Chapter 6
As Lord Jasper Hartcliffe led Emeline toward his table, she was acutely aware that every male in sight seemed to be staring at her. A murmur of whispers followed their progress. It was a relief to be able to take the chair he drew out for her and, she hoped, become less conspicuous.
“My lord,” Emeline began when he was sitting next to her.
“Not my lord,” he whispered, leaning very close.
“Lord Jasper, then…”
“No. Only my family address me as Jasper, and I have never cared for it.” He flashed a smile. “Call me Hart.”
She liked that. “I agree that titles are very stuffy. Yes, all right…I will call you Hart.”
Emeline suddenly noticed that he smelled very good. His essence was appealingly male, a mixture of clean linen, citrus, and something indefinable yet arousing. A memory flickered in a deep corner of her subconscious, causing her to lean away to a safer distance.
“Do you give me leave to address you as Emeline?” he asked in an undertone.
She nodded, wondering why she found him so striking today.
It came to her then that Hart’s clothing was more impeccably elegant than when he came to Chesterfield Street.
In contrast, his hair was now rather windblown.
Attractively so. Perhaps Louise was right…
Hart was not so old after all. When one paired silver-flecked hair with his arresting cobalt-blue eyes, the man’s appeal was potent.
“I do not understand why you are here,” she said, gathering her wits. “I thought you had hired Louise and me to labor in the Reading Room because you could not do it yourself.”
“Ah, yes.” His eyes glinted when he smiled. “That is a very logical question.”
“I am glad you approve. Do, kindly, reply.”
Two of the young men at their table lifted their heads and leveled disapproving stares at them. A third, elderly gentleman with a withered countenance paused in the midst of writing notes to make a stern shh-ing sound. Hart rose, took Emeline’s arm, and led her to the nearest wall of books.
“You find me here because…I wasn’t certain how long it might be until you and your cousin were possessed of your own cards of admission,” he explained smoothly. “In the meantime, I thought I would peruse the various books that will be available.”
“Oh, I see. It sounds as if you just walked into the library today, yet Mr. Panizzi seems to be well acquainted with you,” Emeline pressed. “As if you have been here often.”
Hart smiled. “Perhaps I have made a strong impression on him.”
“No doubt.” Emeline’s mind was spinning as she tried to remember the things he had said just yesterday when the three of them discussed the Reading Room.
“However, I must say, I am a bit confused. If you have a special ticket yourself, why didn’t you apply to Mr. Panizzi on behalf of Louise and me?
I was under the impression that you had no real knowledge of this process, and we must seek another person to help us gain access. ”
“I suppose I didn’t think of it.” Before Emeline could press him further, Hart pointed to a book on the nearest shelf. “Look at this. It seems to deal with Viking artifacts!” Turning, he motioned to one of the library aides, then informed the young man that he wished to read that particular volume.
Hart reminded her then that none of these books or manuscripts could be removed from the Reading Room.
When she and Louise came here in the future, one of the library aides would procure whatever titles they needed.
They were permitted to study them at one of the tables and, when they finished, must summon an aide to return them to the shelves.
This was the reason so many people spent entire days here, reading, writing, or simply searching for obscure information.
“Various British archaeologists, including William Wylie, have begun writing papers about their discoveries. Some of them are working here at the Reading Room,” Hart murmured as they waited for the aide to bring the book.
Emeline felt excited. “Oh yes, I was saying that very thing to Louise last evening! I am very anxious to begin searching for those works.”
“I will give you a list of names, and you and your cousin can begin by asking for those.”
The pale young man approached them again, empty-handed. “I beg your pardon, my lord, but a previous request for that particular volume was made just minutes ago.”
Emeline then watched as another aide, stocky and balding, removed the book from the shelf. She and Hart watched as he trundled across to a distant table and presented it to a lean, fair-haired man who had the look of a university student.
“It’s Peyton,” muttered Hart, eyes narrowed. “One of the more self-important antiquarians.”
“Do you mean Sir Giles Peyton? I believe I met him briefly during my last Season.” She recalled that Sir Giles had been quite friendly, but she had given him no encouragement. “If he is an antiquarian, perhaps he could shed light on the artifacts you have discovered?”
This innocent suggestion was met with a dark frown. “Absolutely not.”
From the table where they had been sitting, the withered man swiveled in his chair and again hissed, “Shh!”
“Perhaps I should go,” whispered Emeline.
Antonio Panizzi was approaching at that moment, holding the special cards for Emeline and Louise in one hand.
“When you return with your cousin, Miss St. Briac,” he said in accented English, “kindly apply to me at my desk. I will explain the code of conduct for our Reading Room.”
“Of course, sir. Thank you so much,” Emeline replied as she put the cards in her reticule and started toward the door.
To her surprise, Hart was walking next to her. Emeline waited to address him again until they had come into the wide corridor of the museum’s new north wing.
“There is no need for you to accompany me, my lord.”
“It’s Hart, remember?” A smile touched his mouth. “And I will see you safely home. I assume that you came by hackney cab? Alone, no doubt, with a disreputable driver.”
“Indeed, no. I walked.” Emeline quickened her steps. “And I am quite capable of walking home again.”
He easily kept pace beside her, gesturing as they walked toward the gallery that featured Egyptian antiquities.
“Everything is being changed, as you can see,” Hart indicated a tall window overlooking the courtyard.
Outside, construction of the new wings of the museum continued, and a wall blocked the view of passersby on Great Russell Street.
“I think Panizzi has plans for a grander, larger Reading Room as well.”
“One that welcomes females?”
“I wouldn’t bet on that.” His tone was laced with irony. “And yet, now that you have arrived, Emeline, anything may be possible.”
Outside the museum, Hart fell into step beside Emeline, pointing out the improvements the museum was undergoing, and to his surprise, she made no protest when he continued on with her in the direction of Chesterfield Street.
In fact, she chatted with him in an unaffected manner about everything from her impressions of Antonio Panizzi to the “shocking” treatment of the hackney cab horses lined up across from the museum.
“It is outrageous!” she fumed. “I never had to witness such cruelty when I was in Lyme Regis, or if I did, it was on a much smaller scale. No doubt the horses must stand in their own waste, in rain and cold, often deprived of food and water…”
“First oppressed females and now ill-used animals,” Hart reflected when she paused for breath. “I perceive that you mean to be a crusader. Never fear, you will find plenty of causes here in London.”
Emeline looked up at him. “No doubt a rather…dispassionate man like you finds me tiresome.” Pausing, she stared at the hackney cabs, as if tempted to cross the busy street and give the drivers a piece of her mind. “Yet I cannot ignore cruelty.”
“Tiresome? Not at all.” Hart had to suppress a desire to tell her it was just the opposite.
“Try as I might to be circumspect, I cannot help saying just what I’m thinking.”
“But do you indeed try?” he queried dryly. “I doubt that. But never mind. Your candor is charming.”
She set her chin. “I will not apologize for caring about the oppressed.”
“Nor should you.” As they turned onto Oxford Street, Hart added, “Perhaps your work for me, in the Reading Room, will keep you so well occupied you won’t have time to search out the injustices that plague London.”
She seemed to make a decision not to reply to this. They walked in silence for a minute before Emeline inquired, “And where is your home, my lord?”
“My—home?”
“Yes.” She sent him a curious glance. “Where in London do you live?”
“I don’t have a home.” Suddenly, he felt unsettled. “I mean, I don’t care to have a home. When I am in London, I reside at the Pulteney Hotel.”
“At a hotel? But you are an aristocrat. You must have a home.”
“I thought you didn’t care for the rules of conduct imposed by the ton. I can assure you, neither do I. I do as I please. I come and go, so I have no need for a home.”
“You have no family here in London?”
After a moment, Hart said, “I do have a brother.”
“A brother?” she prompted gently.
“His Grace, the Duke of Caversham. I simply choose not to partake in the pretensions of the beau monde. Austell sees to that for both of us.”
“Oh yes.” Emeline glanced over as if measuring her words. “I perceive that you prefer to hold yourself…at a distance.”
Oddly stung, he replied, “First you refer to me as dispassionate, and now I am distant. How did you come by these powers of perception?”
She merely smiled enigmatically, not looking his way. “I am a woman, my lord. I was endowed with them at birth.”
Almost without warning, Hart realized that they had reached Chesterfield Street and then Emeline was pausing outside the trim three-story house she shared with her cousin. He waited for her to invite him inside for tea, but she only extended her slim, gloved hand.
“I know how very busy you are, my lord, and I thank you for finding the time to see me home.”