Page 41 of Lady Charlotte and the Lending Library
“You inherited your lovely eyes from your mother,” Lord Ashford said quietly when they came together again in the steps of the dance.
“Thank you.” Charlotte looked anywhere but at her dance partner. She was uncomfortable with compliments and didn’t know how best to respond upon receiving one.
The marquess was a more than capable dancer. He was only a few inches taller than her own five feet eight inches, and she thought they paired well together. The warmth of his body so near to hers weaved a web around her senses. Her pulse began to race. She stiffened her back, determined to fight the magnetism of a man who had no interest in her.
“Are you feeling quite well this evening, Lady Charlotte? You don’t appear to be your usual cheerful self.”
This was her chance to speak her mind. If she told him what she knew about his sister, the marquess would most likely never seek her out again. She took a deep breath, returned her gaze to his face and said, “Louisa tells me you banished your sister to Bath and that her behavior has not always been the most circumspect.”
The music switched to a lively quadrille, and they spoke no more during the rest of the set. Their gazes met several times in passing, Lord Ashford looking unconcerned by her comments about his sister.
As they walked back to her mother’s side, the marquess said tightly, “Louisa is correct about my sister. Perhaps we may speak privately of the matter at another time. I hope you enjoy the rest of your evening, Lady Charlotte. Goodnight.”
Lord Ashford returned her to her mother and excused himself. She saw him speak to his friend Nathaniel and then make his way to the entrance of the ballroom. A moment later, he was gone.
Confronting the marquess hadn’t made her feel superior or even remotely happy. There had been no good reason to mention his sister other than to distance herself from him. Lord Ashford didn’t care for her. Despite his assistance with saving Thorne’s, her feelings were her own.
Chapter Fourteen
The next afternoon, a footman proffered a silver salver with a note upon it as Ashford sat with his mother in the drawing room. “This missive just arrived, my lord. Delivered by a grubby young boy.”
“Oh my!” His mother looked askance at the cheap paper with no wax seal resting on the plate. “Who would have sent you such a letter?”
He thought he knew who might have sent it. He unfolded the single sheet of paper and read the contents of the letter.
Lord Ashford-
Two men came into Thorne’s today and told me the library would soon be out of business and I should find another situation. Maybe the strange events at the shop are meant to scare the Thorne’s into closing their shop.
Respectfully,
Robbie Danker
It appeared Robbie hadn’t known Thorne’s was in danger of closing. Ashford sat for a moment looking at the note, the only sound in the room the ticking of a carriage clock on a table near his stuffed chair. He’d insinuated himself into the events happening at Thorne’s so completely that now he felt he must protect the business not only for Lady Charlotte’s sake, but Robbie’s as well.
“Ashford? Are you all right? You look rather put out.” His mother peered at him from her place on a crimson upholstered sopha.
He nodded, distracted. “I’m fine, mother.” He got to his feet. “I have to go out.”
“But we just sat down for a little chat. I see you so little, what with sessions.”
Ashford walked to his mother’s chair, leaned down, and kissed her on the cheek. The scent of rosewater tickled his nose. “I have an important errand. There are no sessions on Saturday. You choose an amusement, and I will spend time with you.”
His mother waved a hand at him. “I’ve heard that before. Be off with you.” The affectionate smile she gave him softened the bite of her words.
Ashford directed his coachman to Cecil’s home in Curzon Square. He was sure his friend would be interested in knowing what James Landry had been up to in Berkeley Square. During the carriage ride, his thoughts returned to what Charlotte had said last evening about Diana. After the comments he’d made about her behavior on St. James’s Street, she must think him a sanctimonious prig.
Diana may have lost her fiancé in the war, but that did not give her an excuse to kick up a lark whenever it suited her. The last straw had been her attempt to seduce Cecil. His sister had kissed his friend quite passionately in Ashford’s own drawing room. Thank heavens Ashford had been the only witness to his sister’s machinations, or Cecil would have had to marry the chit. He knew Diana had been smitten with his friend when she was a child but believed his sister had genuinely loved her intended. Cecil saw her unfortunate behavior as a reflection of her grief at the loss of her fiancé.
Cecil’s townhouse, although small, was nicely furnished. A butler older than Methuselah answered the door and escorted Ashford to his employer.
“Good afternoon!” Cecil was seated in the room he used as a drawing room cum study, a cheery fire blazing in the hearth. “Have a seat. We may discuss anything you want as long as it isn’t politics. Would you care for refreshment?”
Ashford shook his head in reply.
The room was elegant yet cozy, decorated in burgundy and navy hues with heavy mahogany furniture. Cecil had always been quite particular about the furnishings in his home.
“I received a note from the clerk at Thorne’s Lending Library.” Ashford took the letter from his coat pocket and handed it to the viscount as he seated himself in an adjacent club chair.
