She clutched the open volume on the pedestal as if to hold it down. Could she claim these books as her own? If she said theDescription de l’Égyptehad been a gift to her, could anyone deny it? Her mother would support her.
She could seek legal advice....
No, she must do more than that. She had to protect everything—the house, the estate, the art, and the contents of this library—and not just for herself. Everythingmustsurvivefor future generations. That meant Norris must marry and fill a nursery with boys.
She hadn’t expected such fierce resistance, but that couldn’t weaken her resolve. She left the library to go up to her room and plan.
•••
“What’s the matter now?” asked her lady’s maid, Ethel Burgis, putting aside the stocking she’d been mending by the fire.
“Norris,” Ariana said.
“Ah.”
Ethel was more of a companion than a maid and dressed accordingly. Her black gown was made of fine cloth and she wore no apron, nor a cap on her wiry black hair. She played the servant well enough when she and Ariana were in company, but they’d been together since girlhood, and in private they were equals and friends.
Twenty-four years ago, Ethel had been christened in the local church, Saint Ethelburga’s, and, uniquely in the parish, been given the saint’s name. Nellie Burgis had chosen sensible names for her other seven children—all sons, six of whom were still alive—but when finally bearing a daughter in her forty-third year, she’d credited the saint with the miracle and named the baby accordingly.
Ethelburga Burgis had immediately become Ethel, thank heavens, but even the full name didn’t seem to distress Ethel. Little distressed Ethel. All the Burgises were tall, and when Ethel, the twelve-year-old kitchen maid, had shown signs of following the family pattern, she’d been trained to be Ariana’s maid. Now she was an inch taller than Ariana, which served the purpose of making Ariana’s height less striking, and she was of larger build as well.
Ethel wasn’t fat, but she had much the same build asher sturdy brothers and could probably have done the same hard quarry work if she’d had to. As it was, she’d learned the skills of a lady’s maid and the manners to go with them, and she and Ariana were close companions. Ethel had little interest in books, but she was a well of placid common sense, too often expressed in proverbs and sayings. “All storms must pass,” she said now.
“This one won’t, because I can’t let it. He has to marry to save the earldom.”
“You addressed that subject with him.”
“Of course I did!”
“As soon as he arrived?”
Ariana grimaced. “An error, I admit.”
“More haste, less speed.”
“And then he had the gall to throw it back at me!”
“How did he do that, then?”
Ariana hesitated, reluctant to put the absurd suggestion into words, but she never kept secrets from Ethel. “He said that if I marry by the end of the year, he’ll marry by the end of January.”
Ethel’s brows rose. “I didn’t think he had the wits for that.”
“He’s not stupid.”
“No, but you can’t expect an old head on young shoulders. He is young to be marrying.”
“At twenty-five, I’m considered past hope.”
“Young for aman,” Ethel said.
“He’s not just a man—he’s anearl. He has a duty to start his nursery. His suggestion was all hollow. My marriage won’t help.”
“True enough.”
Why couldn’t Ethel share her outrage? It would never happen. Ethel was the personification of calm.
“He’ll come to his senses,” Ariana said.
