She gulped down a shocked gasp as she recognised the wordCelata, the author of those shocking novels. Obeying an impulse, she tucked the paper into her pocket. “Looks like an odd poem or something. Probably used as a bookmark, I should think.”
At that precise moment, there was a loud woof, and Carrádog galloped into the room seeking Elinor, then resting his head against her legs, with all the confidence of a dog who knew she had been pining for his company.
Right behind him was Deryn.
“My apologies, sir, but Lady Molliney’s horse has been thoroughly examined and has been found to be unharmed. And given the hour…” he paused, looking at Caleb, who still had the book in his hand.
“Of course, Deryn, quite right. We must not keep Lady Elinor longer than necessary.” He turned to her. “Thank you foryour company, my Lady. I’m glad we were able to locate this book once more.”
“It certainly has raised some interesting questions,” she murmured.
His mind spun. “I trust that I will be permitted to pay a call when I have fully deciphered the information in here.” He tapped the cover, then held his breath as he awaited her answer.
She dipped her head. “I will look forward to that visit, sir, and must thank you for your hospitality.” She walked away from him, refusing to look back in case he realised she’d still got the mysterious paper. “Thank you again, Deryn. I trust this impromptu visit has not interrupted your day too badly.”
“Of course not, my Lady. Always a pleasure to welcome you to the Abbey.”
And with that, she followed him from the room, head high, conversation calm and unemotional—and a heart that was just about upside down and inside out with confusion.
Glad of the ride home, which gave her a chance to sort out her emotions, Elinor turned the matter over and over in her head as she and young Barnaby headed back to Molliney Park. The surprising find in the library still plagued her, although there could be more than a few explanations…although most of them were improbable.
Perhaps Mrs Deryn was behind the presence of those books?
She dismissed that one with a sigh. There was absolutely no way that Mrs Deryn, sweet and lovely lady that she was, would ever even consider such reading material.
Could a guest of Caleb’s have jotted down the poem and tucked it away for future reference, but forgotten where?
Unlikely, to say the least.
To the best of her knowledge, there had been few, if any, women visitors to Tylwyth Teg Abbey, and the possibility of a gentleman doing that? Extremely low.
It was quite clear that Caleb treasured his privacy, and since the house itself was set up solely for the convenience of its owner, she couldn’t think of any scenario that would lead to that poem ending up where it was.
It had shocked her, she admitted. For no matter how she viewed it, an unanswered question stared right back at her. Had Sir Caleb Howell read Lady Celata’s books? Stories that were meant for women, erotic stories, filled with passion and detailing intimate moments, from a woman’s perspective, that had stunned Elinor, and set most of London ablaze with shock, horror, and an overwhelming desire to read the entire series.
Then lie about having read it, of course.
“Read that disgustingly unpleasant book? Certainly not. I wouldn’t dream of it.”The irate dowager, who had Volume One tucked beneath her cushion on the couch.
“Horrid. From what I hear, it’s guaranteed to corrupt the mind of any young woman even handling the volume.”The upright and snobbish Mama, desperately shoving her daughter at any potentially wealthy matrimonial catch. Of course, this mother had several of Lady Celata’s novels on her bedside table.
Elinor spurred her horse into a canter, letting the mare stretch her legs before retiring to the stables. Barnaby kept pace just behind her, and it wasn’t too long before the chimneys of Molliney Park appeared above the treetops, and the driveway welcomed them home.
Elinor gasped as they rounded the curve to the front of the house. There was a large travelling coach resting by the steps, with several footmen ferrying boxes and packages into the house.
“Oh,” cried Elinor, as she recognised the man directing them. “Oh,Papa!”
She tumbled from her saddle and into her father’s arms.
*~~*~~*
The crisis in his library seemed to have been the fuse that ignited several more in Caleb’s life.
To start with, the rain returned in full force, showing no signs of letting up until at least the autumn. Or at least that’s what it felt like.
Then Deryn came down with a nasty cold. Since his was the iron hand that ran the household, and he had been banished to his bed, much of the organisation quickly devolved into who could make tea, who could lay the table, and so on.
Mrs Deryn performed admirably, but it had been necessary to recruit a couple of girls from the local area. They were willing and helpful. But, sighed Caleb, not really much use.
