“You are right,” Crackwilder said, turning from the fireplace. “As anybodyhasjust walked in. And no, I do not usually leave it open, but I heard Arthur whistling outside and saw him holding your horse.”
“You mean, Arfur. Fancy a drink?” Giles said, helping himself to the sideboard. He would not have made himself so free with his friend’s brandy, had he not purchased it himself. After Crackwilder had saved his life at Waterloo, Giles had asked him what he could do to repay his savior. Crackwilder had said, “Keep me in brandy.” And so he had, and then some. Even now, with limited funds, he had not shirked that responsibility. He never would. The world might view him as careless and carefree, but he was reliable to anybody that depended on him. He had even offered Crackwilder a room in his house, when he’d had the funds to pay for a house. His lieutenant had claimed he’d rather hang himself from the highest tree, rather than have to look upon Lord Grayson’s dandified person day after day.
For all his insults, Giles thought his lieutenant was rather fond of him.
Crackwilder nodded to the brandy and limped to the nearest chair. “So? What’s the problem?” he asked.
“Why should there be a problem?” Giles asked, pouring out two glasses.
“You always come here with a problem,” Crackwilder said, taking his glass. “Always late at night, and always with a problem.”
Giles should have had the good grace to blush, but he was too used to his friend’s rather insulting manner. He did not mind it, and in fact thought he might prefer it. He imagined it to be similar to having a brother one has squabbled with since the nursery. He might have the loftiest titles in the world but it was all for naught with Crackwilder.
“You happen to be right,” he said, “though I am not even certain how to explain this particular problem. You see, there is a lady—”
Crackwilder roared with laughter. “I knew it! Some father finally came at you with the dueling pistols! And no, I don’t know how to get you out of it, nor will I be your second. I will say, though, I told you so.”
“Nothing of the sort has happened,” Giles said quickly. “It is just…well, first—I understand you have been employed by Lord Childress to manage a collection of books. Palkar or Palsar or something like it.”
Crackwilder set his drink down and stared at him. “Palaskar. If you are even thinking of making his daughter, Miss Danworth, your latest flirtation, I advise against it. Childress would carve out your heart and eat it as soon as look at you if it did not end with a proposal. Do not ask me to assist in what would be a foolhardy venture concluding in your early demise.”
“I have no interest in Miss Danworth. It is another lady. A lady who is interested in those books and I think she will visit to see them. A Miss Dell.”
“And what does this Miss Dell have to do with me?”
“I don’t know,” Giles said. “I am not sure how to approach the whole thing. You see, she is mad for books. Really quite mad for them. I thought she might put them aside for the season, but now there is this Sir John Kullehamnd who belongs to the Royal Society…”
Giles had trailed off, well aware he was not being particularly coherent. There was little chance that his wordscouldbe coherent, as his thoughts were not.
“It just seems improbable that he should be preferred,” he said. “I mean, why does she go on with all the reading? That is what I do not understand.”
Crackwilder picked up a volume from the side table and hurled it at Giles’s head. “Because she likes it, you idiot!”
As this was not the first time his friend had thrown a book in his direction, Giles ducked and it hit the wall behind him, falling to the floor with a thud.
“I suppose you mean to point out that she is not likely to change her interests,” he said.
“Sharp-witted as ever,” Crackwilder said, draining his brandy.
Giles poured him another and said, “I should like to have something to talk to her about, though. She seems keen on comets, perhaps you might summarize what you’ve read about them.”
“I might, and you would not remember a word I said. You are many things, but you are not a scholar. I am acquainted with Sir John and he will run rings round you intellectually. Do not attempt a competition in that area, you will be trounced. My advice is,buythe lady a book.”
Giles sat up straight. “Of course! Why should I torture myself with listening to you drone on about comets when I could just buy her a book?”
“My other advice is, set your sights on a lady who does not so particularly value knowledge.”
“Where would the challenge be in that?”
“This situation is less a challenge and more a drowning man at sea,” Crackwilder said drily.
“If I am drowning, you have thrown me my first rope to grab hold of to keep my head above water,” Giles said. “Let us see if Sir Gloom thinks of buying Miss Dell a book. He will not, I’m sure. A man like that has no originality of thought.”
“And neither did you, until I suggested it.”
*
Kitty had oftnoticed that when one wished for time to pass quickly it would insist on passing slowly and when one wished it to slow it felt as if it sped along. A holiday or a treat took forever to arrive, and yet an interminable church service arrived every week with remarkable rapidity.
