Then, because of the aforementioned rain, one of the cellars flooded, requiring the assistance of several men from the estate. That took a long, dreary day, spent diverting the incoming rainwater and cleaning out what was already there. Luckily, Caleb had nothing of value down in that area of the Abbey, so there was no threat of serious loss, just a rotten mess.
That was the last thing he needed, since he had at least a hundred things on his mind, and didn’t need another distraction.
At last he had an evening that looked as if it would remain quiet, thank God. A brandy glass sat on the table next to him, and a grubby gnawed bone lay on Carrádog’s other side.
Certainly, discussing one’s problems with a dog led to a rather one-sided conversation, but sometimes, just saying things aloud helped straighten them out in one’s mind.
That’s what Caleb thought, anyway, as he sighed and looked at the lump of black curls sprawled on the rug beside him.
“I don’t know what to do, or how to handle this, you know.”
Carrádog gave a sympathetic woof.
“It’s gnawing at me, pup. The fact that she doesn’t know the truth about my work. It’s my own fault, of course. I should have told her from the beginning. But in my own defence, I had no idea how entangled we would become, or how I’d feel…”
The dog, to Caleb’s surprise, nodded his head.
“Hmm. Easy for you to agree, my lad. You’re not the one who has to tell the only woman he wants in his life that he’s the man who wrote the most dreadfully shocking series of books to be published in London in years.”
“Woof.” Carrádog grunted and rose up, to sit on his hindquarters next to Caleb, looking for all the world as if he was ready to hear his master’s next declaration.
“I suppose I should start taking a look at this book, since it seems to play an important role in our lives, making Elinor faint, dropping scraps of paper…” he paused.
Then got up and walked to the library.
The damned paper wasn’t there. Come to think of it, he’d not seen it at all since it had fallen out of the book in front of…Elinor.
He blew out an angry breath. She’d taken it with her. He would check with Mrs Deryn and the maids, but he knew, deep inside, that she’d taken it. Why, he had no idea, but he’d certainly find out the next time he saw her.
Until then…it was time to take a good hard look at this irritating book, and find out what was so important about it.
Chapter Fifteen
Confusion reigned at Molliney Park as the travellers returned from their journey abroad.
“You didn’t tell us when you’d arrive,” said Elinor, her brows coming together in a frown as she walked into the hall on her father’s arm.
“Darling, look at you…” Her mother stood and stared at her daughter. “I think you’ve grown into a beautiful woman while we were away.
“She was always beautiful,” said Lord Molliney, pinching his daughter’s chin. “We just didn’t appreciate that fact enough, Cecily.”
“Oh, Papa,” laughed Elinor, letting go of his arm and hurrying to give her mother a hug. “I’m so glad you’re both home safely. I missed you quite dreadfully.”
“I’m thinking we should perhaps go away more often, my love,” grinned Lord Molliney. “We are receiving such a warm welcome home.”
“If you think I’m going to re-pack all this for another jaunt to foreign climes, Anthony, you’re fair and far out.” Lady Molliney shot him a look as she rescued her bonnet from beneath a leather bag. “Now let’s settle ourselves a little, and unpack.”
Elinor headed upstairs to her room.
Happy to be alone, she stripped off her riding habit, struggling to maintain her composure. Why, she asked herself, had she taken the paper with her? Was she shocked that a man could read books like that? After all, the rational side of her said firmly, there are no laws against gentlemen learning about ladies and their…their desires…
From one or two comments she’d heard in London, it might in fact be a very good idea indeed.
But this wasCaleb. The man who had awakened her own feelings to an extent that she shivered a little at the memory of his lips on hers.
Had she overreacted? Looking back now, she sighed. Yes, her best course of action would have been to ignore that piece of paper altogether, and focus on the book itself. After all, they were looking for what caused it to light up so strangely. It would be most unlikely that a scrawled poem could cause such a reaction, no matter how shocking it was.
She had to laugh at herself as she tied the bow of her dress beneath her breasts. If shocking books lit up like candles, there would doubtless be a lot more light in many more libraries.
