He’d seen the truth in Mrs. Townsend’s face when she’d mentioned Anderson’s daughter and Cassandra had reacted with surprise. Why, there wasn’t a person on the estate who had not heard the rumor he’d tried to elope with Vivianne Anderson.
The wayward heir’s humiliating heartbreak had been too delicious anon ditnot to share, especially since Harbury’s father provided so little fodder for gossip.
No fun for the telltales in gentry whose behavior was entirely above reproach.
This morning, Mrs. Townsend had chosen discretion above tattle. But what were the chances every person on the estate would follow her lead?
He’d have to find a way to tell his wife that Vivianne, Anderson’s daughter, and Sarah’s governess were all one and the same. And he’d have to brace for her consequent hurt.
But before he disappointed her so deeply, he could give onething…he could take her to a place Vivianne had never seen, a place which, from thenceforth, would be entirely their own.
And a place, given her fascination with his books, that should distract her with pleasure.
…All kinds of pleasure.
They arrived at the hall, and he escorted her inside. Up until they reached the library, she went along with him willingly enough. But as soon as they entered the long hall, her feet began to drag.
“I’m quite familiar with the library,” she said, as he led her by the hand.
“So you believe.” He positioned himself in front of the correct bookcase, pushed back the correct book and turned back to his wife, his finger on the lever. “You, my dear, are about to become the first lady to ever learn Harbury Hall’s best kept secret.”
She leaned in and lowered her voice. “How secret?”
“So secret, even Sarah doesn’t know.” He squeezed the lever and a section of the bookcase swung open.
“A hidden room?”
“Not justanyhidden room. An entire vault.” He drew her into the space, then closed the panel behind them. “Notvaultin the sense of crypt, mind you, but vault as in a place where valuables are stored.”
Unlike the other walls which had been built of wood and then covered with whitewashed plaster, the walls within this chamber were bare stone. Three bookcases lined the room, one on each wall. A single chair and table stood in its center.
“Sarah knows nothing of this?”
“No. In fact, to my knowledge, no lady has ever entered the room.”
“Let me guess?” She said, wandering. “The libertine grandfather?”
“Yes. Although, if even a quarter of the stories told about him are true, less than reputable women might have been welcomed here. In his bachelor days.” He paused. “And I’m not sure I’d go as far as to callhim alibertine. On the other hand, I do suspect he was a member of the Hellfire Club, so…”
“Harbury—no!”
He shrugged. “Even in his dotage, he was a good deal more fun than my father.”
“From the way you’ve spoken about your father, I imagine he would have been.”
He cocked his head. “HaveI spoken poorly of my father?”
“Perhaps not poorly, but neither with a great deal of warmth.”
He lifted his brows. “He wasn’t a warm man.”
“Unlike his son.”
With that small comment, she’d given him a colossal gift.
Completely unaware, she wandered over to a set of shelves. “Are these books stored here because they are valuable?”
“Some are, some aren’t.” He came to stand behind her. “Most aren’t books at all, only texts. Several languages are represented. French, Italian, a few notable works in English. They are all, however, very rare.” He encircled her waist with his arms and pressed his cheek against her cap, leaving his mouth just above her ear. “And allveryforbidden.”
