Chapter Three
Combes House
Grosvenor Square, Mayfair
London
Of course it was raining, for when didn’t it?
Barr clasped his hands behind his back as he stared out the drawing room windows.
Would Miss Pickwick arrive today as she’d said?
He frowned that the raindrops on the glass.
It had been fate or luck when he’d met her at the lending library yesterday, and there had been an odd and immediate connection between them he couldn’t explain.
That provoked an even greater frown. Why? He didn’t know her and had never met her before yesterday, but her academic experience level was impressive.
Movement from the street caught his eye and wrenched him from his thoughts.
A closed carriage stopped at the curb. Once the driver climbed down, he came around and opened the door, put down the steps, and then assisted a woman out.
She hitched her navy skirts up to avoid the mud and puddles, which afforded him a quick glimpse of a brown half-boot.
A matching navy pelisse covered most of her form, and a plain navy-dyed straw bonnet hid her hair and face from his view.
Both would protect her from the ever-present rain.
When she came up the short walkway to the townhouse, he lost sight of her, but excitement buzzed at the base of his spine. She had kept her promise, and it took every ounce of his willpower to remain where he was instead of rushing to the ground floor prematurely.
Eventually, his butler arrived at the drawing room door.
“Your Grace, there is a Miss Pickwick here. She says she has been invited by you to look at a rare book?” The butler’s tone suggested it could possibly be a lie.
He was a man of indeterminate age and looks, the type of man one would forget immediately after passing him in the street.
Perhaps that was a good thing in his position.
“I have put her in the library until I checked with you.”
“Thank you, Withers. I did, indeed, invite her, but please use discretion. She will come by every day until the text is translated.”
“Of course, Your Grace.” Then he left the room.
A ripple of anxiety crossed Barr’s nerves.
Why the hell was he anxious? She was here to translate a book.
Nothing more, yet the teasing words they’d exchanged briefly yesterday, as well as the glances rife with interest, couldn’t discount the immediate and electric desire crackling between them in that lounge.
Perhaps it had been naught but a fluke.
With a tug to the bottom of his jacket, he made his way downstairs to the library. At the door, he paused, merely to study her while she perused the books on the shelves.
Brown hair the color of coffee had been upswept in what seemed like a careless bun, but there was enough thickness and volume in those tresses to make him suspect it tended to naturally curl.
A slender neck gave away to slight shoulders, a nipped-in waist and then rounded hips.
She was short, more than several inches from his height, and he remembered by experience that the top of her head stood at his shoulder.
As he came further into the comforting space, he softly cleared his throat. “Good afternoon, Miss Pickwick. Lovely to see you again.”
When she turned about with a book in her hands, she offered a tentative smile. “Hullo, Your Grace.” Curiosity lit the depths of her rich, brown eyes. “I hope you don’t mind that I was browsing your titles.”
“I do not. It’s good to have someone find interest in them besides me.
” He flicked his gaze up and down her person.
The plain, navy day dress did nothing for her figure, nor did it enhance her modest bosom.
When he snapped his focus back to her face, one of her dark eyebrows rose in question.
“Uh, shall we get right to it? Er…” He coughed.
“I meant to the translation.” Would she assume something else?
Heat went up the back of his neck. “I’m sorry, that was crass and rude.
Forgive me. I have been out of polite society for a bit. ”
“As well as speaking simple words?” Teasing threaded through her tone.
“So it seems.” Why did she have the power to render him stupid?
“Put yourself at ease, Your Grace.” Her smile was both enigmatic and slightly arousing, with the bottom lip slightly fuller than the upper one. “Why don’t we spend a bit of time talking? Share about ourselves. Then I will be more familiar with you and your life and how the book fits into that.”
“Of course. I appreciate that.” As she replaced the book she held onto the shelf, he began his story. “I’m the father of two grown children. My son is six and twenty, and newly married. Currently, he resides at Scarborough Hall near Cornwall with his new bride, as well as my aging mother.”
“Oh, my. That can’t be fun, or convenient, for the newlywed couple.”
“It can’t be helped with the weather.” Barr shrugged as he paced the length of the room in front of the longest bookshelf.
“The boy took on the responsibility without complaint. He has quite a head for business, even this young, and has made some rather impressive investments. Besides, Mother doesn’t like living in London.
Says it’s too loud, too crowded, and too dirty. ”
“She’s not wrong.” Miss Pickwick trailed to one of the shorter shelves on one side of the room where a wooden ladder rested. “And just now? It’s far too wet.”
What would it take to make her exactly that? A bit of wicked bedeviling on that very ladder? He covered his shock at his own thoughts by uttering a forced cough. What the devil is wrong with me?
When she glanced at him with concern, he shook his head.
“My daughter, meanwhile, is two and twenty. She’s staying with her cousins in Derbyshire.
My sister and her brood will keep the girl busy and happy until the roads are passable.
” For a few moments, he paused. “I have high hopes for Abigail. Her mother wanted her to marry well.”
“Ah.” His guest stared at him as if she were trying to figure him out. “And you? What do you want for her?”
“Honestly? I want her to be happy.” In the end, that is all he wanted for every member of his family.
“Life is already difficult for women in this world. Wedding the wrong man shouldn’t be part of it, so I’m not going to force the issue.
I’ll let her try whatever she wishes. Marriage will come or it won’t. It’s her decision.”
Surprise etched through Miss Pickwick’s expression. “That’s a good attitude to have, and it will give your daughter a taste of freedom. She’ll use you to measure potential suitors.”
“Is that a good thing?”
“Yes.” When she once more smiled, his gaze dropped to her mouth.
What would those lips feel like beneath his?
“It is. You seem like a sensible man who doesn’t tolerate his time being wasted, and I’ll wager you have a work ethic and morals.
This will go a long way into helping your daughter choose a husband. ”
“Thank you. I try.” He once more clasped his hands behind his back, and he drifted closer to her. “Is that what you’ve done? Held your father up as a model?”
“A bit, I suppose. My father is lovely. When he took his post at Cambridge, I was so proud of him. He’d finally come into his own after years of writing papers and researching, as well as poking about tombs and ruins.
” Her eyes took on a faraway look. “I always thought I’d follow in his footsteps and travel the world, but I’m more comfortable ensconced in libraries. ”
“Some of the loveliest libraries in the world are, sadly, not in England.”
“I know.” She lowered her voice to a teasing whisper. “Traveling by boat makes me ill.”
“Ah.” What a delightful admission. “Is that why you’ve never married?” What a nodcock he was. “I meant not finding someone who lives up to your father’s disciplines, not being sick on a ship.”
“No at all. Unfortunately, I let myself become lost in my studies, in books, in literature, in everything that interested me and kept my mind engaged. It was a lovely way to occupy my time, and he never denied me books or the opportunities to learn new things.” Another grin, and this one went straight to his stones.
“When I came up for air, I was surprised so much time had passed and that I was so old.”
“You hardly look ancient.”
She chuckled. “Thank you. I’m nine and thirty. So far on the shelf I’m collecting dust.” She shrugged and the gesture pulled her bodice taut over her breasts. “There were men here and there over the years who showed interest.”
“No offers?”
“Not ones that weren’t scandalous.”
He frowned even as his pulse increased a tick. “What happened? That is, unless it’s too much like prying for me to ask?”
“Like much of what I study, it’s ancient history.
” She waved a hand in dismissal. “Some of the potential suitors weren’t amused when my time and attention was divided.
Some of them outright demanded that I give up the ‘nonsense’ of reading and poring over translations, for, as they said, that wasn’t what women were created for, while still others…
Well, I suppose I’m a bit vain, for their looks did nothing for me.
My mother always said if there weren’t at least flutters early on, then a man simply wasn’t worth the effort. ”
Fascinating insight. “I take it your parents married for love?”
“Oh yes. They were so sweet together. Always giggling and holding hands, brushing up against each other as they moved past each other, spending time together in and out of the bedroom.” A pink blush stained her cheeks.
How lovely! “Mama gardened while Papa wrote papers and translated ancient texts. In fact, he taught me that skill. My father loved her until she drew her last breath from complications of pneumonia six years ago. Occasionally, grief sneaks up and knocks into me. I miss her.” She frowned, and his attention once more went to her mouth.