“Lady Joanna?”
At his question, she turned a shimmering gaze on him. “Is this a dream? This place? If it is, I don’t want to wake.”
For the second time during the visit, he found his throat closing as love for his library shone in her eyes. “No, it’s not a dream. It’s real.” He had to force the words out, and he coughed to clear his throat. “It has been a lifelong achievement of mine. I started collecting books when I was seven.”
Her eyes grew wide. “Seven? And here I thought I was an early bird at the age of nine.” She chuckled awkwardly. “Please excuse me, I’m just overwhelmed by your success.”
The inclination to lean in and whisper that Burhleigh Park had more of his collection was so strong, he gritted his teeth and turned down the eastern balcony. “On this floor, I house the literature, art, architecture, music, dance, folklore, pedagogical books, as well as oddities and rarities. The last are kept in a locked, old book press cabinet.”
When she didn’t answer, he halted and turned around. She still stood staring at the walls of bookcases on the second level. Doubts assailed him. Why would someone who treasured books as much as she did, steal one? What if it hadn’t been her? His mind raced, searching for other possibilities. Now that he gave it some thought, the gentlemen had been in the library while he was still outside speaking to Lady Joanna. But if they had taken it, how had they carried it out of the house without him noticing? He’d bade farewell to each individual person.
She moved toward him, a small smile playing along her lips. “I do believe I’m going to dream of this room when I go to sleep tonight. I never imagined anything so wonderous as this.”
At her statement, an image of her in a shift crawling into bed filled his mind and he jerked his head to be rid of it. “The Houses…” he cleared his throat, his words coming out gruff. “The Houses of Parliament have an extensive collection.”
She reached him. “That may be so, but for a private library, I’m sure this is the most exceptional anywhere in England.”
Heat seemed to suffuse him at her passionate praise, and he pulled at his cravat. “I do not know. I’m sure there are many scholars with a much larger collection.”
She walked past him, the scent of cinnamon-vanilla filling his nostrils. “Do not be modest. It doesn’t become you. This is grand on the grandest of scales.” Her fingers trailed over the leather bound and hard paper volumes on the shelves. “You did say you had books on women’s education, did you not?”
He smirked. That wasn’t exactly what he’d said. “I have many on education in my pedagogical section and a few that focus on women. One is downstairs waiting to be shelved, but the rest are past the reading area on this level.” Did she pause when he mentioned the book to be shelved? The devil take it, he wasn’t sure.
“Reading area? How did you fit that among all these bookcases?” She dropped her hand as she hastened her step. “Oh, this is perfect.” She stood before the small area that had two red armchairs with a small table between them.
He had sacrificed a bookcase to make it possible. He didn’t want to miss her reaction when she saw the view, so he moved closer before speaking. “Please, have a seat. Tell me if it’s comfortable.”
She gave him a sly smile. “Oh, I’m sure it is.” Turning to sit, her face changed, her mouth forming a small “o” as she abruptly sat.
He had to admit that seeing his space through the eyes of newcomers who could truly appreciate it humbled him. His love of books had started with stories whose characters kept him company during his lonely childhood. They were his friends, and he felt as if he had visited so many places with them before he grew old enough to appreciate more factual knowledge. Though his aunt had moved in at that time and tried to interest him in other children, he had far surpassed them in maturity and thought their games tiresome. Everyone at Burhleigh Park knew where to find him if they needed him from the lowest maid to his aunt. The only one ignorant of his whereabouts was his father, who wanted it that way.
“Your Grace, this is breathtaking. I didn’t know there was still a view such as this in all of London.”
Lady Joanna’s soft whisper reminded him of the voices he heard in his head when still a boy reading his books. But that time was past. He turned to face the round window on the western wall that revealed rolling hills and fields being encroached upon by buildings to the south. “I fear it won’t last. Soon even Haven House will be swallowed up by new construction as more and more move to Town.”
She rose and looked at him, her gaze soft and open. “Yes, that’s true. It happened to Craymore Hall, but we have our country estate for views such as this. In Bedford, we have no theater, no panoramas, no confectioners, and few shops. I think there are advantages to both places.”
He liked that she didn’t try to deny the encroachment of the city onto Haven House. “That may be, but I will never find London to my liking. I’m only here for the season so as to see Elsbeth well settled.”
Her features hardened and her gaze took on the intense look he’d seen at the lecture. “When you say settled, you mean marrying well, do you not?”
He gave a short nod. “I do. She has learned all she needs to know to take over as the mistress of her own home. I’ll allow her the choice of husbands among those I feel acceptable.”
He hadn’t thought Lady Joanna’s posture lacking, but at his words she seemed to straighten, gaining at least an inch in height. “So Elsbeth has been groomed much like a racehorse to bring in the best purse.”
The analogy was too fitting, and he latched onto the differences with force. “I think not. She is a woman of fine…” his thought was to saybreeding, but that added to her analogy. “Qualities. She deserves the best in a…” he’d been about to saymate. “Husband. A man with a good name, who won’t squander her dowry or his fortune, and who will give her the children she deserves.”
“Anddoesshe desire children? If she does, at what cost? Does the man’s character, looks, or interest in her matter? Or is she to bed an old man desperate to gain an heir? What if the men you find acceptable are not to her liking? Then where does her choice come into play, Your Grace?”
Her chest rose with her breaths, her argument having turned passionate. The subject had become personal for some reason, and he was curious to find out why. “I would not force Elsbeth’s hand. If she does not find the men I deem acceptable to her liking, I will be forced to return next season. There is no need to worry on her behalf. I would not allow her to be used in any fashion, especially not by an old lord simply for an heir. She is, after all, one of the few family members I have left.”
“I’m pleased that Elsbeth has a somewhat reasonable cousin as the head of the family.”
His statements seemed to calm her, which left him disappointed. He wanted to know more. Had her sister been forced to marry Lord Beaumont? He did not know the man, but it could be the situation. Yet, he didn’t see Wakefield as a man that would force his daughters to do anything. Or maybe that was just with Lady Joanna. “And what of you?”
She took a deep breath as if finding her balance once again. “I? I wish to see what you have in your education bookcase.” She quickly turned and strode to the spot he’d indicated earlier.
He’d wanted to hear what she wanted in her husband. From what he understood, this was her fourth and final season. Surely there had been men interested in such a vivacious and obviously passionate woman. He imagined her passion would be just as strong were she to find the bedroom of interest.
