Page 19 of Hearts of Briarwall

“Perhaps not,” Andrew said, and she appreciated him not making fun of her childhood fantasy. “I imagine that a half-eagle, half-lion creature might like ponies.”

“To eat,” Lydia and Mr. Hayes said at the same time. Their eyes met, and she glanced away quickly, wishing the heat would fade from her cheeks. She’d already made a fool of herself at dinner. She would not make herself a fool over a man. He’d smiled. Task met. Done.

It had been a very nice smile, though, and came with a warm, soft laugh, too. His teeth, she’d noted, werenothorrible. Indeed, when he’d relaxed, he’d become altogether alluring.

But had her triumph been worth her current uneasiness? She clenched her fists, determined to keep her wits about her during this ridiculous “hunt” and maintain whatever decorum she could muster. After all, she and Florrie had persuaded Mr. Hayes to participate in this adventure and, as Florrie said, Lydia’s job as hostess was to ensure their guest was made to feel welcome in their home.

She remembered how he had attempted to ease her discomfort earlier, and she was grateful. He, at least, seemed to find her entertaining. Which was more than she could say of her brother, who currently conducted a thorough search of the large desk at the end of the room while Florrie carefully explored the mantel above the fireplace.

Nearest her, Mr. Hayes was tipping books out of the nearest shelves and looking beneath and behind them. Good idea. She started on the next shelf. The study contained eight bookcases, and she eyed them, considering this might be a days-long undertaking.

“Quite a few of them, aren’t there?” Mr. Hayes asked, gesturing to the stack he held in his hand.

She nodded. “I daresay you did not imagine this as part of becoming reacquainted with Briarwall.”

He shoved the books back into place and pulled out another set. “Several things have taken me by surprise.”

She dared not ask him what those might be for fear that his answer would include the ridiculous dinner conversation. Instead, she studied the shelves in front of her. “Where wouldIkeep a clock key between windings?”

“Perhaps we should look behind the books about clocks.”

They each paused, looked at each other, then began running their fingers along spines, reading titles quickly up and down the stacks.

“I have it,” he called, nearly obscured by a large fern in a Chinese vase a few shelves over. “In the mechanical workings section.”

She quickly approached as he pulled out a thick volume.

“Did you find it?” Florrie called from the shelves near the fireplace.

“Not yet,” Lydia answered.

“Hold this,” Mr. Hayes said as he dropped the heavy book into her barely waiting arms and went back to examining the shelf.

After balancing the book so as not to immediately drop it, she opened it, searching for ... what exactly? A secret compartment?

He pulled two more books off the shelf and began the same perusal of them. “These are the only volumes on clocks. The others cover everything from the invention of the wheel to the steam engine. Your brother needs to update his collection.”

“I seem to recall you were fond of this section in particular, Mr. Hayes,” Lydia said.

He paused. “You do?”

“Yes. Just a vague impression. Am I correct?”

He went back to leafing through pages. “You are. I’ve always been fascinated by the way things move, and the means of recreating that movement mechanically.” He held up the top volume in his hands.

“The Artificial Clockmaker,” she read aloud, “by William Derham.”

“I read this one so often your father gave me my own copy as a Christmas gift.”

“Truly?”

He nodded at the worn pages. “Truly. I haven’t thought of it in years. Now, if your brother had some volumes about automobile mechanics,thenyou might never see me outside of this room for the duration of my stay.”

Lydia stared. “Automobilemechanics? Motorcars?”

He looked up and grimaced. “That was quite thoughtless of me. I’m quite obsessed, I’m afraid, and I lose all sense. Forgive me?”

She blinked at him. Could it be true? This handsome man materialized in her home, took the oddest dinner conversation in all of Britain in stride, expressed his fondness for her parents, and now admitted his love for motorcars.

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