Page 21 of Lady Charlotte and the Lending Library
“I am familiar with their work. Are there any other female authors you think would be of interest to Londoners?”
“I think it would be simpler if I showed you.” Mr. Colburn walked from behind the desk to a nearby table covered with several stacks of books. “The books on this table are the ones most requested by lending libraries at present.”
Charlotte looked over the books on display, noting several works by female writers: Maria Edgeworth, Castle Rackrent, Letters for Literary Ladies, Belinda, Patronage; Female Quixote by Charlotte Lennon; Adelaide and Theodore, or Letters on Education by Madame de Genlis. The Children of the Abbey, a Tale by Regina Maria Roche; Letters from The Mountains by Anne Grant.
“I couldn’t help but overhear some of your conversation with Lord Ashford,” Charlotte said idly as she listed the books on the table in a tiny notebook she kept in her reticule. “Is the forthcoming novel by Lady Lamb something the ladies and gentlemen of London would enjoy reading?”
Mr. Colburn cleared his throat. “As I told his lordship, I am not at liberty to discuss the contents of the book even if I am to be its publisher.”
Charlotte looked up to see her brother frowning at her. William jerked his head just the slightest towards the entrance to the library, and she returned her notebook and prized cedarwood-cased pencil to her reticule.
“Thank you ever so much, sir. I appreciate your assistance and look forward to seeing what you will publish in the future.” She nodded goodbye to Mr. Colburn and dutifully followed William outside. Hopefully, her brother wouldn’t remark on her question about Lady Lamb’s book.
William assisted her into their father’s town carriage. As the coach moved forward, he inquired, “Why did you ask about a private conversation Lord Ashford was involved in?”
Charlotte tensed for a moment before replying, “I wondered if I could get information about the book before anyone else did. If Thorne’s acquired the novel before other libraries, it might bring some fame to the lending library.”
Her brother appeared mollified by her answer and said no more on the subject. Charlotte blew out a breath and felt her shoulders relax.
Lord Ashford was anxious about some information Lady Lamb might include in her novel. It concerned a woman close to him. His mistress? Her very being recoiled at the thought. As she and William returned home in their father’s carriage, her imagination ran wild with possibilities of what details about the marquess’s life could be in that book.
* * * * *
After his visit to Morgan’s Library, Ashford returned home. The sky was still gray, but rain had yet to make an appearance. Chloe, a ball of energy, greeted his return to the house with enthusiasm. He determined the little dog could do with a walk to the private park in Grosvenor Square before the weather changed.
As his mother was wont to stay in her rooms until nuncheon, Chloe had little company in the house other than the servants. His valet pretended to think the dog was a nuisance, but he’d seen the man give the Maltese a scratch now and then when he thought nobody was looking.
It was Saturday. A day Ashford could relax as there were no sessions that afternoon.
When the war was over, he’d resigned from his position in the Foreign Office. Cecil assumed he missed the intrigues of government service. Ashford’s position as an attaché dealt with ensuring finished goods from Britain reached the rest of Europe; he merely helped keep the British economy strong during the Napoleonic wars. He may have utilized bribery and smuggling, but he’d never been a spy.
Ashford would remain in London while Parliament was seated and then return to Kent until the cycle started all over again. Unlike his friend Cecil, he much preferred the country to town. He rather thought Chloe did as well.
When they reached the private park surrounded by railings, he used a key to access the garden. “Go and play,” he told Chloe as he released her from her leash to roam the area and sniff the multitude of scents only dogs could smell. The little Maltese wandered happily, her tail wagging incessantly.
He breathed deeply of the cool air, relishing the solitude of the green space. Looking up at the equestrian statue of George I in the middle of the garden, he spied a male chaffinch keeping a watchful eye on Chloe. “Don’t worry, my friend, you’re much too quick for my girl.”
Chloe brought him a small stick which he dutifully threw for her. He’d found her as a cold, wet puppy in a field in Portugal. Ever since he could remember, he’d always taken in needy creatures.
“Good girl!” Chloe returned her stick to him. He threw it again.
Thinking of needy creatures reminded him of Lady Charlotte’s brother. Had the boy told his sister of the service Ashford performed for him while they were at Eton? He doubted it. The tale would not show William in a positive light.
“What are you doing in this room?” he’d asked the first-year student upon witnessing him enter Cecil’s set of rooms at the Jourdelay boarding house.
“I must be lost,” the boy replied, his voice shaking. “I need to return a book for a friend.”
“Where is the book?” Ashford’s gaze never left the boy’s face.
The boy shook his head. “I don’t know. I must have dropped it.”
He noticed the young man holding something behind his back. “Show me what is in your hand.”
The boy held out his palm to reveal a pocket watch. Ashford recognized it as the silver pair case watch Cecil’s older brother had given him when Cecil went away to school.
“What is your name?”
“William. William Beaumont.” The boy placed the watch on a small nearby table in the bedchamber.
