Page 28 of Thomas
“Is this a first edition?” Beside himself, he slipped the delicate manuscript back into its slot. He scanned further and found a copy ofThe Happy Prince and Other Talesby Oscar Wilde. He gently slid it out of its slot, and this one was also delicate and worn, with some slight soiling and foxing from oxidation to the end pages. Thomas opened the book and almost choked. There was a signature just inside the title page. Oscar Wilde’s signature.
“Thomas?”
Thomas yelped but kept a steady hand on the precious manuscript. “Y-yes?” He looked up and saw Cameron peeking down at him through the gaps in the staircase.
“Are you alright?” he called.
“I’m alright,” he said, closing and slipping the book back into its slot. “I’m coming up.” He turned to go back up the stairs, tarried, then turned back. The door to the lower library was just beside him, so he opened it, then peeked out and into the room. As he suspected, it was in the back corner, similar to the door upstairs.
Satisfied, he pulled it shut, then made his way back up the staircase. He expected Cameron to be at the top, waiting for him to explain himself, but when he reached the second floor, the door was wide open and Lord Ashford wasn’t there. Thomas turned off the light, re-secured the bookcase and followed the narrow pathways back to the main open area of the room.
The battered (but undeniably comfortable) couch was awash in pale yellow sunlight. Cameron sat on the ornate rug with his long legs folded, a stack of papers set in front of him. He wore a thick navy-blue knitted cardigan with round wooden buttons and suede elbow patches over his polo, which told Thomas thathis lordship wasn’t planning on leaving the estate today. The air around his sturdy form radiated with heat, spice and honey.
Cameron looked up and the sunlight caught his hazel eyes. Not for the first time, Thomas noticed the flecks of green there. “Good morning,” he said.
“Morning,” Thomas greeted him, moving closer. Cameron’s very presence was discreetly inviting, whether the man intended it or not (Thomas figured not). “I wasn’t snooping… well, not on purpose.”
“I didn’t think that you were. Should I be worried about such things? Is this a warning?”
Thomas shook his head. “No, it isn’t. The stairwell is beautiful, like the rest of your home.”
“Thank you. I’m fond of the way it turned out.”
“I saw the built-in glass cases lining the lower portion of the stairwell. You have a first-edition copy ofUlysses.”
“I do,” Cameron said as he resumed sorting.
“And a signed copy ofThe Happy Princeby Oscar Wilde.”
“And a signed copy ofAn Ideal Husband, although it isn’t worth nearly as much.”
Thomas stood with his mouth agape, blinking and simply watching the confounding, unbothered man busily organizing papers in the middle of the ornate rug. When Thomas didn’t speak for a beat too long, Cameron stopped again and looked up at him, his expression serious.
“Thomas, are you alright?”
“Please explain yourself, sir.”
“Explain what, exactly?”
“Why do you have these rare and priceless books in your possession?”
“Not priceless,” Cameron said, still giving Thomas his full attention. “They all have a price. When I was young, I dabbled in rare books—buying, selling, auctioning, trading. I enjoyed thetreasure hunt aspect of it, but not the business and transactional part. Not the negotiating, the lying and the scheming. The counterfeit books and phony sellers. I quickly realized I did not have the patience for thepeopleaspect of it.”
“You’re still young.” Thomas stepped over a box, past several stacks of files, and sat in the small square of empty space across the carpet from him. “Did you travel to acquire these editions?”
“I did, when I was eighteen. To Paris and Calais a few times. London and Berlin once. When it became clear that the estate and its responsibilities were being thrust upon me, I stopped. I have a friend who’s a rare bookseller with his own shop in Calais. When he has the time, he assists me with indulging in my frivolous hobby.”
“I am amazed, truly,” Thomas said, folding his legs. “Is there a book within your collection that you cherish above the others?”
Traveling to major international cities and being the owner of a rare-book collection might have been something Thomas had fantasized about in his previous life. His existence before the failed elopement and subsequent imprisonment. If he and Dawn had made it to London as planned, maybe he would have learned the trade and opened his own shop, eventually.
Yet again, he felt slightly envious of Lord Ashford.
“Hm,” Cameron pondered, folding his arms over his broad chest. “I have a fully illustrated first edition of Austen’sPride and Prejudicethat is known as the ‘peacock edition.’ The cover is fashioned in golden gilt on Victorian pictorial cloth. It’s stunning. I also treasure the copy ofUlyssesbecause it, too, is a first edition and one of only seven hundred and fifty originals printed on handmade paper by Shakespeare and Company.”
“Amazing.” Thomas rested his hands in his lap, wholly enthralled. “Have you readUlysses?”
“Not thatedition, but yes, of course. Have you?”
