by Sahara Kelly
“So you think we’ll learn things from this book?” Rose looked thoughtful. “I can’t say I’d object to improving my education on matters of a…how can I put it…”
“Intimate nature?” Judith finished the sentence.
Rose nodded. “Exactly.”
“I think we all would,” added Judith. “But how is it to be accomplished?”
“The Wednesday Club would be the perfect venue,” said Lydia. “Do you remember those quiet little corners with tables? Several were used by readers, I know.”
“So we all bring a book…and you bring that one, and we share? Each read a chapter a week or something like that?” Ivy looked thoughtful.
“If you’re a quick reader, maybe even two.” Judith chuckled. “And now, with the ballroom complete, I’m sure it’ll be much quieter in the salon. More conducive to efficient reading.”
“I can always copy a passage or two,” added Lydia. “Mama is constantly nagging me to improve my penmanship.”
“Oh that would help,” said Rose. “I should hate to have to wait four weeks to read more.”
“Well, we could also arrange some outings in between, but we must take care not to alert anyone. That book would be whisked away from us before we knew it, if word got out.” Lydia frowned. “I’ve sworn Matthew to secrecy.”
“Will he honour that?” Ivy asked. “Your brother is delightful, Lydia, but he is a man. And sometimes their notions of propriety don’t exactly follow ours…”
“He’ll keep mum.” Lydia looked smug. “I’m his sister. I am privy to information that he would prefer kept private.”
“Oh jolly good. Nothing like a bit of blackmail to ensure compliance.” Judith giggled.
“So we are to rendezvous with him shortly. He’ll obtain his requested order—the book—from the subscription desk, and then he will casually run into us. We will select our books, and nothing could be more natural than us all leaving together.”
“Sounds like an excellent plan,” Ivy rubbed her hands in glee. “I am so eager to read this book. It has been the subject of much discussion for quite some time now. It’s in a second printing, too, I’m told.”
“Your brother is violating the subscription terms,” warned Rose.
“If that’s the worst thing he does this week, he’ll be just fine,” answered Lydia, in sisterly fashion. “I think the knowledge we’ll gain far outweighs any risks Matthew will take. He’s not a very enthusiastic reader anyway.”
Thus fortified with reassurances, and excited about this chance to peek behind the veil of adult relationships, the four girls emerged from their hiding place amidst the creepy world of Natural Sciences, to browse the novels—far more to their liking.
Judith loved this library. The smell of books, the thousands of titles on display—it was heavenly to one who had enjoyed reading for most of her life, but never really allowed to indulge her tastes.
Romantic novels were top of her list, and she had sighed along with the best of heroines, laughing at some of the wry and accurate scenes in “Pride and Prejudice”, and losing herself in the adventures of “Rob Roy”.
She wandered happily down one shelf, pausing here and there at whim.
“A charming image, Miss Fairhurst. Beauty surveying magic.”
Her skin tingled at those well-modulated tones that could only come from one man—Ragnor Withersby. She turned, finding him closer than she expected, and her gasp of surprise sucked in air that smelled of him. Something male, fresh, with a touch of leather. He’d obviously ridden, since his face looked a little flushed and his hair slightly disordered from the sharp winds.
“Sir Ragnor.” She dropped a polite curtsey. “You are a reader?”
“Amongst other things,” he answered, his gaze roaming her face and coming to rest on her lips.
Unsettled, she looked away. “It is a surprise to find you in the section devoted to romantic novels, sir.” She took a step further along the shelves.
He followed. “It is? Am I not the most romantic of fellows?”
She shot him a quick glance. “I would not presume to say after such a short acquaintance.”
“Then I see I must educate you, Miss Judith.” He held out his arm. “If you’ve made your selection, allow me to escort you to your friends. I believe you’ll find them at the subscription desk.” He looked at the book she held in her hand.
She must have taken it at some point, but she could not recall it. Sir Ragnor’s arrival had driven every other thought out of her head.
“Alas, poor Calantha,” he murmured. “That book forever ruined her reputation, you know.” He took her other arm and linked it with his.
She discovered she was holding “Glenarvon”, the tale penned by Lady Caroline Lamb, a woman who had little reputation to start with, and none once this book had been published. Judith had already read it.
“I’m not sure Calantha was any more of a figure of sympathy than others in the book who were not treated well,” she answered, putting it back on a shelf.
“A Byron enthusiast, are we?”
“Let’s just say I think this was indeed a work of fiction that might well have been based loosely on events in a certain lady’s life, but that were greatly magnified. And yes, I enjoy Byron’s poetry.” She lifted her chin.
“And I his prose. Friendship may, and often does, grow into love, but love never subsides into friendship.”
She frowned for a moment. “I cannot place that quote, sir?”
“It’s not from a work, but from something he told Lady Blessington. One of those phrases that everyone likes to repeat, including her. This time, I tend to agree with everyone—something I try to avoid doing too often.”
Judith’s lips twitched. “Are you concerned that you’ll be considered mundane, Sir Ragnor?”
“Me?” He chuckled. “Never. I have, according to my aunt, far too much Viking in me to be ever considered mundane.”
She couldn’t help but join his amusement. “A family legacy, perhaps?”
“Lord knows. All I can say is that we poor Withersby men have been burdened with outrageous Viking names for generations. Whether warranted or not.”
“You mean you’ve no intention of sailing off on a long ship and conquering unknown lands?”
He raised an eyebrow at her. “God, no. I’m not an avid sailor, I don’t care for mead, and the idea of rowing across anything wider than the Thames leaves me supremely unimpressed.”
She shook her head. “Then I must sadly concur. I don’t see a lot of Viking there.”
His gaze turned wicked. “Well, I’ll admit to being quite skilled at pillaging and plundering…”
She couldn’t mistake his intent and fought a blush as he made no pretence at hiding his interest in her form; his eyes roved down her clothing to her toes, leaving a shiver of awareness in their wake.
She was somewhat relieved to see the others. “Ah. There’s Lydia.” Judith disengaged her arm from his.
“Indeed.” The wicked smile lingered in his eyes as she nodded at him and walked toward her friends.
*~~*~~*
Satisfied that he’d accomplished his goal, which was to find Miss Fairhurst, bring a blush to her cheeks, and leave her curious as to his intentions, Sir Ragnor departed Hookham’s, only to be hailed shortly thereafter by another friend.
“Ho, Rag.”
Being thus addressed, Ragnor turned to see the cheerful face of Lord Miles Linfield. He blinked. “God, Miles. Why on earth were you allowed to escape the house in that waistcoat?”
Lord Linfield’s face fell. “You mean you don’t like it?”
“I like sunsets. Especially colourful ones. But not—I repeat not—on a man’s chest.”
“I am wounded, Rag. Claude assured me it was all the crack.”
Ragnor shook his head. “That will teach you to listen to a Frenchman on the topic of suitable waistcoats. Why you have a French valet in the first place, I don’t know.”
“Y
es, you do. He saved my life.”
Ragnor sighed. “So he did. I forgot.”
The two men fell into step, strolling side by side to the Mews where Ragnor’s horse was stabled.
“Been to Hookham’s, I note,” said Miles casually. “Who is she?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Ragnor. I have known you since we were in short coats, you had a wooden sword and I had a big stick. I was always better with that simple stick than you were with that sword, thus demonstrating my superior mental abilities. If you have set foot inside a circulating library, there has to be a woman involved.”
“Your father didn’t trust you with the sword. You’d have stabbed a cow.”
Miles grinned. “A possibility, I suppose, but only if the cow insulted me. And don’t change the subject.”
“What makes you think I’d be interested in a woman who visits Hookham’s? I do read, you know.”
“Of course you do. Otherwise I’d never have cribbed some of your papers at Oxford. But…stop trying to divert me, because I know the size of the library at Withersby Park. You could fill another Hookham’s using only the books on the lower shelves, so the likelihood of your going after a book is…well, none. Just tell me who she is.”
Ragnor sighed. He very much enjoyed the company of his oldest and best friend, but he could be a pain in Ragnor’s arse at times. This was one of those times, but he knew Miles. Once the man got an idea in his brain, he never let up on it.
“Her name is Fairhurst. Miss Judith Fairhurst.”
“Aha.” Miles nodded. “A good name indeed. One of the Surrey Fairhursts?”
Ragnor rolled his eyes. “You and my aunt should take up knitting together.”
“What?”
“Never mind. I don’t know which branch of the family Miss Fairhurst hails from. But this is her first time in London, and she is staying with the Sydenhams.”
“Fortune?”
Ragnor simply stared at Miles.
“Well, one does have to ask. I am your friend…it’s obligatory. Otherwise how do you know if you’ll have competition?”
“Miles, for God’s sake. I haven’t known her for very long, so don’t equate my remarks with anything more than the casual interest I have in her.”
“I wouldn’t, except for the fact that your interests in women up to now have been anything but casual. Usually the words intensely physical apply.”
“Your point?” Ragnor raised an eyebrow.
“This woman must be different.” Miles slowed his steps as Ragnor reached the stables. “And that makes me curious about her.”
“Then why not come to the Sydenham’s next Wednesday Club gathering? I’ll introduce you.”
“Hmm.” Miles narrowed his eyes. “I’ve heard mention of it. Setting up against Almack’s, I’ll be bound.”
“Are you sure you don’t knit?”
“What? No. Why?”
“Never mind.”
“I think I might enjoy attending.” Miles paused. “It’s better than being dragged to Lord Rolfe’s new gaming hell, which a few others I know are threatening to do to me.”
His attention caught, Ragnor turned. “What do you know about it? I’ve heard some quite decent chaps have been admitted…”
“Decent chaps with a good fortune,” retorted Miles. “I went once. The notion of lady dealers in attractively revealing gowns and masks? Clever. Also distracting. I saw some excellent players lose quite a sum of money after apparently losing their brains when the dealer leaned over the table.”
“Is it a hell?”
“I’m not sure,” answered Miles. “Rolfe is clever. Too clever to turn it into something disreputable, but…” He rubbed his hand over his hair. “It made my neck itch a little bit.”
Ragnor, who knew his friend was a great deal more observant than many gave him credit for, pursed his lips. “So something is off. Card games straight, are they?”
“As near as I could see. I sat in on a couple of hands of faro. The dealer was a redhead, by the way.”
Ragnor grinned. “How much did you lose?”
“A trivial amount.”
“Compared to what you spent on her?”
“You wound me.” Miles clutched his chest and looked appalled.
“Miles…”
“All right,” he chuckled. “It turns out that the ladies are untouchable. No offers, no deals, nothing of an improper nature while working in Rolfe’s Rooms.”
“How very sophisticated.”
“And they’re all wearing the same colour. Their gowns are all blue, of a similar style. So you know who works there as opposed to those who visit.”
“Ladies attend?”
“Ragnor, you and I both know there are ladies who will go anywhere. Whether we should continue to call them ladies, I’m not sure, but in answer to your question, yes. A few of the more notorious members of society were there that night.”
“Cordelia Mannering?”
“How did you know?”
Miles grimaced. “A wild guess.”
Ragnor sighed. “All right. Thanks for the information, Miles. I should definitely drop by of an evening and see for myself. I should hate to get asked and not have the information to answer correctly.”
“I’m free tomorrow night,” offered Miles. “How about we go together? I’d be interested to hear your opinion.”
Ragnor considered the idea, discovering that it was a good one.
“All right. Let’s meet at the club for dinner, and visit Lord Rolfe afterward.”
“Excellent. I’ll see you then.”
Miles nodded and strolled away, leaving Ragnor standing with his hand on his horse’s saddle. Matthew Davenport was a member of Rolfe’s club. It would be useful to know if there were any hidden hazards lurking in wait for innocents such as he. Young men with a good income were much in demand by gaming hells. Their goal was to separate said young men from that income as quickly as possible.
And Ragnor worried that Lord Rolfe might have exactly the same goal.
Chapter Eight
U naware that Ragnor Withersby was making plans to visit a possible gaming hell, the lady who held his interest was walking back to Sydenham House with a certain volume tucked securely in her reticule.
It was well-wrapped, of course. And even should the curious unwrap it, the cover announced it to be a collection of fairy stories by various authors.
Which it most definitely wasn’t.
Judith worried that some sort of magic glow might be emanating from the depths of her reticule, alerting everyone to the face she carried a most disreputable—and highly popular—novel within its folds. The Cytherean Tales had taken London by storm just last year, which was odd since very few persons actually admitted reading the book. Judith understood that, quite clearly. From what she’d heard, it was educative, geared for women, and extraordinarily licentious.
She couldn’t wait to start it.
Perhaps she could learn something about what happened in relationships between men and women. She knew she was incredibly naïve about such matters, but there’d been nobody to ask for too many years. She was now past eighteen, a ripe age for marriage. She hoped to hear soon about the disposition of Fivetrees, and that might result in some money if she was lucky.
Aware of London’s mating habits, these facts could mean she was eligible, although not to the higher ranks of suitors. Not possessing an Almack’s voucher automatically crossed her off too many highly placed Mamas’ lists of potential brides.
She sighed and found herself immediately wondering if her situation would render her unacceptable to Ragnor Withersby. It was indeed more than likely.
Then she caught herself up and frowned. She should be asking that question the other way around. Was Sir Ragnor acceptable to her?
Her mind was telling her he was a little too smooth and elegant for her comfort. Her body was telling her something else, and it was those sensations that she didn’t quite unde
rstand.
Her inner dialogue sustained her steps on the return to Sydenham House, and she was almost surprised to see the familiar door before her.
Hobson opened the door. “Welcome back, Miss Judith. I trust you found the circulating library to your satisfaction?”
“Thank you, Hobson. I did indeed.” She removed her gloves. “Quite a sharp wind today.”
“Radishes, Miss. They’ll do that every time.”
“Pardon?”
“Never mind,” replied the butler. “There’s a gentleman to see you, Miss. Lady Maud has already spoken with him and would like you to join them in the small parlour.”
“Oh. All right.”
Still clutching her reticule, Judith tucked a stray curl behind her ears and walked into the salon. She looked around—and her jaw dropped.
“Giles,” she yelled, running toward him. “Oh Giles. How wonderful to see you.”
“Now, Miss Judith. Some decorum if you please.”
He gave her a quick hug before stepping away, taking her hand and stretching their arms to the side, staring at her. “Delightful, my dear. Just delightful.” He glanced at Maud who sat nearby, her face wreathed in smiles. “You’ve done her proud.”
“It was all there, Giles. I did little but add a suitable frame.” Maud nodded her appreciation for his compliment.
“Do tell me. What brings you here?” Judith took a chair opposite Maud, and watched him lean against the mantelpiece, warming his legs.
“Let me get the first piece of news out of the way,” he smiled. “It’s official, Miss Judith. I am your guardian until you attain your majority or wed, whichever comes first.”
“Oh.” She lifted her hands to her chest, as if to stop her heart from jumping out with excitement. “This is true? It’s really true? You are my real guardian?”
“It’s true.” He gazed at her, gentleness in his eyes. “The Fairhurst family, for whom—if you will forgive me—I cherish little to no regard, want nothing to do with you.”
“I’m not in the least surprised,” she answered matter-of-factly. “They loathed my mother and never forgave my father for marrying her.”