortunate woman who would one day capture his heart. For Mr. Melvin Steffington was a man like her Papa had been. He would not only be a loyal husband but he would also be one who would command any woman's respect.

She was happy too that he still wished to assist her. She had feared that she'd alienated him with her careless dismissal of him at Granfield Manor following her own foolish actions. As she lay there in her bed thinking about him, a smile stretched across her face.

Before she'd learned of his injury that afternoon, she had not realized how very dear he was to her. She would never forget the fear that nearly incapacitated her in the wake of Simpson's announcement. She recalled the terror that sickened her when she'd witnessed his prone body on that sofa, blood splotches on his breeches. She had been afraid to look at this face, afraid to see death upon those features that had come to mean so much to her.

When his eyes had fluttered open, her hopeful heart lifted, and when he finally spoke and she heard the familiar voice she'd come to love, joy had sung through every vein in her body. She had thought nothing on earth could surpass that happiness.

Until tonight. When he insisted upon rejoining her in the quest to find her Chaucer, the elation she'd felt was ten times more than the effects of the finest French champagne.

Melvin Steffington was the only man in the kingdom she looked forward to spending time with—which was admitting that he was the only man she wanted to be with.

Ever.

Her heartbeat exploded. What was she thinking? She began to tremble. Nothing could quell her racing pulse. Had she fallen in love with Melvin Steffington?

Oh, dear God.
She had.

Chapter 17

"You didn't sleep well, did you?" Airy peered at her from across the coach the following morning.

How could she have slept well? What a shocking experience it was for a woman—a woman like her, who'd sworn off men for the rest of her days—to realize she had fallen in love. With that realization had also come the conviction that Melvin Steffington did not deserve to be thrown into the pit with the other unsatisfactory members of his sex.

He was a fine man. A pity he couldn't—in this instance—be more like his brother, who had shown interest in her womanly attributes. Was Airy blind to them? Or did he not find her attractive?

Thoughts of him had made sleep impossible. She’d felt a dizzying excitement over the prospect of traveling with him the next day. Being with him was comfortable while at the same time exhilarating. She had become closer to him than she’d ever been to any man.

She peered into his dark eyes, her heart fluttering. He may not be in love with her, but the very fact that he could tell she hadn’t slept last night spoke to his deep connection with her. “I never seem able to sleep the night before a trip. I’m always afraid I’ll forget something important. What about you? How did you sleep?”

“Very well.”

A pity. That meant he’d not given a thought to her. “At the risk of sounding like a doxy, I do recall your propensity to immediately drop off to sleep.”

He grinned. “No one could ever think you a doxy. Neither my brother nor I would ever let it be known that you and I have so intimately traveled together.”

Intimately traveled together
—the contemplation of which accounted for all those sleepless hours and the present reality giving her a great sense of well-being.

 The twins were every inch gentlemen. “I am gratified to have the assistance of a man whom I so implicitly trust.”

His face twitched into a mischievous gleam. “Speaking of having a man to assist you, I must ask if you are still affianced to Long
mouth
.”

Her expression matched his in levity. “I was able to clear up that misunderstanding last night.”

“Thus, a heavier load upon my shoulders to keep Mrs. Bexley from the Poor House."

She tucked the rug around her and stuffed her gloved hands into her fox muff in an effort to warm herself. The fierce cold winds outside rocked the coach from side to side. She prayed her motion sickness would not inflict itself ruthlessly upon her.

“I know of no more capable man than you, but you mustn’t feel so deep an obligation. Remember, before we became so well acquainted, I was already facing my potential destitution.”

He winced. “I understand what it’s like to crave independence. No adult wants to be an appendage to a sibling, no matter how agreeable that sibling is.”

“And when that sibling is married and has a house full of children, the attraction of being dependent upon him is even more unwelcome.”

“I will do everything in my power to restore the Chaucer to you.” There was no mirth in his voice this time.

“And if we should fail, you must not blame yourself.”

“I’ve never been able to tolerate failure.”

She gave a little laugh. “I cannot believe you’ve ever failed at any endeavor.”

He appeared to ponder this. She studied his pensive face. Its solid masculine bone structure and aquiline nose bespoke his keen intelligence. “I once omitted a word when reciting Hamlet’s soliloquy.”

She was incapable of stifling a laugh. “How trying it must be for you to have to put up with me. I’m not only
not
a bluestocking, but I’m also exceedingly prone to making poor decisions.” Like her nocturnal jaunt into Lord Seacrest’s library.

Or her marriage to Mr. Bexley.

The marriage to Mr. Bexley she better understood now. Now that she physically and mentally experienced the joy of falling in love. With Airy.

She had assumed the mild attraction she’d initially felt toward Mr. Bexley must be love because he was the only man who had ever produced any kind of reaction in her. Without any basis of comparison, how was she to have known that what she'd felt for Mr. Bexley wasn't love? Now she realized what she'd felt for Mr. Bexley had been fool's gold.

How was she to have known love could be so very much more encompassing? She had not then known that the very sight of The One could send pulses racing and heart hammering. She had not then known that the very contemplation of The One could produce a physical yearning to be in his company. She had not then known that when she was with The One it was as if there was no one else in the universe, save the two of them.

Now there was an even greater urgency to find the Chaucer. If they did not find it, she might never see him again. He was likely to take a position with Mr. Whitebread, and she would be doomed to her brother’s home in the gloomy North Country.

The very notion of never seeing him suffused her with despair.

He brushed off her statement about her ineptness. "You're not stupid. Not at all, and I beg your forgiveness for saying you acted stupidly." He shrugged. "You may not always exercise sound judgment, though."

"You could have omitted that last sentence," she said, a smile betraying her lack of anger.

“We may have our differences, but you’re the only woman I’ve ever been comfortable with. It’s much like being with Lizzy or Annie.”

 “Just what every woman wishes to hear.”

He looked puzzled.

“Unmarried women do not desire that unmarried men perceive them to be sisters.” That was as close as she could ever come to flirting.

“Oh, I don’t precisely think of you as a sister. I meant. . . I’m as comfortable with you as I am with my sisters, though I truly don’t think of you as a sister.”

Just hearing those words tumble from his lips sent her pulse thumping. “I’m comfortable with you, too.” During her sleepless night she had decided that she would never declare her feelings to him. Unless he were to make the first move—which was not likely.

He was nowhere near making that first move. If only they had more time. Time to cultivate this growing affection for one another to its natural conclusion.

The very contemplation of a
natural conclusion
felt like falling from a great height
.

The words in Mr. Whitebread’s letter continued to imprint themselves upon her mind. “It sounds as if Mr. Whitebread has already decided he wishes to engage you.”

“I daresay Dr. Mather was excessively generous in his praise of me. He’s very kind in that regard.”

She completely understood how Airy’s Oxford mentor would be prone to praise his shining star of a student. “I wonder when you would have to begin your employment with him—provided the two of you can come to agreeable terms.” The idea of him being buried at Stipley Hall was palpably painful.

“I hadn’t thought that far ahead.”

“You might also wish to give thought as to what kind of compensation you’ll require.”

“I never thought of that either.”

“You see, Mr. Steffington, our minds complement one another. I am practical, and you are far more cerebral. One, I think, needs the other.”

“I suppose two heads are better than one. That's what Elvin always says."

Her meaning had been completely lost on the unromantic man.

"I hadn’t thought about financial settlements. Since the post would come with lodgings and food, I should think the salary would not be great.”

“You also need to be compensated for the deprivation of having to live away from your affectionate brother and the others who love you.”

He looked quizzically at her. “Love? I assure you, it’s not a word Elvin and I would ever utter to one another." He shrugged. "Though I daresay it describes how we feel. Men don’t express feelings.”