“Indeed,” Catherine acknowledged. “I would have finished a long time ago, but I had to wait for the carpenters to finish their work. Despite adding the length of an entire room, I ran out of space for books on the walls. Hence the need for these shorter bookshelves.”
“How does it feel to be a… to be a librarian?” Eliza asked, her attention on the contents of one of the glass cases.
Catherine tittered. “It’s not as if this is my first library,” she countered.
Eliza blinked and chuckled. “I’d quite forgotten you had redone Aloysius’s library,” she replied.
“And Mr. Johnson’s, and the one in father’s study,” Catherine said on a sigh. “Those were easy, though. Not nearly as many books.”
The two made their way back to the parlor and settled into the upholstered chairs closest to the fireplace.
“So what will our bluestocking do next?” Eliza challenged. “Marry a blue blood and arrange his library, perhaps?”
Catherine scoffed. “I’m quite happy being a spinster,” she replied, grinning at her friend’s tease. “Besides, whilst working on father’s library, I found a number of books I wish to read.”
“Oh?” Eliza helped herself to another cup of tea. “Of a particular subject?”
Catherine shook her head. “Not exactly,” she hedged.
Eliza furrowed her dark brows, which had a fold of skin forming between them. “What do you mean?”
“They’renovels,” she replied, waggling her reddish brows.
“Novels?” Eliza played at being shocked before a brilliant smile appeared. “I promise I won’t tell anyone in the literary society,” she promised.
“You had better not,” Catherine warned. “Why, I’d lose my membership in good standing.”
The two giggled before helping themselves to the last of the biscuits.
Chapter Two
No Crops, No Cash
Meanwhile, at Wingfield Manor near Hungerford, Berkshire, England
When the sunemerged from behind a bank of gray clouds pregnant with rain, Matthew glanced up from the book he had been reading and silently cursed.
“Nowyou decide to make an appearance?” he asked rhetorically, his voice dripping with derision.
“My lord?”
Matthew straightened in his worn leather chair, his attention going to the door of his study to discover his butler bearing a tea tray and a look of surprise. “Not you, Chessings. The damned sun.” He waved to the room’s only window. Even as he cursed, a cloud once again hid the mid-autumn sun from view.
Chessings set the tray on the end of the desk and poured a cup of tea. “The post has arrived, sir,” he stated, pulling a separate silver salver from the tray and placing it in front of his master.
“Oh, good. More invoices,” Matthew murmured on a sigh. He tugged on his right earlobe, a habit he had developed in his younger years when he suffered from earaches during cold, rainy days. He placed a ribbon marker in his book,Headlong Hallby Anonymous, before setting it aside. He hoped the interruption would be brief, and he could return to the satirical story of the various philosophies and follies of humans. Since most of thediscussions amongst the characters took place in a dining room, he was happy the tea tray included a few biscuits.
He was hungry.
“Indeed. I, uh, had to give the courier the last of the coins I keep in the entry for such deliveries,” Chessings said by way of a hint.
Not only were invoices and notices of debt incurred by his late father’s gambling addiction the only missives Matthew Higby, Earl of Wingfield, seemed to receive these days, he had to pay for their postage.
Matthew stood and fished a few coins from his waistcoat pocket. Although he had planned to use them at a nearby pub if the weather cleared later that afternoon, he decided he could forego the trip. He liked to spend at least one afternoon a week there as a means of meeting with his foreman and greeting those who labored in his fields. Although he could ask that his porter be added to a tab, he didn’t wish to create yet another invoice.
He handed the coins to the butler, thinking he would indulge in a scavenger hunt to find some blunt stashed in a vase or the bottom of a drawer in one of the bedchambers. His mother—God rest her soul—had been good about hiding money from his father, the cur, and now he knew why.
“Very good, sir.” Chessings nodded and took his leave.
