Page 12 of Redemption for the Baron

Bridget noted Marjory’s skeptical expression. “And why, precisely, is he here?”

Alastair shrugged. “I’ve no idea, but I’m eager to find out.” He turned to the butler. “Have him wait for me in the library.”

Marjory waved a distracted hand. “Go, then. Bury yourself in your old books while I sort this out.”

“I do want our house party to be a memorable event. I’ll return as soon as I see why the professor is visiting.” He gently kissed the top of Marjory’s head. “Try not to plot my demise while I’m away.”

“No promises,” Marjory called after him, though a glint of amusement had crept into her eyes.

Bridget watched the exchange with quiet fondness. Whatever tension lingered beneath the surface, Marjory and Alastair were still partners, tied to one another by habit, affection, and something older than titles and expectations.

*

Alastair entered thelibrary to find Tresham standing before the towering bookshelves, his fingers trailing reverently over the spines. The scholar was so engrossed that he did not immediately acknowledge Mark’s presence. He looked as though he had stepped into a sanctuary.

“Good morning, Professor. Your visit is a pleasant surprise.” Alastair walked toward his visitor to see which of his prized tomes interested the man.

“Impressive,” Tresham murmured. “You’ve collected some remarkable works, Lord Alastair. I admit, I had not expected such dedication.”

“Books are one of the few indulgences I allow myself.” Alastair glanced lovingly at the shelves before his gaze returned to his guest. “And, as you know, I’ve been working diligently to restore this library.”

The professor’s gaze drifted back to the shelves, stopping on a particular volume. “A surviving edition ofDe Secretis Naturae,” he murmured, his voice touched with reverence. “There are very few copies left intact. Many believe its contents to be mythical. It is said to contain knowledge on alchemy, processes lost to time.”

Alastair smirked. “And do you believe in such lost wisdom?”

Tresham’s lips quirked. “I believe that those in power have often sought to suppress what they do not understand and cannot control.”

The professor returned to investigate the spines on the shelf. His fingers moved to another volume. “Historia Regum Britanniae,a text filled with myths interwoven into history. Geoffrey of Monmouth’s account is more legend than fact, but it shaped the way many view Britain’s past.” He glanced at Alastair. “It is interesting that you have both of these works side by side. One speaks of power through knowledge, the other of power through narrative. Together, they shape history or erase it entirely.”

Alastair studied him. “And which do you prefer?”

Tresham’s lips twitched. “The truth, wherever it may lie.”

A silence stretched between them, broken only by the distant chime of a clock.

“I am here to pay my respects to a fellow collector.” He glanced at the shelves. “I am glad I did.” Tresham hesitated. “I had planned to leave for London tomorrow, but seeing your collection, I find myself regretting that I hadn’t arranged time with you.”

Alastair regarded him thoughtfully, weighing the opportunity. Marjory had been fretting about the imbalance since the letter arrived that morning, Baron Linwood had taken ill, leaving them one gentleman short. She had already begun reshuffling seating arrangements, but a last-minute addition would certainly ease her concerns.

Yet it was not only Marjory’s predicament that gave Alastair pause. He had long since learned that men like Professor Tresham did not speak idly. The regret in his tone was genuine, but there was something else beneath it, a hunger. It was the look of a man who had found something unexpected and wasn’t ready to leave it behind.

Alastair let his gaze sweep the library, the warm glow of candlelight flickering over rows of priceless tomes. He had spent years amassing his collection, curating it with care anddiscretion. Only a handful of men could appreciate its worth, not merely in monetary value, but in historical significance. Tresham was one such man.

It was a risk, but also an opportunity.

He nodded at last. “We find ourselves short a guest for our weekend house party. Allow me to extend an invitation. You would be doing us a favor.”

Tresham inclined his head, a thoughtful glint in his eye. “Are you certain? I do not want to impose.”

“Not at all, Professor. Your presence will round out the event nicely.”

Tresham tapped a finger against his chin, his gaze drifting once more to the shelves. “An unexpected turn of events, indeed.” His hesitation was tinged more with calculation than reluctance. “I must admit, the opportunity is tempting.”

Alastair grinned, sensing the scholar’s interest lay less in the company and more in the tomes before him. “I shall send word for your belongings. You’ll find Alastair Court accommodating in every way.”

As he turned to leave, Alastair glanced back. “By the by, you do play Whist, don’t you?”

Tresham hesitated before answering, but Alastair had already turned, his fingers tapping absently against his thigh, a restless habit Marjory had mentioned only days ago.

---