“And do you know much of her?”
“I know all I need to know.” Miss Carruthers’ eyes flashed in a most alluring way.
What qualities would result in the loss of Miss Carruthers’ good view? Arthur wanted very much to know. “Do tell,” he invited, not truly surprised that she embarked immediately upon reciting a list.
“She reads three-volume novels, by and large, and a great many of them, though sadly, she does not prefer the better ones. She is inclined to favor the melodramatic and even, I must say, the silly stories over those with more skillful character development and plotting.”
“One cannot account for taste,” Arthur said, impressed by her ferocity.
“And worse, she has returned books withstainsupon the pages.” This clearly was an unforgivable offense. “I assume the marks are from chocolate or some other confection that includes an oil of some kind, for they cannot be removed from the paper.”
“How careless.”
“It is outrageous and slothful.” Miss Carruthers took a breath, her voice dropping in indignation. “And corners have been folded on the pages of books she has returned.”
“How heinous.”
She glared at him. “There is nothing amusing in the abuse of books, sir. It is one thing to show such disregard for one’s own volumes, but those from a lending library are shared as a kind of sacred trust. They should be treated with more care.”
Her passionate defense of books was both fierce and enthralling, that Arthur could only wonder how he had imagined she was dispassionate. Her eyes shone with conviction and she was entirely more animated than she had been previously.
She was as glorious as a warrior queen and he could only stare at her in admiration.
When he did not reply, she caught her breath and raised a gloved hand to her lips. “Oh, I fear I have been too forthright. Is there an understanding between yourself and Miss Grosvenor?”
“No, thank the heavens,” Arthur said heartily. “I can only assure you, Miss Carruthers, that you would find the lady’s character lacking in more ways than these if you were better acquainted.”
“I shall never be better acquainted with her, Mr. Beckham. She is the daughter of a very wealthy man and will undoubtedly wed into the aristocracy.”
Arthur was intrigued by her implication. “Do you not think you might?”
Miss Carruthers laughed, such a delightful sound that Arthur wished to amuse her again. “Not I, sir.”
“But your sister wed a baron.”
“Because the Duke of Haynesdale arranged the match. I still do not know what prompted his kindness to our family, but it has evidently been exhausted by that deed.”
She did not seem troubled by this. She accepted it as a fact, a stroke of good fortune for her sister, and neither resented it nor expected similar advantage herself. Arthur had to admire her serenity and her apparent happiness for her sibling. That spoke well of her nature, in his view.
Her eyes twinkled a little as she studied him. “Was Miss Grosvenor truly the topic upon which you wished to consult me? I fear I cannot give anyone who abuses books a good reference.”
“Not precisely. I must confess a tale, Miss Carruthers, that does not show me in good light, then cast myself at your mercy.”
She only lifted a fair brow, her gaze steady upon him as she waited.
“My uncle, the Earl of Fairhaven, is a habitual gambler, and one not inclined to be lucky.”
“It is a malaise shared by many, to my understanding.”
“Indeed. And so, lacking for resource and likely in his cups, he made an uncommon wager with the father of Miss Grosvenor last night.”
“Indeed?”
“He declared that I should wed that man’s daughter if he lost.”
“Oh!” He watched as she realized his implication. “Surely he did not lose?” she whispered.
Arthur nodded grimly. “Surely he did.”
