Love In The Library (6 page)

She helped herself to sugared fruit.

"Another way to tell us apart is that I am an inch taller."

"That hardly helps one to know which of you is which when you're not standing next to one another."

"A brilliant observation, to be sure."

She began to giggle, and once he realized she found his comment humorous, he smiled too.

When the sweetmeats were gone, he met her gaze, a solemn expression on his face. "What will you do if we can't reclaim the Chaucer?"

"I shall be forced to be dependant once more. This time upon my dear brother—who already has twelve mouths to feed."

"Your brother has twelve children?"

She shook her head. "He has eight children, a sweet wife, my mother, and my youngest sister. I had hoped to bring my sister to Bath, where I could present her." She shrugged.

"So, you're like me. You want your independence."

She never wanted to be dependent upon a man ever again. "Indeed I do." How did Mr. Steffington do this? In their few hours of acquaintance, he had come to understood her better than anyone ever had. She was coming to believe that overhearing Felicity's conversation the previous night was going to be one of the most fortuitous events in her life.

Chapter 4

As Mr. Longford handed Catherine into his open barouche, she cautioned herself to be attuned to what the man was saying—which was always an arduous task but much more so now that Mr. Steffington so fully engrossed her thoughts.

She felt incredibly guilty that she would be off riding through the lovely gardens on this uncharacteristically sunny November day while poor Mr. Steffington continued toiling over old copies of the
Morning Chronicle
in her library.

It was bad enough that he had stayed in her library until past midnight the previous night. His every waking moment was now taken over with her problem. What if they could not locate the manuscript? She had no other way to compensate him for all his trouble. The poor man's significant efforts would be for nothing.

"'Twas so fine a day, I had at first planned to come to the Royal Crescent in my phaeton, but I decided upon my barouche. That way, my coachman can concentrate upon the driving, which will enable me to give you my full attention."

Another thing she disliked about Mr. Longford (besides his unceasing flow of boring words) was that he was given to boasting about his wealth. She was quite convinced the preceding comment was made so that she would know he possessed a variety of conveyances.

Before she had the opportunity to respond to his comment, he launched into another topic—which was his custom. "Pray, is that not the same tilbury which was at your house yesterday?"

As they drove off, she glimpsed at the tethered vehicle, which looked exceedingly modest next to Mr. Longford's fancy barouche. "I take no notice of such things."

"I trust the business which prevented us from going to Sydney Gardens yesterday has been satisfactorily completed?"

"Not actually."

Unbelievably, he remained silent for a moment. Which was a feat as rare as the multiplication of loaves. A full minute passed before he continued. "Might I inquire if yesterday's caller at Number 17 is still there today?"

She glared at him. "I hope you don't believe I would have a man spending the night!"

"Oh, no, I assure you, I know you're a very fine lady. I would never consider you would do anything that could tarnish your good name. If I thought such a thing, I would not be honoring you by allowing everyone in Bath to see you sitting by my side."

"What makes you think my visitor is a man?"

"I know of no women who are given to driving throughout Bath in a tilbury."

"If you must know, a man is assisting me with that personal business I had to deal with yesterday and which has not been satisfactorily completed as of yet."

"If there's any way I can be of assistance, pray, you have only to ask. Since you have no man to take care of you, I feel obliged to."

"I shouldn't like you or anyone to think I'm a helpless woman."

He drew her hand into his. "My dear Mrs. Bexley, one has only to set eyes upon you to realize how delicate you are."

Before she could protest, he continued on. "In fact, I would be most agreeable to sending over my secretary to assist you. Somerfield is a most capable man. Why, there's no end to the things the man is able to accomplish."

She shook her head. "I am quite pleased with the person who's currently assisting me." Indeed, she had hardly been able to sleep the previous night for thinking of her good fortune in finding Mr. Steffington.

Mr. Longford cleared his throat. "Would that gentleman be someone I know? A resident of Bath perhaps?"

Were Mr. Longford a woman, Catherine would have thought him the greatest busybody in all of Bath, but one did not usually think of a man as a busybody. (Though Mr. Longford was certainly a very great busybody.) It was difficult for her to conceal her impatience with this man.

She glared at him. For some peculiar reason, she didn't like to admit her connection to Mr. Steffington. At present, their relationship was something that only the two of them knew about. She could not remember ever sharing a mutual goal with anyone else before in her entire seven and twenty years, and she did not want anyone or anything to intrude upon them. The introduction of another person into their private sphere could be toxic.

Nevertheless, it was only a matter of time before Mr. Longford learned who the man assisting her was. "You know Melvin Steffington?"

His brows lowered. "That's the smart twin, is it not?"

Funny, that's exactly how she would describe him—though Mr. Melvin Steffington would not like her to call him smart. She nodded.

"Then I daresay he must be assisting you with the late Mr. Bexley's library. I heard he was seeking a post."

It was easier to allow him to think what he wanted to think. "Indeed." That was as much as she was going to say on the topic.

"If you're thinking about selling the late Mr. Bexley's books, I might wish to have them for my property in Coventry."

And she'd vow he would probably pay a hefty price for them because he liked to flaunt his wealth. "I shall remember that when I'm ready to sell."

"Then I suppose it was his brother I saw at the cock fights yesterday, since Melvin Steffington was engaged with you."

Picturing the bookish Melvin Steffington at a cockfight was as incongruous as picturing their seventy-year-old queen dancing upon the stage at Drury Lane. "I daresay you're right."

"Even if I do say so meself, I am uncommonly good at picking the victors. Won eighty quid yesterday just because I happen to be as intuitively knowledgeable about cocks as I am about horseflesh. Take the matched bays you see before you. Turned down Lord Townson when he offered me five hundred quid for the pair."

Her thoughts drifted away as she planned what she could do were she to get her hands on five hundred pounds. Even the eighty guineas he won yesterday could have been put to good use by her.

And as the carriage wound its way along the streets of Bath, she thought about her dire need for funds and about the bankers clamoring for her to pay on the mortgage and about the tradesmen whose bills she owed.

Unfortunately, in spite of her best intensions, she was not listening to her companion. But, really, the man was droning on and on about roosters fighting! Could anything be less interesting?

After they crossed Pulteney Bridge and neared Sydney Gardens, they began to nod greetings to a number of acquaintances. Some of them were walking along, the women tucking their hands into furry muffs, and many other couples were riding in phaetons. Some single men sauntered along on horseback.

Even as he nodded to acquaintances, Mr. Longford's tongue never slowed. "Take Mr. Horton's nag. Why would a man allow himself to be seen with so common a horse?"

"What does it matter, if it gets him where he needs to go?"

"My dear woman, it matters a great deal. How can a man be thought to have good taste and breeding if he is not discerning about horses?"

For the next ten minutes, while inclining his head from time to time at passersby, he continued on about his impeccable taste in horseflesh, frequently mentioning the various members of the aristocracy who had tried to buy his horses.

Catherine deemed horses as interesting as roosters and wished herself back at Number 17 with the competent Mr. Steffington, who never bored her.

When she eventually returned there, Mr. Longford once again claimed her hand. "Pray, may I call upon you again tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow I shall be extremely busy." She still hadn't dispatched that letter to Mr. Christie. Mr. Steffington wasn't going to be happy when he learned of her omission. Not paying attention to Mr. Longford's rambling, she started drafting the letter in her head while smiling vacantly at Mr. Long
mouth
—er, Mr. Longford. Felicity had told her that her brother and his friend referred to Mr. Longford as Long
mouth
. But not in front of him, of course.

"Will you be at the assembly tomorrow night?"

Unconsciously, she wondered if Mr. Steffington danced. She knew his brother did. When she realized Mr. Longford was awaiting a response, she said, "I beg your pardon. What was that you asked?"

"I asked if you would be at tomorrow night's assembly." He did not look happy.

She had told Felicity she would meet her there. "Yes, I believe so."

* * *

There was a distressed look on Mrs. Bexley's face when she swished into the library, apologizing. "You must forgive me for leaving you here to do all the work whilst I was traipsing across Bath."

He would hardly call suffering Longford's company traipsing happily around the city. The poor woman earned his respect for putting up with the walking soliloquy. Then he thought of what Elvin had said about her that Season she came out.
Was she a fortune hunter?
That would explain why she bestowed her attentions on Longford. The man was obscenely rich.

He stiffened as he looked up to address her. "There's nothing to forgive. What you do with your time is nothing to me."

She stood statue still, a pout on her face. "There's more to confess. I forgot to dispatch that letter to Mr. Christie."

He didn't like to stare at her, but it was really quite remarkable that her frock was that same blue/green as her eyes. Remarkable eyes. Snapping out of his momentary stupor, he said, "I hope you don't believe I would try to tell you what to do. It's just that it would be helpful to learn if anyone has approached Christie."

"Of course, you're right. After all, it was number two on our list."

Our list
? He did not like being associated with anything so frivolous as a woman's list, but he would not protest. He shrugged. "It looks as if number one is much more time consuming than at first thought."

She came to sit across from him at the big desk. "That's because you are likely doing what you told me not to do."

He chuckled. "I confess, I have veered off course when something interesting catches my eye."

"It's only natural to do so." She lifted up October 1
^st
. "You'll be happy to know I would not allow myself to go to bed last night until I finished August."

"I am
not
happy to learn neither of us has found anything to bring us a single step closer to the culprit."

"There is that." She read on for a moment, then addressed him. "Do you dance, Mr. Steffington?"

What in heaven's name had brought up that subject? He regarded her from beneath lowered brows. "Do I dance?"

"Yes, that's what I asked."

He shrugged. "I suppose I do. I'm a bit rusty."

She thought perhaps if Mr. Steffington were to ask her to dance, she might cast off the last of her mourning. "Why do you not come to the assemblies anymore?"

He did not answer for a moment. "If you must know, I'm not very good at dancing."

"Oh, I see. You don't like to do anything if you can't be the best at what you're doing!"

How could she possibly know that about him? They'd only been in each other's company the last four and twenty hours. "I wouldn't say that."
Even if it was the truth
. He was not going to act like an arrogant ass, like Longford.

"You shouldn't let it bother you if you're not a great dancer. With your height, it shouldn't matter to any woman. Has it escaped your notice that ladies adore having tall men for dancing partners?"

"But ladies do not adore having their feet trampled."

She giggled.

He was growing to like the tinkling sound of her frequent laughter. "Pray, madam, what is so funny now?"

"I was picturing you stomping on a lady's feet." She shook her head. "I know it's not funny, but I seem to have a perverse sense of humor."

That very perverse sense of humor suddenly struck his funny bone, and he began to laugh.

She clapped a hand to her mouth.

"What's wrong?"

"I keep going back to number one because. . . as you said, it's much more interesting than reading a list of Latin verbs. However, I need to put the interesting work aside for a few minutes in order to compose a letter to Mr. Christie." Then she opened a drawer, took out pen and paper, and began to draft the letter.

He was struck by the excellence of her memory. She had remembered him referring to Latin verbs the previous day. He knew few people who remembered things as well as she. This young woman whom he at first thought to be empty headed wasn't nearly so vacuous as she presented herself.

As he continued reading into September, she scratched out a letter. When she was finished, she held it up from the desk. "How does this sound?" And she began to read:

Dear Mr. Christie,

It grieves me to inform you that the lovely edition of Canterbury Tales that you so kindly came to Bath to appraise was stolen not very long after your visit. I am writing because of all those in the kingdom, you are the one person who's in the position to know if it has come on the market.