Chapter Eleven #2
“ A woman has to live her life, or live to repent not having lived it, ” he whispered, and a shiver ran through my entire body from my head to my toes and back again.
“Oh no, not Lady Chatterley’s Lover, ” I said.
“We broke up, remember?” Apparently, he did not remember, because he brought his mouth to my ear and quoted another line from Lady Chatterley that had certainly contributed to it being banned in the U.S.
, Canada, Australia, India, and Japan. Somehow, in his posh English accent, he still managed to make it sound like a proper activity for a Sunday afternoon.
Not that I was complaining.
It wouldn’t be accurate to say I dragged him to the library, but it wouldn’t be wholly inaccurate either. However it happened, I finally got him to the couch. Where was Mrs. Turner?
He collapsed, laying his head on the sofa arm, eyes closed. “ We know what we are but know not what we may be, ” he mumbled.
I knelt in front of him. His eyes fluttered open and met mine.
He whispered, “ Thou art tied to me by cords woven of my heart-strings. ”
“Are you trying to seduce me with Moby-Dick ?” I teased.
But he shook his head as if I hadn’t understood the message he was trying to give me, as if we were speaking different languages.
“ Give sorrow words, ” he whispered. “ The grief that does not speak knits up the o-er wrought heart and bids it break. ”
Shakespeare. Macbeth, if I remembered correctly, and, as a Book Witch, I usually did.
“Duke?” No answer.
Mrs. Turner entered the library pushing a tea trolley. “Master Koshka tells me we have a guest.”
“Unfortunately. Duke just showed up out of nowhere.”
Mrs. Turner glanced down at the rug. “His Grace has tracked water on my floors.”
“Not his fault,” I told her. “He’s had a traumatic reentry. His body is in this world, and his spirit is trying to catch up with it.”
“No excuse for untidiness, especially in the Quality.”
“Let’s try some tea. That might help.”
“First sensible thing you’ve said all evening, Miss March.”
She poured the tea into a white cup and saucer. “Milk? Sugar?”
“Black,” I said. “This is business, not pleasure.”
She passed me the cup, and I held it to Duke’s nose and let the steam waft into his nostrils. For a moment, his eyes cleared.
“Drink this,” I ordered.
Duke took a single sip of the tea. His eyes began to clear and focus like he’d found his way out of the shadows and into the light of day.
“Rainy, darling…” he breathed.
“I’m here, Duke. Right here.”
He smiled at me. “I’m not.”
Then he closed his eyes and passed out yet again.
“Duke?” No answer. “Out like a light,” I said with a sigh. “Mrs. Turner?”
“Shall I make up the guest room?” she asked.
“No, he can’t stay. It’s breaking the rules. Wait. How did Duke even get here? Did any books come in the mail while I was gone today?”
“Of course. Today’s mail is on the reading table as usual.”
Duke was snoring soundly now, so I went to the table and tore open the packages.
Two books. More Gothic romances to catalog— Legacy of Secrets and Child of Mystery.
“You don’t read the Duke of Chicago books, do you?” I asked Mrs. Turner.
“No, Miss March. Only the Bible. Oh, and Good Housekeeping. ”
“Okay, okay,” I panted. “Good. Maybe it’s not me.
Maybe I didn’t bring him here. Maybe someone else dragged Duke out of his books, and he somehow found his way to the house.
I mean…I didn’t do any spells to bring him out, right?
I mean, I held his book at the bookstore, but I didn’t do magic. Or did I?”
I was talking to myself, but Mrs. Turner answered.
“I believe I did overhear you whispering his name with a deep and profound sense of longing.”
“All right, so I did. But I can’t magically wish him here. I need a book to work the spell. That’s why Fanshawe took all of Duke’s books from this house. They swept every room. So that means…it came today. But it didn’t. So it wasn’t me. If not me, then who? Wait.” I growled. “Penny.”
Earlier, Mrs. Turner had picked my things off the floor to hang them up. I ran down the hall to the coatrack to find the tote bag Penny had given me.
The first thing I pulled out was a pair of rabbit ears. Of course she’d given those to me. I stuck them on the small bust of Shakespeare on the pedestal.
Also in the bag? A book. A small, slim rectangle wrapped in brown paper and string. I ripped the bow open and tore off the paper.
Lo and behold…
The Velvet Coffin, the Duke of Chicago novella I’d been mooning over at the bookstore before Dr. Fanshawe had shown up. I’d fooled her, but I hadn’t fooled Penny.
Mrs. Turner had followed me into the hallway and was watching me with curiosity. I glared at the paperback book in my hands.
“This is not a Nancy Drew book,” I said. “This is supposed to be a Nancy Drew book! Now she’s got me doing it!”
“Doing what, Miss March?”
“Exclaiming!”
Mrs. Turner peered at me. “Are you aware you have blue glitter in your hair, Miss March?”
“What?”
I ran to the hall mirror and looked at myself.
Sure enough, my hair glinted with shimmery blue powder.
When I’d charmed the free beach library to attract the books people needed in their heart of hearts, I’d gotten some on myself.
The next thing I knew, the book I’d wanted in my heart of hearts had found its way into my hands…
and as a result the duke I wanted in my heart of hearts was now on my sofa.
Penny hadn’t done this to me.
I had done this to me.
“This,” I said to myself in the mirror, “is why I can’t have nice things.”