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A heavy wooden table stood in front of tall windows framed by blue velvet drapes. The late afternoon sky was a slate gray beyond the glass. A gust of wind rattled against the window.
To call the library stunning was an understatement. This was the kind of library little Charlotte dreamed about and the kind that made adult Charlotte’s mouth water. She could easily imagine piling the table with stacks of books and covering the surface with papers as she took notes. Or curling up in the plush chairs by the fire to settle in with a thick book.
Bliss.
The books, though, the books…Every shelf was packed with books and collectible objects. The objects were interesting enough, but Charlotte had spent the last year surrounded by Lionel’s treasures. She struggled to find enthusiasm for rare and wondrous items. The books, however, she had little trouble finding enthusiasm for.
Some spines looked well worn, indicating they were often read. The leather binding on others gleamed as if they were fresh from the printers. Many volumes were stacked on top of one other, stuffed into any available space. Her fingers itched to pull down a volume and start exploring.
A carriage clock ticked on the mantle. Ten minutes past the hour. She had time before Orianne returned.
Why shouldn’t she explore the library? She wasn’t expected anywhere. Her dinner would be delivered to her rooms on a tray, whether she was there to receive it or not. Any attempt she would make now to investigate the depths of the Aerie Orianne would thwart. Unless she could somehow sneak past her guard, now was her only opportunity.
Only one concern remained. The library’s door had been locked. Yes, Draven said she was free to go anywhere except the restricted areas, but did a locked door mean the library was restricted? A restricted area would have guards. Surely. Still, the feeling remained that being in the library was rude and violated Draven’s trust.
Oh, that was humorous. Trust. So far, the vampire lord’s behavior had been unpredictable. He was at once coolly logical, negotiating the terms of her stay, then menacing and threatening. Then almost tender as he tended her injury. Now he was absent entirely.
All week long, Charlotte had been filling her notebook with questions to ask Draven. When they discussed terms, it had been unclear if the exchange of a night of her time for a question was a one-to-one trade. One night. One question. At least she assumed as much. If any more questions were answered, they would be a bonus. With that in mind, she considered her list of questions carefully to make them count. Not something that could be answered with a simple yes or no. An open-ended question, one that invited a lengthy response.
But what did her questions matter if he ignored her?
Stubborn resolve settled over Charlotte. It was familiar, like a favorite shawl, and wrapped around her. Papa called it her look. She had worn that look all through school, when the professors told her there was no future for a female academic and gently suggested that she find a husband willing to indulge her eccentricities.
Well, those people underestimated her stubborn streak, and so did the vampire. She’d find the answers to her questions in his library, with or without his help.
Charlotte removed the coat, draping it over the back of a chair near the fireplace. First things first, she got the fire going and lit the oil lamps.
“He’s very lucky that he has such an impressive library,” Charlotte said to no one in particular, rubbing her hands together to warm them.
The library at Vervain had been the thing that attracted her to Lionel. Charlotte often visited while his nephew, Jase, recovered from a beast attack. Yes, in hindsight, it had been Lionel who savaged Jase, but that wasn’t the point. Lionel had books. Lots of books. Mostly popular fiction, but all highly engaging, recently published, and unread by her. He had a standing order with a bookshop in Founding to send him the newest releases once a month.
Charlotte read out loud to Jase in his convalescence. Mostly he slept and she read to an empty room. Then Lionel would join, slouched in a chair on the far side of the room. He never said much, but he watched her with an intensity that made her blush. Soon she found herself eagerly anticipating these moments when she’d glance up from the book to find Lionel watching her.
At the time, she found such attention flattering if a bit confusing. Charlotte had an unfashionably plump figure, an eccentric manner, and lacked the fortune to compensate. Thus, she resigned herself to being on the shelf.
So, yes, she had been flattered but perplexed as to why the wealthy, handsome older man took an interest in the plump historian. Now, in retrospect, she understood that his behavior was more of a monster stalking prey.
This time, she marched straight into the monster’s den, rather than be caught unawares.
Charlotte ignored those thoughts and focused on getting the fire going. Soon a soft glow filled the space. The fire crackled merrily.
“Where to start?” she said, inspecting the nearest shelf. Gold lettering gleamed in the lantern light. She dismissed those books as too new. What she wanted, ideally, would be a list of all the prisoners currently being held in the Aerie. Or the more reasonable expectation of a grand library, a catalog of the collection, but she failed to spot a large, conspicuous tome waiting on a table. She’d be happy with a collection of journals or diaries. Anything dating from the time of the original colonists.
The next shelf held potential. None of the books had embossed titles on the spines, pointing to them being handmade or old. She randomly pulled down a volume, only to discover that it was filled with detailed weather reports over the last three years, meticulously recording the snowfall, temperature, air pressure, and wind direction.
Interesting, but not what she needed.
She moved on, realizing she needed a better strategy than picking books at random. The books with the most wear and no dust were ones Draven read frequently. That could give her insight into the mind of the vampire. While all the shelves were dusted, some had a layer of dust on the top. Those could be the oldest books in the collection.
Choices. Choices.
She could be interrupted, and who knew if she would have another chance with unfettered access to the library. She needed to choose wisely.
Except there were no old and dusty books. There were no well-worn books. All the books were immaculate, as pristine as the day they came from the printers. In fact, now that she looked closely at the library’s contents, the more she realized this was a showpiece, meant to impress.
Annoyed, she grabbed a book at random and sat down by the fire. She should have realized sooner. After all, she spent the last year living in her dead husband’s museum to his ego. Lionel had filled Vervain with trophies and treasures. The house was nothing more than a showpiece, which was well and good in its way, even if it glorified the man while avoiding saying anything of substance. Glorified the myth of the man.
Her father’s study, while humble in comparison, was stuffed with books and papers. Every surface was covered with opened books, notes, pens, pots of ink, and unfinished cups of tea. Charlotte herself had managed to put her mark on the library at Vervain in much the same way.
