“I do not know where to start,” I admitted.
Graham nodded at a man surrounded by a throng of ladies; he smiled amiably back. “Well, what sort of books do you enjoy?”
“Guess,” I teased him.
He cocked his head to the side, smiled openly, then looked around the room. “Horticulture. But only the really long, excruciatingly boring books.”
I sucked in an exaggerated breath. “How did you know?”
He squinted. “Novels, then?”
I lifted three fingers in turn. “The hero must be titled, wealthy, and extremely handsome.”
“I’m sorry to report that I am unaware of any hero whomeets all three of those qualifications. Shall I direct you to a clerk? I could ask for the catalog. Ah, here is one.”
He directed me to a nearby table with a large, thick book placed atop it. There were lines of titles sorted by topics or genres, all alphabetized. Graham held up the book, turning pages until he found the listing for novels, then squinted and brought it closer to his sight.
The man was blind without his spectacles.
“The Duke and His Forbidden Love,” he read, then cleared his throat and tempered his smirk. “It takes three whole volumes for the poor fop to secure his fate.”
I took the catalog from his grasp, placing it down on the table in front of us. “I’ve already read that one, and I can tell you in no uncertain terms that he does indeed secure her.”
Graham leaned his hip against the table, one hand resting on its top as he faced me. “What else, then? You can tell a lot about a person by what they borrow from the library, you know.”
I started at the top of the page, tracing my finger down the rows of titles. My right side grew comfortable and warm, until I realized Graham was leaning close to read alongside me. My breath hitched, and my finger froze on a title.
“Cecilia. Isn’t that an Ann Radcliffe?” Graham asked, squinting. “Quite controversial.”
“Frances Burney,” I muttered, shifting my hip to the left, decidedly away from his warmth. “Put on your spectacles so you can actually read.”
Not responding, he folded his arms. “You could always try Shakespeare. I hearRomeo and Julietis full of intrigue,” he said.
“I refused to leave my bed for days after finishing thatplay.” I flipped a page, finding nothing to interest me. When Papa was away, I lived at the library. I’d read so many novels, I was entirely tainted. I’d already read many of these, but there were many more I’d never heard of. I closed the book. “Perhaps, the music room?”
Graham straightened, nodded, then led me toward an archway that opened into another room. Ginny sat alone in a corner, listening to the small orchestra play a cheery tune. We stayed for a time, then left her to find the others. Tabs and Mrs. Everett were in the reading room; Mrs. Everett had removed her gloves and was reading some sort of mystery book aloud quietly. After a time, Graham slipped out of the room, but I sat beside them, captivated by Mrs. Everett’s soothing voice and by how Tabs sat so close that the upper half of her body sprawled across her mother’s lap. Mrs. Everett lightly brushed through her daughter’s curls with her fingers.
Portraits and mementos from my own mother’s life were all I had of her. Growing up without her, I’d wondered what her voice sounded like, if she ever grew angry and why, and what it might feel like to be held in her arms. I’d never missed her, but this past Season, I’d felt her absence as I watched other girls’ mamas fuss over them, push them toward eligible gentlemen, or pull them out of conversation with reckless ones. How different life must be with a mother’s guiding hand.
And watching Tabs, seeing the love that so clearly existed between a mother and daughter, I felt the hole expand in my chest. That desperate ache, that loneliness I felt when Papa traveled too much or spent long days out of the house, seemed to multiply.
Tabs didn’t have a father, but she had a mother. And that was a glorious thing.
I excused myself, turning from the reading room back to the main library. Perhaps I’d rejoin Ginny in the music room for a time. As I started walking through the open space, I saw Graham with his back to me standing at our table and leaning over the open catalog.
What was he looking for? I realized I had never asked him forhisfavorite books to read. I paced over to where he read, a stupid smile curling my lips, and slowly approached the table until his profile came into view. I panicked at the sight of the man, spectacles on his nose and a serious look on his face, for I thought I’d been mistaken. But a step closer and there was Graham, in his round, thin spectacles, looking sharp and sleek and intelligent all in one perfectly packaged form. My pace slowed, shoulders relaxed, and I found myselfsaunteringtoward him like a sodden fool, but I could not help myself. He’d put on his spectacles, and I had to get a closer look.
Slowly, I leaned against the table as he had done with me earlier. His finger was set over a line on the open page, but I caught his peripheral attention, and he looked up.
He jerked back, eyes wide. His hand flew up to his face, but on instinct, I reached up to stop him.
“Don’t. You look so handsome.”
The words were out of my mouth before I could filter them, and we stood there, his hand on the arm of his spectacles, mine on his wrist, frozen.
He let go, blinking and looking away, and I cringed so hard my face became a prune.Handsome!I’d just called Graham—my host and nemesis-turned-friend—handsome.Even worse, I’d said itto his face. I rubbed the heat from my cheeks, too proud to walk away and let him see how mortified I was. In truth, I wanted to hide under a rock like one of Tabs’s dead sea things and never be unearthed.
Graham cleared his throat. “Thank you,” he muttered, looking down at the catalog. He gripped the table, knuckles white.
