She pulled on the gloves while they walked to the door, all the while looking up at the house’s height and down its breadth. “I don’t know how you could have thought me new house big when you live in such as this.”
“This one is far too large, especially for what is often one person.” It had been purchased with many more occupants in mind. His father had anticipated a large family, only to have his wife die while giving birth to their first child.
The butler opened the door to admit them.
“I should warn you that my father is an original. Eccentric, actually.”
She opened her eyes wide. “Is he? I don’t see how that is possible when you be so conventional.” She crossed the threshold wearing a self-satisfied smile.
Kevin followed. He had warned her. If Miss Jameson thoughthewas eccentric, she was in for a shock.
* * *
He brought her to the library. Its size amazed her. She gazed at the massive bookcases that filled three walls. The fourth one was hung with paintings.... And something else.
She went to stand in front of ten frames enclosing rows of gray and beige moths. Each one had been labeled. It must have taken hours to collect and sort all of these. Yet, with them lined up like this, she could see the differences between them.
She felt Kevin’s presence next to her.
“Moths, not butterflies,” she said.
“Everyone has butterflies.”
She looked at the frames, then at him. She chuckled.
“You find this amusing, do you?”
“Moths?It must be quite a struggle for your guests to say something polite when they see these.” She imagined a young Kevin Radnor, serious and studious, reading off the names and explaining how this moth was different from that one. No doubt he had enjoyed the social discomfort he created. “It is all a joke, isn’t it?”
A slow smile formed. “Don’t give it away. No one else has guessed.”
“That is because your humor is too sly.”
“Not for everyone, it appears.”
She laughed and walked away. Moths.
The bookcases drew her attention. Her gaze moved over them, and the many books they held. “Are these all your father’s?”
“Some are mine. Some he acquired. Others he inherited. My grandfather was a bibliophile and had his library broken up among his sons when he passed.”
“Your family history be on those shelves.”
“I never thought of it that way, although I have discovered a few rarities that have probably been in the family for generations.”
Side by side they perused the leather-bound volumes. If she purchased one a week she would never own this many books.
Suddenly, something poked at her bum, startling her.
“Mr. Radnor, you surprise me. Please remove your hand.”
“My hand?”
“The one on me bum.”
“Appealing though the notion is, I assure you that I am never that crude.” He held up both his hands to prove his innocence.
She frowned. “What—” She turned around abruptly. “I have never—” She backed up.
