But the day had come when he’d been determined to re-create his proposal. And he’d been unable to recall how numbers worked. It might have helped if he’d been able to identify the numerals or at leastdetermine their value, how many items composed each one. He knew they were used for counting but he had lost the ability to count. Not knowing the value of each number made it impossible to merge any of them and come up with a total, much less merge a page full of them. Without that capability, how was he going to comprehend the estate ledgers? How was he going to ensure the solvency of the properties that would be entrusted to his care when he inherited the title?
And if he married, bloody hell, he wouldn’t even be able to count how many children his wife gave him.
With the aid of the primer, he’d been trying to relearn numbers using the word problems because he still maintained a grasp on words. But when he got to a number, he could trace it onto paper but everything else about it remained a mystery. It was the damnedest thing.
His physician had diagnosed him with railway spine. Said his brain and spine had gotten badly shaken up in the railway accident. They didn’t yet have a cure for it because every case was different. All he could do was hope that his ability to decipher numbers would return. But in his opinion hope was a poor plan.
Hence the primer. And all his failed attempts to rid himself of the problem.
And now he had another problem: Marlowe.
She could prick his temper without even trying. She unsettled him. She was too curious, too smart. Most women he knew would have been bored sillywith talk of insects. Squeamish at least. While she’d been fascinated.
With her inquisitive mind, she might determine what was happening in this room. Hell, she might be able to figure out his affliction by merely having a conversation with him. What if they waded into a topic that involved numbers?
His best recourse was to simply ignore her.
Chapter 11
Marlowe had returned to the main chamber to stare out the window. During her journey back to this safe little corner, she’d become melancholy. “The morbs” was how her friend Sophie referred to this sadness that could weigh down a body as easily as it did a spirit.
She hadn’t meant to intrude on Langdon’s peaceful exile, but neither could she help being curious. She knew people who by outward appearances seemed perfectly happy, but inside they struggled with all sorts of troubles and strife. She wondered what it would entail to convince him to share his plight with her.
She wondered why she was desperate for him to do so.
Because it would help to pay him back for his rescue of her? Because she might have died without him and hence she owed him? It was so easy to try to find a convincing excuse when the truth was more difficult to face. She wanted to spend additional time in his company, wanted him grateful toher. She didn’t want them at odds. As implausible as it should be, she rather liked him. While he’d certainly had a few instances of expressing his annoyance that she was here, far more moments had been spent showing her kindnesses.
At the soft whisper of sound, she turned and watched as Langdon entered, strolled over to a stack of books, lifted the top one, and took the second. His movements were so mesmerizing. It wasn’t fair that she should notice, that he could be so alluring without even trying.
As if not bothered by her presence, as if not truly aware of it, he didn’t even look at her as he went to the sofa, dropped onto one corner, and simultaneously stretched out his ridiculously long legs while opening the book to some spot in the middle.
She should leave him to it. Just stand there and idly twiddle her thumbs. He probably expected little else from her than lying around all day eating bonbons. Most envisioned the mistress life as one of glamour. Certainly, it had its moments. But a good deal more of it involved tedious tasks, ensuring every aspect of her, not only the physical, appealed to her consort.
Yes, she should give Langdon no attention at all. Respond to him as he was responding to her.
“You ought to build a large-cushioned seat against this window, make a little reading nook. The view is astonishing.” Apparently, her tongue was not listening to her mind.
Looking up, with his brow furrowed, he seemed either surprised or irritated to see her standing there, as if he’d forgotten she existed or didn’tmuch like being disturbed. She decided on the latter because it was inconceivable that he could forget she was here. Although maybe he had expected her to retreat to his bedchamber. The truth was, she’d never much liked being ignored. She’d spent a good bit of her energy over the recent years ensuring she wouldnotbe ignored.
“The view from upstairs is much better. You can see farther into the distance,” he said flatly, and she couldn’t help but believe that in his tone he was conveying that was exactly where she should be: upstairs, as far away from him as the storm allowed.
She didn’t like the awkwardness that had settled in between them. Waking up with him this morning, she’d mistakenly believed they were at least willing to tolerate each other. Although she wanted more than that. Unaccustomed to gentlemen finding fault with her, she wanted him to at least like her, even if it was only a little bit.
“I want to apologize for my earlier intrusion into your... office. I didn’t mean to pry.” Of course, she had meant to pry but was hoping he’d be gracious enough to accept her apology.
“My apologies if I seemed harsh or hurt your feelings. I’m working on a proposal for the estate manager. A way to increase our revenue. Until I’ve completed it, I prefer to keep it close to the vest.”
“Like you do your cards?”
A corner of his mouth tipped up. “Like I do my cards.”
“You allowed me to see them that night.”
He gave one slow nod before returning his attention to his book.
Since he magnanimously accepted her lie, she decided to return the favor and accept his regarding what was occurring within that room. All those scribbles had been for something else. She looked back at the rain. She could barely see through the sheets of cascading water. The clouds were so heavy and black that if she wasn’t aware of the hour, she’d believe it was twilight.
“How did you know?” she asked.
