He retook his seat and held up a book that had been laid on a side table. “How about you? Have you read the latest?”
“Not yet,” Nora stammered. Heat climbed up the back of her neck.
Not yet, not ever.
She didn’t need to know the title or the author to realize the enjoyment of literature was yet another privilege they were never going to have in common.
Her palms began to sweat. Why had he mentioned the book? They weren’t going to ask her to read from it, were they?
Panic assailed her. She could not squelch a rush of fear that after successfully avoiding being required to read aloud thus far, she was going to have to do so in front of Mr. Grenville, and thereby lose her companion post and his respect all in one fell swoop. Her heart pounded.
Mr. Grenville set the leather volume back onto the side table and turned to Lady Roundtree. “How does your book club determine which title to read next?”
Nora swayed, lightheaded with relief that it had been an idle question and not the harbinger of doom.
“We take turns, although perhaps we shouldn’t, what with some people’s shocking taste.” Lady Roundtree affected a shiver.
Nora’s eyes bounced between them as the baroness recounted an exhaustive list of past titles chosen, and why each was inferior to her own suggestions. Nora frowned in confusion. She had no idea what had brought Mr. Grenville to this town house today, but she did not imagine he’d come calling in order to better understand the intricacies of Society ladies’ book club selections.
There was so much she didn’t know. Were visits like these a normal occurrence? Were Mr. Grenville and Lady Roundtree friends? The gaps in her knowledge seemed to widen by the day.
“I suppose you would have fixed it in a trice,” the baroness was saying. “You being the most famous professional problem-solver in all of London.”
“I am the only professional problem-solver in all of London,” Mr. Grenville said with a self-deprecating smile. “And I doubt your book club requires outside assistance. Women who are wise enough to read tend to be smart enough to solve their own problems.”
“Oh, you flatterer.” Lady Roundtree laughed in delight.
Nora did not.
She knew Mr. Grenville had meant no offense. Had, indeed, meant to compliment female-kind’s capabilities. He would be disgusted to learn that she could barely sound out the short, simple letters she received from home.
Her stomach twisted. Of all people, she had no wish for him to look at her with disgust. Not when his opinion had begun to carry more weight than ever. She wanted him tolikeher. If only a fraction as much as she was coming to feel for him.
“Enough about book clubs.” Lady Roundtree motioned to the tea table. “Why don’t we—”
Captain Pugboat darted into the room and slid on the freshly waxed floor.
Just as the puppy was about to slide directly into the well-stocked tea table, Nora leapt from her chair and scooped him into her arms before he could cause irreversible damage.
“And who is this fine fellow?” Mr. Grenville asked, eyes twinkling.
Nora smiled back shyly. “This is Captain Pugboat.”
“Captain.… Pugboat?” Mr. Grenville repeated doubtfully.
“Like a tugboat. But a pug, because he’s a dog,” Lady Roundtree explained. “A pug dog.”
“Yes, I grasped the connection.” He raised his brows in amusement. “Captain Pugboat seems like a very good boy.”
“Of course he is. Winfield, show Mr. Grenville how he… How he…” Lady Roundtree covered her mouth with a gloved hand to hide an enormous yawn.
Nora sent a sharp glance to the tea table. Of course. Ever since she’d broken her leg, the baroness had taken to adding a drop of laudanum to every cup of tea. It was not at all unusual for the baroness to fall asleep in the middle of conversations with Nora, but she doubted Lady Roundtree wished to do so in front of Mr. Grenville.
“Winfield?” the baroness began.
Nora was already halfway to the bell pull.
In moments, the same footmen who always carried the baroness upstairs to her bedchamber materialized in the salon with her wheeled chair at the ready.
