His mother was a votaress of my order:
And, in the spiced Indian air, by night,
Full often hath she gossip’d by my side,
And sat with me on Neptune’s yellow sands…
Lancelot, his freshly washed fur smelling of lavender, sat quietly at her feet, for once behaving himself. She let one of her slippers fall from her stockinged foot and rubbed his warm little body with her foot. Bless Mrs. Bellingham for thinking of her and bringing the pup to the party.
Mrs. Withers wore a diaphanous gown over a pale body suit, and her hair flowed down her back in perfect gold, tumbling curls. A crown of fresh flowers sat lightly on her head.
Sophie and Lydia sat in the front row of garden chairs next to Lord Howick. He leaned back, fully at ease, as Sophie had rarely seen him. Several times throughout Mrs. Withers’s performance his lips curled in a sudden, random smile. His face took on the look of a much younger man, a man not weighed down by sorrow and responsibility.
Sophie could only wish for a love that simple, that complete. However, she realized with a touch of sadness, Lord Howick could be with the woman he loved only in private. Arnaud’s mother was right. Whatever one had to suffer for love must be well worth the effort. Would she ever know that kind of love?
In the pause between recitations, Sophie gazed around the garden. Each of Arnaud’s men were seated throughout the guests, but Arnaud was missing. She refused to conjecture as to where he might be, but she remembered the looks he’d exchanged with the Dowager Viscountess Frances Fairfield.
After the entertainment, Sophie linked arms with Lydia and they made their good-byes. A footman retrieved Lancelot and took him to his cushioned bed in the stables. Once they reached the first landing of the stairs leading to their rooms on the second floor, Sophie squeezed Lydia’s hand and whispered, “I’ll come up later.”
“Where are you going?” Lydia eyes widened in the low light.
“I can’t wait any longer to see Sir Thomas’s library. I’ve heard so much about all the volumes, and he hasn’t said anything more about showing me. I don’t want to bother him. No one will ever know I’m there.”
“What has happened to my old friend, the upright, well-behaved writer?” Lydia giggled. “You’re getting as bad as me at sneaking off to do what you please.”
“Jupiter, Lydia. I promise I’ll behave from now on, but I have to see this library.”
“Why ever would you promise me of all people that you’ll behave?”
“Please. Don’t tell anyone, least of all that nosy Captain Bellingham.”
“Of course.” Lydia pantomimed twisting her lips shut with an imaginary key. She turned with her candle and made her way alone toward their rooms.
When Sophie paused on her way down, she looked out a window and saw Captain Neville turn and follow the progress of Lydia’s light until she reached her room. He gave a slight smile and walked on toward the inn. He’d been watching over them. She hoped he hadn’t overheard her plans.
Sir Thomas’s library dominated about half the length of the west wing. After checking both ways along the corridor, she opened the heavy door and slipped inside. She didn’t want to be detected from the outside, so snuffed out her candle and let the light of the full moon streaming through full-length windows illuminate the space.
She brushed her fingers along a shelf of volumes of Greek classics—“The Odyssey,” “Medea,” “Hippolytus,” “Antigone,” “Lysistrata.” She had to read that one. And then “Meno,” “The Histories,” and “The Poetics.” A number of single, fragile pages were framed along one wall. She hoped she could get a full tour in better light later from Sir Thomas when he was not so busy with guests.
The door creaked open without warning, and Sophie sucked in a breath. She backed into a dark corner without a sound. Someone came around the door with a candelabra of eight candles which he placed on the long, narrow table in the center of the room. Sir Thomas.
“Sophie, come out of the shadows. I know you’re in here. I knew you wouldn’t be able to stay away.”
“I’m sorry.” Her voice squeaked.
“No need for apologies. I promised you a tour, and then my wretched guests held me up. Not to worry. Tomorrow, when there’s more light, you’ll have your fill of the Fitzroy legacy.”
Unable to contain herself, Sophie stood on tiptoe and pointed to a thick, beautifully bound volume. “What is that?”
“An Italian dictionary, the first one, I think.”
Sophie’s mouth dropped open.
“And those?” She pointed to the opposite side of the aisle. The titles were mostly in Latin.
“I have no idea, but that’s the old side of the room. They’re probably from the first earl in the sixteen-hundreds.” He shook his head. “I need a librarian, someone to love these books and organize them for the next generation of Fitzroys.”
He gave her a fond look and then broke into laughter. “We are getting entirely too serious. Let me call my housekeeper to see you safely back to your room.”
