British Brides Collection

by Hake, Kelly Eileen

  “Exactly. It’s also narrower than any of the others. Is there a reason why this was added?”

  “It’s been there for as long as I can remember.”

  Samuel Turner came over to join them and studied the fixture at considerable length. Stephen watched in fascination as father shot daughter a questioning look and received a slight nod in answer.

  “Would you object to removing it, milord?” Samuel asked.

  “No, but why?” He was obviously missing something.

  “This wall receives the least amount of direct sunlight. If these shelves were removed, it would be easy to construct a display case for some of the older manuscripts you mentioned,” Miss Turner explained.

  Her father added, “Since we’re going to need very special displays, it’s best to order them from the beginning of the process, so they’re ready along with the rest of the room.”

  “All right,” Stephen readily agreed, “but I’m afraid my collection is far more extensive than you know. It will require more than one fixture this size. We’ll empty this one and remove it today. After the remainder of my books arrive tomorrow, we’ll decide how many others need to be removed.”

  With that arranged, they went about emptying the highest shelves first. Not about to let a lady or her older father upon the rolling ladder, Stephen climbed up. Carefully, he passed the books down for Miss Turner’s inspection, and she then gave them to her father for sorting.

  “You have marvelous taste,” she applauded when he handed her a copy of The Decameron.

  “Thank you. Of course, some of these have been here for decades, and I had no part in their selection. I’m particularly interested in legends, fables, and tales passed down through centuries.” He found a copy of Beowulf. Their thumbs brushed as she took it, sending a wave of heat up his arm. He cleared his throat. “Shakespeare and Marlowe shouldn’t be ignored, though.” He hoped she hadn’t noticed his distraction.

  “I enjoy the contemporaries, but I must admit, the older the manuscript, the more fascinating I find it.” She gestured toward a stack by her father. “The Rape of the Lock is wonderful satirization.”

  “I agree, though if you want something a bit out of the ordinary, I’d recommend John Donne. Especially—”

  “The Flea!” She spoke the title just as he did, and their eyes met. The shared humor made the time pass quickly as he and Miss Turner enthusiastically took down the plethora of volumes occupying the space while her father began separating them according to subject. They’d already agreed to organize first by genre, then by author as was necessary. Any sets would remain with their fellows and be placed in a separate section. The older and more valuable volumes that were the crowning glory of his collection would fill the new cases they’d design.

  Hours later, Stephen had a greater appreciation for the sheer time that would be involved completing the process. This was the smallest bookcase, but it still stood as high as all the others, which stretched to the sixteen-foot-high ceiling.

  As they finished the last row, Emma swept into the library, closely followed by a servant carrying a pitcher of lemonade and four glasses.

  “Perfect timing, Emma!” Stephen grinned as Miss Turner eyed the lemonade longingly. “How’d you know?”

  “I didn’t. I simply couldn’t take any more of Miss Poffington’s croquet tournament. After Miss Abercombe won the first game, Miss Poffington decided that whoever won the most out of five earned the status of grand champion. So at the end of game four, I hit my ball over the hill. I’ll have to apologize to the groundskeeper later. They’re still searching for it.” She looked around. “Why did you start in the middle of the wall?”

  “We plan to remove this shelf and install display cases for more delicate manuscripts,” Miss Turner explained, accepting a glass. “Thank you.”

  “The collection itself is magnificent and well preserved,” Mr. Turner offered. “The real work won’t be in restoration but organization. By the time we’ve catalogued and separated the books, little else will need to be done. Aside from the display cases, the layout already provides ample space.”

  “I’d thought we’d be doing a bit more than adding display cases,” Stephen broke in. This was his favorite room in the house, but the ancient furniture gave off an oppressive air. The large walnut desk situated beneath the window boasted sharp corners and clawed feet. Uncomfortable high-backed wooden chairs flanked the massive stone fireplace. The real draw of the room would always be the knowledge and mystery it contained, but he’d like to make it more inviting.

  “I want to make this room … better. Less depressing,” he clarified.

  “I’d hoped you’d say that!” Miss Turner burst out. “I know just what it needs.” Stephen didn’t miss the conspiratorial grin she shot at Emma.

  “Wait a minute. I didn’t mean lace and rocking chairs or little glass whatnots!” He put his foot down before further damage could be done.

  “Credit us with better taste than that!” Miss Turner folded her arms across her bosom, but the sparkle in her eyes let him know she wasn’t insulted.

  “What will happen if I unleash the two of them?” Stephen sought wiser counsel from Samuel Turner, who smiled and shook his head.

  “It’s too late, milord. But I wouldn’t worry. Paige always did have a knack for making a place comfortable.”

  “The key is going to be color,” Emma assured him.

  Stephen wasn’t sure he approved of the direction things were taking. He gazed suspiciously at his sister’s lavender daydress.

  “No pastels,” he ordered.

  “I should think not. I said the room should be inviting.” Miss Turner scanned the room. “I wasn’t thinking it should appear feminine.”

  He was grateful for her support until his gaze fell on the drab muslin of her gown. Would bland be any better than frills? “What did you have in mind, Miss Turner?” He figured that forewarned was forearmed.

  “No pastels, nor white nor black. More along the lines of reds, blues, and browns. I was thinking of maybe a burgundy plush rug trimmed with deep blue in front of the fire, to set off armchairs in soft tanned leather. The tables would be a bit darker, perhaps mahogany, with plenty of candles for extra light.” The picture she painted was warm, cozy, and masculine without being oppressive.

  The sparkle in her eyes made him wonder why he’d ever thought gray could be bland, and he found himself smiling. Her enthusiasm pleased him. She’d lost the stiff formality of this morning and the tight expression she’d maintained through lunch. He suspected she’d been restraining herself from giving Arabella a putdown she’d never forget.

  “Supper will be served in one hour.” The butler’s voice echoed solemnly from the doorway. Anything else would have to wait, as they filed out the door to freshen up.

  The next day, they resumed their conversation, tying up loose ends.

  “That leaves only one question. A single display case won’t bear the entirety of my collection. We’ll need to construct some others. Where would you want to place them, Miss Turner?” the earl asked as he turned around, surveying the room in its entirety.

  “How much room will be needed?” She stepped back hurriedly as the footmen, having removed the shelves from the bookcase, hefted the emptied shell and made for the door.

  “I’ve several manuscripts I’d like to see displayed. If at all possible, they should be opened, face up….” He let his thoughts trail off as he realized she no longer paid attention to him. While he spoke, she’d made her way to the far end of the room, standing where the irregular bookcase once had been.

  “What’s this?” she asked as she gestured to the wall. He noticed the small door for the first time as she grasped the handle and turned.

  Chapter 5

  Locked.” Paige couldn’t quite keep the disappointment from her voice. “Do you know what it is?”

  “No, I’ve never seen it before. That old bookshelf stood in front of this door for as long as I can rememb
er. It hasn’t been opened in decades.”

  The surprise in his voice sparked her imagination. After all, it wasn’t every day one stood in an ancient manor house in front of—

  “A secret room! How wonderful!” Emma’s exclamation voiced Paige’s own excitement.

  “I wonder,” Paige’s father murmured. “Not to be a wet blanket, but is there another entrance?”

  The earl shook his head. “The music room is on the other side. It may just be a connecting door.” Everyone followed as he strode to the music room, where silk hangings obscured the wall in question. Paige watched in fascination as the earl began thumping along the wall, searching for a door frame.

  “Don’t just stand there!” Paige exhorted as she joined him. It didn’t take long to ascertain the wall possessed no door. Her excitement rising, Paige watched as the earl walked the length of the room, then counted the paces again from the hall.

  “Well?” Emma burst out.

  “After counting the steps and taking into account the library measurements we gathered earlier, I’m certain that is no connecting door. There must be a small room, about eight feet wide. The rooms on either side are so large, it wouldn’t be apparent unless someone actually measured. It could be an old storage room.” Everyone trooped back to the library to stare at the mysterious door.

  He pulled the bell, and another maid appeared immediately. She scampered off to fetch the housekeeper. A few moments later, an older woman bustled into the room, brandishing a large brass key ring.

  “What may I do for ye, milord?” she asked breathlessly after a rather creaking curtsy.

  “Do you know anything about this door, Mrs. O’Leary?” The earl’s gentle, unhurried tone impressed Paige even as she fought her own impatient nature. So many of the nobles they’d visited hardly even bothered to glance at the help.

  “Nay, m’lord. I’ve ne’er seen it afore. Here are the keys. I reckon ye’d like to see if we con open it?” Affection warmed her Scottish burr as she offered the earl her key ring.

  “Thank you, Mrs. O’Leary. This may take a while.” He fingered dozens of keys, searching for those made of iron. “But if we can open the door, we will have need of light. It would be a great help if you’d fetch some lamps and such.” He began trying various keys as she left the room.

  Paige held her breath as key after key failed, until she resorted to counting to pass the time. It was either that or pass out for wont of air, which certainly wouldn’t do. She would be ready when the door opened.

  Meanwhile, Mrs. O’Leary rejoined them. It appeared as though word of the secret room had spread, since she brought along enough candles to light a chapel—each one with its own attendant. The library became quite crowded, and Paige couldn’t help but smile. Twenty-two keys after the first, a sort of sharp snick sounded, and the earl cautiously pushed the door open. A rush of stale air greeted the onlookers but thankfully carried no hint of damp or mold.

  “Candle.” The earl reached back without taking his focus from the dark doorway, only to be practically pushed off his feet as no fewer than six servants hastened to light his way. Regaining his balance, he straightened to his full height and turned around. The glare faded quickly as he shook his head and gave in to a grin.

  “All right.” He accepted the nearest candle. “Thank you for your earnest dedication, one and all. Now, I’d appreciate it if everyone but the Turners would step back. And snuff most of those candles, lest we lose the library!” Everyone obeyed, good-naturedly jockeying for position as the earl, Paige, and her father moved in to explore.

  Heart pounding, Paige followed the earl closely. She raised her candle as high as possible, trying to see everything at once. Instead, she bumped into him as he stopped suddenly, her candle dripping hot wax onto the nape of his neck.

  “Watch it!” he hissed, rubbing the back of his neck.

  Paige’s apology faded from her lips as her eyes began adjusting to the dim light. Old trunks and crates littered the floor, tossed in with old pieces of furniture leaning glumly against the walls. A large chest lay directly before them, the cause of the earl’s sudden stop.

  “What a mess.” The earl obviously didn’t share her enthusiasm. Incredible how one family could lock up a room full of possessions and forget them while others lived in simple cottages scarcely larger than this secret room. Paige couldn’t contain her excitement. Who knew what they’d find in one of these trunks?

  Paige knelt in the dust to open the chest and pulled out a leather-bound copy of L’Morte d’Arthur. Opening the manuscript, she noted the date proclaimed it to be more than a century old. The earl strode by, snuffing her spluttering flame.

  “I’ll have the servants clean the place out. We’ll burn whatever is in bad shape and put the rest in the attic,” he decided aloud. “Then we may be able to put this room to use.”

  “You must be joking!” Paige couldn’t stop the exclamation, although she practically felt her father’s warning glare. Ouch! Well, she certainly felt the warning elbow, at any rate.

  “I beg your pardon, Miss Turner?” The chill tone belied the earl’s polite words. Luckily, she was spared the devastating effect of his expression with so little light to illuminate it. Even so, she could feel the heat radiating from him.

  “My apologies, milord. I just …” She gave up as he raised his lantern to peer at her. It was no use trying to explain away her impetuous outburst. Dissembling never was her forte. She sighed. “Aren’t you at all curious? I can’t imagine finding a room that’s been sealed for a century or more only to shovel its contents into the attic and use antique furniture for kindling.” Silence greeted her, and Paige wondered miserably how soon they’d be asked to leave as the earl frowned at her.

  Why were the upper classes so full of their own importance they couldn’t abide listening to the opinions of others, even when honestly and sincerely expressed? She meant no offense. The anger rose even as she desperately tried to tamp it down before she gave their employer a serious reason to dismiss them.

  “Please forgive her, milord. It’s my own fault I never made her learn to keep her thoughts to herself.” Her papa’s voice only fanned the flame. Why should he have to apologize for a comment she’d made just to appease wounded vanity?

  “Not at all. Maybe your daughter has a point.” The softly spoken words startled her out of her silent reflections. What? She was right? Well, of course she was right, but an earl was admitting he was wrong? She peered up at him in the glow of the lantern, realizing the frown she’d seen as condemning was really thoughtful. He swung his arm around to better illuminate the contents of the room.

  “What made you say a century?” The question was sincere. “I know some of it’s old, but I’m not sure it’s all that old. Are you an expert on furniture as well as books, Miss Turner?” He sounded genuinely interested rather than mocking, and appreciation for his lack of pomposity flooded her. It wasn’t often a nobleman valued her input. Most of them pretended she didn’t exist, preferring to address only her father.

  “This.” She held her find up to the light. “The print date is 1697, milord.” He gently took it from her, his thumb brushing her palm. The shivers racing up her spine owed nothing to the temperature of the room. The light of the lantern bathed his face in a soft glow as he perused the book, showing an expression of wonder.

  “It’s beautiful. And in the original French.” His enthusiasm warmed her heart even as the look of respect in his eyes as he spoke to her roused something more dangerous. She realized she’d been holding her breath as he shifted his gaze to her father.

  “Would you mind helping me go through these trunks? Your daughter has a keen eye, and we may yet find more treasures. I know it’s not part of the original commission, but I’d like to see this room as an addition to the library.” Rather than order them to perform more work, he invited them to explore a treasure trove of family possessions, asking whether or not they had the time and inclination.

  Now w
as Paige’s turn to not-so-subtly grab her father’s arm. She let go when she caught sight of his self-satisfied grin.

  “To be honest, milord, my joints aren’t what they used to be, and sitting on the floor opening old crates isn’t wise at my age. It would be time well spent, though. Since this room has no windows, it would be perfect for your older and more valuable collectibles. We’ve spoken enough that I feel I’ve a good idea what you’d like done, so what say you and Paige go through this room while I continue on in the library?”

  That’s why he looked so pleased. Paige vowed she’d speak to him later about his matchmaking. She should have known he’d jump on the opportunity. Well, he had a surprise coming. After lunch, Emma had confided the reason for the house party, and Paige knew the last thing his grace wanted to do was spend time alone in a dark room with an unattached female. She waited for the earl’s response, wondering how he would phrase it. Something like, “I’d really appreciate your expert opinion, Mr. Turner.” Or, “You could probably use your daughter more than I. My sister would be delighted to help, you know.”

  “That sounds like a fine idea to me. Shall we continue tomorrow? I’m certain it’s almost time to change for dinner.” His deep voice, slightly amplified in the small room, sounded anything but horrified or desperate to be rid of her. On the contrary, he sounded almost excited.

  Her brow furrowed as she followed her father out of the room and thought over the situation. The conclusion she reached sent pangs through her heart. Obviously, the earl did not consider her a threat to his bachelorhood. Is it because I’m of lower station or simply that I’m old and plain?

  Chapter 6

  Stephen whistled as he changed for dinner. Things were definitely looking up. Just yesterday he’d decided the next week would be horrendous. It was a forgivable assumption, given that he’d been facing days on end filled with prospective brides whom he thought held no prospects. Of course, that was before he’d cornered a feisty miss whose intriguing eyes discovered a secret room and a valuable volume languishing in an old trunk.