“I would think you, with your red hair, would be quite a prize,” he countered.
Catherine felt the heat of a blush warm her cheeks. “If that’s a compliment—”
“It is. You’re quite comely,” he said.
Blinking, Catherine straightened in her chair. “Thank you,” she replied. “Might I ask what you were expecting?”
He chuckled softly, and she noticed how he, too, seemed suddenly embarrassed. “Truth be told, I had no idea what to expect, so my imagination has conjured all manner of older women with buns so tight, their faces are distorted, wearing black gowns covering every inch of their bodies, and their chins showing the beginnings of beards,” he replied, grinning.
“Oh, dear. Spoken as if you have read a great deal or spent too much time in the company of older widows,” she remarked.
“Oh, I am guilty of the former, my lady,” he confirmed. “Reading is my passion, I suppose. Perhaps my Achilles’ heel as well.”
Catherine gave a start. “Achilles’ heel?” she repeated. “But, why?”
He visibly sobered. “I cannot claim a desire to read for the sake of learning, for I prefer to read novels. I tend to escape into a book when the news is bad. Which it has been ever since my father died.”
She gave a start. “I am sorry for your loss,” she offered.
Mr. Higby seemed to think better of what he was about to say. “My father was a gambler. I am not,” he stated. “So having learned he was in debt when he left this mortal coil had me rather angry at him. I was able to pay off some of the vowels—the debt markers,” he explained, “but then Mother Nature decided to play an awful trick on those of us who make our livings off the land.”
“Leaving you once again in debt,” Catherine finished for him.
“Indeed,” he agreed.
They sat in companionable silence for a moment before Catherine asked, “Would you tell me why it is you are seeking a librarian to be your wife?”
Mr. Higby visibly brightened. “Who else would I seek?” he countered.
Taken aback, Catherine said, “You’re a landowner. You’re handsome, and much younger than I was expecting. You could probably gain invitations to the Little Season entertainments here in London. Find a wealthy young lady in the Marriage Mart,” she grinned as she waggled her brows, “Maybe even a daughter of the aristocracy,” she added with excitement.
“You think me handsome?”
Catherine opened her mouth and quickly closed it, once again feeling the heat of a blush color her cheeks. Of all the suggestions she had just mentioned, she was shocked he would rememberthatparticular compliment. “I am quite sure I am not alone in that assessment, Mr. Higby, and I rather doubt you were unaware of it.”
He leaned forward in his chair and placed his elbows on his knees. “I probablyshouldmarry a blue blood,” he murmured thoughtfully.
The way he made the claim had Catherine on alert. “Should?” she repeated.
He nodded. “I don’t want to, though. I rather doubt there is one who is as learned as you. Who has read as many books as you have. Probably more even than me.”
For a moment, Catherine wondered how much Mrs. Dove-Lyon had shared with the gentleman. “What makes you believe I’m as voracious a reader as you?” she asked.
“You are the daughter of the man who owns Kingston Publishing, are you not?”
So the matchmakerhadtold him everything.
“I am. I suppose you learned that from Mrs. Dove-Lyon?”
He shook his head. “No. I actually learned of it…” Here he paused and swallowed, a look of guilt appearing on his features. “A few days ago, I was in the Temple of the Muses.”
Catherine inhaled softly. “Oh?”
“I believe you were speaking with the manager there? About a position?” he guessed.
“You were there?” she asked in surprise.
He nodded. “I didn’t mean to… to eavesdrop, but I couldn’t help my curiosity.”
