Chapter 3 The Lavender Fields #2
“Would you like me to lead the horses?” Mia asked. She couldn’t just sit there watching. Without further invitation, she grabbed the leather straps of one of the horses and pulled them forward.
As the men grunted with effort, the carriage jostled and tilted back and forth, more violently with each pull. With the next sway, a trunk loaded on the back of the carriage slid forward and slammed to the ground, almost on top of Mr. Bell.
He jumped out of the way, eying it like an enemy. Lord knew the thing could have killed him. But upon impact, it swung open, spilling a handful of books onto the road. Inside, there were even more. As curious as Mia was to see their titles, she kept back.
The country was proving to be dangerous, indeed.
Instead, she watched as the two strangers gathered the books with great haste. They had no choice, it seemed, but to wipe off the mud with their own cloaks. Mr. Bell picked one up, too, and blatantly stared at its title.
“I’ll take that.” The well-dressed gentleman scrambled forward and seized the book at once. The other man fixed the trunk back to the carriage. Everything was muddied, just as they were.
In silence, they positioned themselves behind the carriage again. With three more rounds of pushing, the carriage pulled free. Mia rushed out of the way of the horses.
“Fine carriage you have.” Mr. Bell stomped out of the mud.
“We’re much obliged, but we must be taking off.” The gentleman shook Mr. Bell’s hand. He hadn’t even bothered to introduce himself. He just got back into his carriage. His servant went to the reins. In less than a breath, they were off again.
“I wonder who that was,” Aunt Viv commented. “He seemed quite important.”
Mr. Bell wasn’t listening. He stared off in the distance as the carriage shrank smaller and smaller into the distance. They were traveling at full speed now. So fast, a cloud of dust had whipped up in their wake.
“I’m sorry.” He continued to stare. “But I’m going to have to cut our evening short. I have to make it back.”
Mia didn’t ask why. She couldn’t think how to without prying. It had something to do with the man they’d just helped out of the mud. Something Mr. Bell hadn’t realized until the trunk had fallen and those books had tumbled out.
Mr. Bell hurried over to the cart. “How about this? We visit the roses and take a trip into town tomorrow?”
“I’d be happy to chaperone.” Aunt Viv beamed while Mia cringed inwardly. Tomorrow, she would be doing it all day.
If only she could be alone with Mr. Bell again, like they had been in the library.
Despite his reputation and the pressing urge to steal from him—a book that really didn’t belong to him, anyway—she was starting to enjoy his company, particularly their conversations.
They didn’t circle around the same boring topics high society preferred, but rather the more uncouth ones, the ones that made people uncomfortable.
But being alone with him in the library was inappropriate, she chided herself. His mother had said as much with a single glare. That was not how high society operated. Even Aunt Viv knew that.
The trio made its all the way back to the manor. The moment a stablehand had appeared on the circular drive, Mr. Bell excused himself and rushed inside.
“He sure is acting strangely.” Aunt Viv frowned as they went inside.
“I’m sure he’ll make up for it. Why don’t we go ourselves? The rose gardens are just—”
“I think I’d much rather read for the rest of the evening. Like you said, he’ll make up for it.”
Aunt Viv clearly wanted to reserve the appointment. She was still so hopeful. Mia didn’t see a point. Mr. Bell had just rushed off and they didn’t know why. Something to do with the man and the carriage, but it wasn’t any of her business, was it?
While Aunt Viv headed up to her room, Mia continued down into the north wing toward the library, eager to resume her work.
The closer she got, the more she began to hear voices.
Mr. Bell and his mother, it sounded like, were in the library.
She couldn’t quite hear what they were talking about, but she could distinguish the voices.
They were fighting, she’d guessed by their staccato words and how they talked over one another.
What were they arguing about? Given that they were in the library, it had to be the books.
She ought to go in there and hear what it was about, but who was she to do so?
Technically, those were their books, including the one that meant more to her than her own life.
The book she was willing to risk prison time for.
She wished she could just tell Mr. Bell, explain, and have him understand that the book didn’t belong to his family if it had been stolen, but that it belonged to hers and so many others back home.
Would he see it that way? She couldn’t be sure.
More than anything, she wanted him to be the person who would understand.
She would prove it to him if she had to.
She would show him her father’s notes, and she’d trace the book all the way to the British soldier who had stolen it and sold it to a book collector.
She wished she could tell him the whole story.
She wished she had. Foolishly, perhaps, she believed he’d understand. But that would have to wait.
As much as she wanted to watch over the library, she couldn’t linger.
Lest a servant see her eavesdropping, she retreated up to her room, where she’d pace for hours. She didn’t like Mrs. Bell spending so much time in the library. Not one bit.