Chapter 1 A Business Arrangement #2
All of it, just so he could find a wealthy enough bride.
His mother had even gone so far as to make a list of women who came packaged with large dowries.
And if he didn’t check at least one off that list?
It was goodbye manor whose bricks went back three centuries.
Goodbye at least half of their land. They’d have to move in with his mother’s family.
Specifically his aunt, the woman who always found something to criticize about Max.
She was the one who’d first started the rumors about him. How he was the reason for all their money problems. The witch.
“Maximus,” his mother crowed. The necklaces and bracelets he’d told her were far too much for the evening tinkled as she waved her arms. “There you are.”
It was another introduction. He was barely listening as he bit into a sage-and-sausage-stuffed mushroom—the one saving grace the gathering had to offer.
His mother brushed crumbs off his vest, laughing, saying that same back and forth that she had with all the other women here. He threw in a nod or two. A “Is that so?” “Interesting.” That seemed to please.
He just couldn’t bear another pointless conversation. The pageantry of it all. Nothing could be worse than that young woman who had broken out in song, so loudly, the whole ballroom had gone quiet. He winced just thinking about it.
Desperate for escape, he glanced around the ballroom. There had to be someone in here worth talking to. Someone who wasn’t on his mother’s cursed list. So far, every single eligible woman had turned out to be painfully boring and frightfully unaware of her gauche manners.
He wanted it to be like the storybooks. To catch a beautiful woman’s gaze across the crowded ballroom and somehow just know she was meant for him.
He didn’t care how silly it sounded to his parents, who, he knew for certain, hadn’t believed in love, let alone love at first sight.
There was no purpose to it, nothing to be gained unless it came with money.
It was his duty, his late father had explained when Max had been only a boy. To be able to marry for love was a privilege provided only to the lower classes. A privilege, indeed. It made Max wonder if he’d trade it all. Would it be worth it? To give up this estate, his pistols, his pack of hounds?
He was staring, looking at nothing when he caught something. Like a twinkle of light in the gloom. Just a pair of eyes and a face hidden by the drooping leaves of fern. It wasn’t even an entire face. He couldn’t see her lips or even the style of her hair. But there was something about those eyes.
Suddenly, he decided yes. It would be worth it.
He blinked, trying to bring himself out of the daze. By his next inhale of breath, the eyes were gone.
“What was that, my darling?” his mother asked.
He hadn’t even realized he’d spoken the words aloud, he’d been so lost in the moment.
“Nothing, nothing.” He began to step away. He didn’t even offer an excuse.
“Maximus,” his mother called out for him, her voice twinged with anger. But slipping into the crowd, he had already disappeared. He at least needed to see the rest of the woman.
He waded through the faces of the crowd, searching and coming up with nothing. He even returned to the fern. Beyond that was the empty hall.
Was it possible she hadn’t disappeared into the crowd? Could she have escaped down this hall instead? He stopped for a second to listen, grinning when he heard the telltale sign of footsteps.
Away from the crowd, it was blissfully quiet.
He was only too glad to be escaping them.
That was how these sorts of matches ought to be made.
Away from crowds, where there were fewer prying eyes.
He hated how he could feel them burning into his back.
A whole line of women just waiting to get a turn with him like he was some kind of prize horse.
Whoever this woman was, he prayed she wasn’t leaving. But so far as he could tell, the steps weren’t moving to the entrance, but toward the back of the house. That was odd.
Was she lost? What was she about? She was headed straight into a dead end. He turned into the hall and there she was, the figure of a woman.
He jolted when the woman slammed a palm against the door.
He cleared his throat and she jumped around, confirming his hopes. It was the woman he’d seen. He could tell the moment her eyes flashed to his.
“Forgive me.” She sucked in a breath, a hand at her quivering chest. “I seem to have gotten lost.”
“‘Lost’?” he questioned. It wasn’t adding up. If she were truly lost, then why did she go all the way down a hallway that clearly led to a set of closed double doors? Where else could it lead that she’d meant to go?
He had heard of these women roaming about the English countryside, dressing as servants and slipping into houses to steal jewelry.
Only this one came well-dressed. It was clever, really.
Because they were women, they weren’t as suspicious as a man might have been.
Especially a woman as pretty as this one.
Her face had softer, rounder features than the usual English rose.
Her lips were fuller and her hair was darker too, a shiny, raven black.
Women like her, they didn’t just walk about unchaperoned. No, that would be far too dangerous.
“Are you a thief?” He cautiously stepped forward. If she really had stolen some of his mother’s jewelry, he couldn’t let her get away.
“Heavens, no.” The woman stepped backward into the door. “I—”
“Well?” He was inches away now, eager for her to continue. “Who in the blazes are you?”
“Sir.” She swallowed. “My name is Mia Cecil. I came here with a friend. I just—”
“‘Cecil’?” He crinkled a brow and paused a long moment. “The name is familiar to me. Tell me, is there any relation to Donovan Cecil?”
“Yes.” She breathed out, clearly relieved. “That’s my late father.”
“The great explorer?” He stepped back, giving her some space. “I was sorry to hear of his death some years ago.”
“Thank you.”
“I had no idea he had a daughter.”
“Yes… Well, technically, I’m not. He adopted me twelve years ago.”
“During his travels, I imagine.” There was a new and different look to her eyes that he picked up on right away.
“Oh, yes, in the Philippines,” she said quickly. “I was the daughter of one of his partners, who was also English. He passed on during the expedition. Snake bite, I’m afraid.”
Max raised his brows. He’d never imagined there’d be a woman half so interesting in all of England, let alone at this stodgy ball. He was eager to hear more.
“And your mother, if I might ask?”
“Oh, yes, she was one of the Islanders. Died of fever not long after I was born,” she said quite matter-of-fact.
“Sorry to hear that and I’m sorry about my earlier accusation. In the country, one can never be too careful.”
With the nearest constable miles away and his father gone, he was the one who was expected to keep order now. Whether it was his family who was wronged or not, if something happened on his land, it was his problem. Just another responsibility to add to the list.
“I will confess…” Miss Cecil swallowed. “The real reason I came down this way is because… Well, I’ve just heard so many wonderful things about your family’s library. It’s supposed to be legendary.”
“Some might say that yes.” Max straightened, feeling rather proud. “My father wasn’t much of a reader, but my grandfather was and my great-grandfather before him.”
“I know I should have asked for a tour but you seemed so busy and I—”
“I’m free now.” Max pulled his skeleton key from his front pocket and clicked open the door.
“Are you sure?” Miss Cecil seemed to hesitate before going in.
“Please, by all means.” He was happy to go through all the trouble. For her, anyway.
“Don’t you have those wo—I mean the ball to return to?”
“To tell the truth, I’d rather not.”
Still, she hesitated.
“Come. It’s the least I could do after accusing you of thievery.”
Finally, she stepped inside, her eyes widening as she took in the tall, arched windows and two stories of sunlit bookshelves.
“There must be at least a thousand books in here,” she said, her fingers gliding across the spines. “A lot on botanicals, I see.”
She pulled one out, gingerly, and with it came a stream of dust. “How old is this?” Miss Cecil hurried over to the square table in the center of the room and laid it out. “Sixteenth century?” she guessed as she flipped through its pages. “Oh, the illustrations!”
Max closed in, eying the unusual plant drawings over her shoulder. “My grandfather had a penchant for botany, particularly roses.”
He smiled at a few fond memories, much of them spent in that very library. His grandfather had died when Max had been only ten, but his impact had been great. In every aspect of his life, Max tried his best to follow in his footsteps, perhaps even more so than his own father.
“How is it all cataloged?” Mia looked back at the shelves.
“What do you mean?”
“Is it divided by topic…by country?”
“It’s not.” He sniffed. “As far as I know, it’s a mess.”
“Oh, dear.” She blinked hard.
“And there’re more stored in crates somewhere. The attic, I think. All unopened since my grandfather’s death.”
“Protected from dampness, I hope.”
“Unfortunately…no.”
Her mouth dropped so dramatically in horror, he laughed.
“It’s no laughing matter, Mr. Bell. If they’re anywhere near as old as this book”—she laid a hand gently on the pages—“they must be properly cared for.”
“I’m afraid I’m the only one who cares a whit about these books.”
“You read them?”
“When I’m bored. When I want to learn about something new. It’s how I get away. Which I find myself needing to do more and more.”
He’d never thought about bringing anyone else in here, let alone sharing the place. But that was only because he’d never met anyone who seemed to appreciate books half as much as he did. Hell, Miss Cecil might even appreciate them more.
“Some of these books could be valuable, you know.” She walked amongst the shelves again, her eyes searching eagerly. Yes, she seemed to share his love for books, indeed. Without a doubt.
“You think so?” He followed her path around the library at a friendly distance, neither too far nor too close. They were unchaperoned, after all. But in this part of the manor, he was sure they wouldn’t be caught, whatever they were doing…
“My father wasn’t just an explorer, Mr. Bell.” She stopped in her tracks and turned to face him. “He was also a book collector. I cataloged our own collection, including some of his artifacts.”
“Was it a vast one?”
“Indeed.”
“You must know a great deal about books, then.”
She smirked. “Enough to know that you have a lot of historically significant books just sitting here and collecting dust. It’s a shame, really.”
“Hold on. Just how much money, exactly, do you think these books are worth?”
“Well, if your great-grandfather was a collector and nothing has been sold since his time…it could be thousands. I know my father’s friends would love to get their hands on some of these.”
He raised his brows. It was just what his family needed. Money. If it was enough, it might buy him the time he needed to pick a proper wife. Anyone but those women on his mother’s list.
He tapped his chin, his mind settling on what may or may not have been an absolutely deranged idea.
“This may be rather presumptuous and you may not even be available…but how would you feel about attempting to catalog this library? Perhaps even selling off a few books to your father’s friends? And any other book collectors with whom you may have connections.”
“Oh, I…” She looked around at all the shelves again. “That could take weeks, Mr. Bell.”
“Are you available?”
“Yes, but—”
“If it’s money you’re concerned about, I’m sure your fee would be of no consequence.”
She looked down at her feet and then up again, her eyes bright. “I think twenty percent would be fair.”
He coughed. “‘Twenty percent’? Of what? The entire collection?”
“Afraid so. We’re talking about weeks of work, Mr. Bell. I’ll find a room in town and—”
“No, no. Town is much too far away. Plus, my mother would never hear of it. You must stay here.”
“Here?” She swallowed.
He cleared his throat. Perhaps he was being too forward. His attraction to her too obvious.
“We already have friends in from London.” He tried to explain. “You could have a guardian, or a friend accompany you.” Come to think of it, she was rather in need of one now.
“My aunt would enjoy the gardens here.”
“Of course.” He smiled. “Then it’s a deal?”
Miss Cecil held out her hand. He looked down at it. He’d never made a business agreement with a woman before, but there was a first time for everything, wasn’t there?
He grasped her hand, albeit gently, not at all with the usual firmness he used with his male business partners. Her hands were much too soft and delicate for that. And surprisingly warm.