Page 20 of Lady Charlotte and the Lending Library
The gentleman pointed to a secluded nook surrounded by bookshelves on three sides. There were two leather gentleman’s club armchairs in the middle of the space, a small mahogany drum table between them.
Ashford nodded. “That should do nicely.”
Both men walked to the nook and took a seat.
He said without preamble, “Mr. Colburn, I won’t waste your time with pleasantries. I want information about Lady Lamb’s book.”
“What book?” the man asked in response. His gaze didn’t quite meet Ashford’s eyes.
“I have it on good authority that you are publishing a book written by Lady Caroline Lamb. Does she cite names of the ton in her work? I desire to know if a lady close to me is mentioned in the novel.”
Mr. Colburn looked at him squarely. “My lord, I am not at liberty to divulge whether I am the lady’s publisher or not.”
“I will not share any intelligence you give me.” He crossed one leg over the other and folded his hands in his lap. “I have all the time in the world to wait for the information I want.”
After a few moments of silence, Mr. Colburn visibly sighed and said, “The book is about the Irish rebellion of 1798, my lord. It has nothing to do with current London society.”
He replied with a raised brow, “So you are printing the book.”
The other man nodded. “Lord Ashford, the novel isn’t finished. I have no idea whether your lady friend is mentioned in Lady Lamb’s book.”
Ashford looked up at the faint sound of swishing skirts to see Lady Charlotte standing only a few steps away from where he was seated with Mr. Colburn. The lady turned on her heel and rushed away, the musky scent of Tuberose in her wake.
* * * * *
William merely grumbled when Charlotte asked him to escort her to Morgan’s Library.
She ignored him and said, “We should arrive soon after the library opens as I desire a private conversation with the proprietor.”
When they entered the establishment on Conduit Street the next morning, William made his way toward the backroom, as no employees were in evidence. Traces of cigarillo smoke and spicy cologne hung in the air like cobwebs.
Charlotte looked about her. The shop was full of dark wood bookshelves and somber furnishings. She didn’t see any merchandise in the library for sale other than books.
Curious to see how Morgan’s Library displayed its tomes, she strolled to the other side of the shop, noting that the bookseller arranged the books in alphabetical order according to author. She walked around the corner of a bookshelf and heard voices. Before Charlotte could make herself known, she’d overheard Lord Ashford ask about a book to be published.
“Pardon me,” she said quietly, turned, and retraced her steps back to the curved desk near the front of the library. Mortified that the marquess would think she’d been purposely eavesdropping, she felt heat on her cheeks.
Her brother approached the desk with a clerk in tow.
At that moment, Lord Ashford and the man he’d been speaking with reappeared.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t be of further help,” the unknown man said to the marquess and took up a place behind the desk.
Lord Ashford nodded to Charlotte and William. His gaze held hers for the briefest moment, and she felt her breath catch in her throat. A man should not have such beautiful eyes. It wasn’t fair to her equilibrium.
The marquess sketched an elegant bow. “I must be on my way. Good afternoon, Lady Charlotte, Lord Beaumont.”
She dropped a shallow curtsy and the marquess exited the shop.
“Lord Beaumont, how may I be of service?” the man behind the desk asked.
“Mr. Colburn, my sister Lady Charlotte would like to speak with you.”
The publisher nodded to Charlotte. “Good morning, my lady. I’m the manager here. How may I assist you?”
“Mr. Colburn, I’ve heard you specialize in publishing female writers. Could you tell me which authors are your current best sellers?”
The publisher did not ask her why she wanted the information but merely replied, “Ann Radcliffe is still quite popular, as is Fanny Burney. All of Mary Wollstonecraft’s works sell particularly well.”
