Elinor barely heard him. She was lost in the wonder of such an extraordinary collection of books, many of which she’d read and loved, and read again.
Her impression of Caleb took quite a turn with this revelation. Especially since it was quite obvious that this wasn’t a room simply to exhibit his ability to collect literature, but a room he used frequently. The shelves were spotless, the spines of the volumes indicated they’d been read—some many times—and there were several comfortable chairs, and a couple of large couches boasting pillows and thick woollen blankets.
She could envision him lying there, firelight flickering, lost in a favourite tale, or devouring classic poetry.
“I think I have it,” he said, turning a couple of pages in the book he studied.
About to turn back toward him, something out of the ordinary caught her eye. At the very end of one of the bookshelves, she caught the light glistening from four lovely, pale leather-bound books, with gold printing on their spines.
She simply had to find out what they were, since they looked somewhat out of place amidst the deep and weathered shades of leather on the volumes standing around them.
Pulling one down quietly, she read the title.The Life of an Improper Duchess. Blinking, she put it back and took the next one down.Her Ladyship’s Servant.
There were two more, but by now she’d seen the name of the author on the frontispiece of the first book.
“Lady Celata.”
She whispered the words softly, shocked down to the soles of her shoes at what she held in her hands. They were, without a doubt, the most scandalous and erotic love stories to have been published since the Earl of Rochester shocked London in the late 1600s.
Their publication had caused an uproar, but the identity of Lady Celata remained a secret.
Elinor blushed. She knew these books and had read them all, secretly stealing them from her sister-in-law’s bookshelf and devouring them when she was alone. A fast reader, she’d finished all the ones Louise had hidden away, and wished there were more.
They were enthralling, vivid, and to say colourful would be almost an insult. They were a paean to women and their sensuality, with characters that leapt from the page and descriptions of…well, Elinore’s education had widened considerably when it came to physical matters between a man and a woman.
And Caleb had them in his library.
Chapter Eight
“So you find my library acceptable, I must assume? You’re very quiet…”
Caleb’s words died away as he saw what Elinor had in her hands. He swallowed and remained silent, curious as to her reaction.
She looked up at him and cleared her throat. “I must confess, Caleb, that I did not even imagine you to be a follower of…of…Lady Celata.” She raised her chin as she spoke the name of the current most notorious author in England. Almost as if she expected to be scolded for letting it pass her lips.
He took a breath. “I have always believed that libraries should offer a variety of books for a variety of tastes. How dull it would be were we to restrict ourselves to books which meet the approval of those we do not know.”
She blinked. “Hmm.”
“For example,” he continued, hoping she couldn’t see his heart beating so very fast beneath his waistcoat, “there are many who find all novels completely unacceptable. But where would we be without the pleasure of losing ourselves in Waverley? Or finding that one book by an unnamed writer that brings us laughter and delight as we read the adventures of people we could swear we’ve met?”
Diverted, Elinor chuckled and nodded. “You’re speaking ofA Lady, I must assume. And yes, I very much enjoyedSense and Sensibility. I’ve read it at least twice.”
He gently took the volume from her hand and restored it to its place with the others. “Then you will certainly understand my desire to make my library, in which—I might add—I spend aconsiderable amount of my time when I’m here at the Abbey, as complete as possible.”
She thought about that for a moment. “I cannot disagree with that sentiment. But,” she glanced up at the four volumes, “these novels. They are supposed to be quite…quite…”
Her cheeks coloured slightly, and she couldn’t quite meet his eyes.
“What, Elinor?”
“Er…quite shocking in nature.”
“I suppose that depends on who is doing the judging.”
“Lady Fawley, actually,” said Elinor. “And at great length, I might add. In fact,” warming to her tale, she continued… “So great was her disdain and apparent disgust, that I’ll wager at least half the people listening decided to rush out and buy a volume for themselves to see what all the fuss was about.”
It was no good. Caleb couldn’t hold it back and roared with laughter, startling both Elinor and Carrádog, the latter having settled himself beside Caleb’s armchair.
