Page 15 of War of the Wedding Wagers
But instead of offering comfort, he was already striding toward one of the windows, his Byronic silhouette stark against the gathering dusk. With efficient movements, he drew back the heavy curtains, allowing more of the fading light to spill into the room. “Better, Miss Playford? Though I dare say Miss Fairchild would tell us that darkness is essential for any proper ghost hunting.”
“I would say no such thing,” Amelia retorted, moving towards the nearest bookshelf. “Ghosts, like most mysteries, tend to evaporate in good light and with clear thinking.” She ran her fingers along the spines, trying to ignore how his low chuckle raised goosebumps on her arms.
“Clear thinking?” He moved to the shelf beside her. “From our fortune teller? I would have thought you’d be more inclined towards… mysterious possibilities tonight.”
Before Amelia could respond, Miss Playford gasped. “Oh! What was that sound?”
“Merely the wind in the chimney,” Amelia said firmly. “Now, what was that line again? ‘Behind the tome where romance never dies’?”
“How fitting,” Sir Frederick murmured, his voice pitched low enough that only Amelia could hear. “Considering our history with libraries.”
She jerked her head up to look at him, but his face was unreadable in the shadows. Surely he wasn’t referring to that afternoon years ago. The afternoon he’d kissed her. And she’d kissed him back.
Before Thomas had revealed Sir Frederick’s true nature? Before her world had tilted on its axis?
“Miss Fairchild?” Miss Playford’s voice held a note of genuine anxiety now. “Something just brushed past me!”
“Nonsense,” Amelia said, more sharply than she intended. “It’s merely your own costume’s feathers.” But she noticed how Sir Frederick had already moved to the young lady’s side, offering his arm with perfect gallantry.
And she was glad of it. It reminded her just why Sir Frederick was not a man to be taken seriously—as she had once done.
“Shall we search together, Miss Playford? Though I warn you, I take my direction from our fortune teller here.” His eyes met Amelia’s over Miss Playford’s blonde head, and for a moment she caught something in his expression that made her wonder if she’d miscalculated somehow.
But no—this was exactly what she’d planned. Sir Frederick was playing the gallant protector, just as she’d hoped. The factthat something twisted uncomfortably in her chest at the sight was irrelevant. Completely irrelevant.
A sudden gust of wind rattled the windows, making Miss Playford jump closer to Sir Frederick with a tiny shriek. “Oh! Do you think it’s… her? Lady Pernilla?”
“Don’t be so silly,” Amelia said before she could stop herself, ameliorating her sharpness with a more conciliatory, “Lady Pernilla’s ghost is a figment of everyone’s imagination.”
“I think,” Sir Frederick said slowly, “that Lady Pernilla’s story might be worth investigating further. Don’t you agree, Miss Fairchild? After all, some tales of love and betrayal deserve a second look.”
Amelia turned back to the bookshelves, her fortune teller’s bangles jangling with the sudden movement. “We’re here to find a clue, not investigate old scandals,” she said firmly. “Now, shall we begin our search in earnest? The romance section would be the logical place to start,” she said, moving towards the far corner of the library where she’d noticed a collection of well-worn novels.
“Logical?” Sir Frederick’s voice held that maddening hint of amusement again. “I wouldn’t have thought logic had much place in matters of romance.”
Distracted, Amelia halted, then reverently pulled out a leather-bound tome and read aloud, “Principia Mathematicaby Isaac Newton.” Clasping it to her bosom she whispered, “I am in heaven!” as she gazed at the lofty ceiling.
She opened her eyes to see Sir Frederick regarding her with amusement which quickly turned to horror as Miss Playford pulled out a title and began to read, “Fanny Hill: Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasureby John Cleland. Have you read this—”
“No, and nor should you!” Sir Frederick said, snatching it from her hands.
“But we’re looking for a romance, aren’t we?” Miss Playford looked confused. “Wouldn’t this be—?”
“No, I think not, Miss Playford, and I think you should direct your search to another bookshelf,” he suggested, for now she’d pulled out a title which Amelia could see clearly wasJustineby the Marquise de Sade.
“Nor that title, Miss Playford!” Amelia said, taking it out of Miss Playford’s hands. She caught Sir Frederick’s quizzical look, blushing hotly as he murmured, “And why do you think a novel with such an innocuous title should be kept away from Miss Playford? Surelyyouare not acquainted with the works of the Marquise de Sade?”
“Who is the Marquise de Sade?” asked Miss Playford who appeared to have missed the nuances swirling about her. “I do love reading romances but my Aunt Pike says I should broaden my horizons and read other literature if I am to improve myself.”
Amelia struggled to reply, for Sir Frederick was clearly waiting for her to supply Miss Playford with an answer. Finally, she said, calmly, “I do not think reading the Marquise de Sade would improve yourself. In fact, I think you should put his name out of your mind and not mention to your aunt that such a book was ever in your hands.”
Immediately she realized she’d spoken the very words that would incline Miss Playford to do the opposite. She replaced the tome, feeling almost burned by the explicit sexual content of the book. The truth was that she’d inadvertently stumbled upon the volume in the library of a friend of her mama’s and what she’d read would stay with her forever.
Fortunately, she was saved from saying anything further for Miss Playford suddenly gave a whoop of triumph as she whipped out theMysteries of Udolphoby Mrs. Ann Radcliffe.
“I loved this romance!” she cried, and Amelia was relieved that she could concur and launch into a spirited critique of the book set in a similarly mysterious and ghostly setting.
“And this must be the next clue!” Miss Playford said as she pulled out a yellowing sheet of paper and began to read:
