The Librarian of a Lyon (The Lyon’s Den Connected World)

1. One Literary Society, Two Young Ladies

Chapter One

One Literary Society, Two Young Ladies

Watching the parade of town coaches and hackneys deposit their fares in front of Kingston House from her frost-rimmed bedchamber window, Catherine Kingston took a steadying breath and let it out in a long sigh.

A white cloud formed on the glass pane the second before the clock on the fireplace mantel chimed three times.

The female members of the Bluestocking Literary Society were always prompt. The men, not so much, but then, there weren’t as many of them.

Having told the butler to escort her guests to the parlor, Catherine made her way there directly to discover the tea service and several plates of biscuits already in place.

“Why, Cathy, you look especially fetching in that frock,” Eliza Buxton said, first to join her in the parlor.

“The apple green is perfect with your hair.” For a moment, it looked as if the petite woman would reach up and pull on one of the red curls so she could delight it seeing it bounce back.

She had done so when they were younger, claiming jealousy because her brunette hair was so straight, she could hardly keep it in a bun atop her head.

Since Catherine’s return from finishing school on the Continent, Eliza had been her best friend. She no longer wore the black crepe gowns expected of a war widow, but then it had been two years since her husband’s death.

“Pink becomes you, Eliza,” Catherine said, referring to the pale-pink sprigged muslin gown and darker-pink spencer the petite young widow wore.

“Do stay for dinner this evening,” she added.

She embraced her friend before several more women filed into the parlor.

Most were older, but there was a younger woman, Miss Tuttle, who had joined their group in the last year.

Given the chill in the air, Catherine had had the chairs and settee arranged in a semicircle in front of the fireplace. Despite the date on the calendar, the day was unseasonably cold. Her guests’ red noses and cheeks were evidence of it.

“Good afternoon, everyone,” Catherine said, motioning for the ladies to take their seats. “I’m so glad to see so many of you made the trip here given this awful weather.”

“I simply could not stay inside another day,” Miss Tuttle remarked. “My father is in poor spirits, and it’s affecting my mother and all the servants.”

While the others put voice to their sympathies, Catherine saw to preparing cups of tea.

Before she had the drinks distributed, the women began sharing the gossip they had heard since their last meeting, most of it centered around aristocrats.

Three more members entered, the gentlemen, apologizing for their tardiness and complaining of the awful weather.

“There had better be some excellent books being written at this very moment,” Mr. Johnson commented. “No authors in all of England have the excuse of good weather to keep them from their writing desks.”

The others tittered and agreed as they settled in for a discussion of what they had been reading during the past fortnight.

“I’m finding Headlong Hall by Anonymous quite engaging,” Mrs. Waddington offered. “Very witty. The characters are rather eccentric, and the country estate setting is perfect for their conversations. I do believe it’s satirical in nature.”

“Anonymous?” Mr. Brooks questioned. He scoffed and chuckled. “I happen to know it was written by Thomas Love Peacock.” He seemed quite pleased with himself as some of the others appeared jealous, thinking he might actually know the author personally.

“This anonymous publishing is quite annoying,” Miss Tuttle said, her upturned nose wrinkling. “Everyone simply assumes a woman wrote the book.”

“I don’t,” Eliza claimed.

“I admit I do,” Mrs. Peabody said, shrugging.

“What say you, Miss Kingston?” Mr. Knox challenged. “You’ve probably handled more books than all of us here.”

Catherine straightened in her chair, her cheeks reddening at being asked her opinion directly by the distinguished gentleman who managed banking clerks. She could never tell if Mr. Knox’s comments were an attempt at flirting or if he took exception to her knowledge of books.

As the daughter of a publisher, she had simply grown up surrounded by them.

Reading was second nature. “Having just completed the arrangement of my father’s ten thousand volumes in his library…

” she paused as several of the women gasped and Mr. Johnson made a sound of disbelief, “I discovered the section containing books by Anonymous to be the largest.”

“The section?” Mr. Johnson questioned. “Which section?”

“Why the fiction section, of course,” Mrs. Waddington said, before Catherine could reply. “I rather imagine men publish anonymously because they don’t wish to be associated with novels, but can you blame them?” She sniffed and visibly shuddered.

“If I wrote a novel, I should want my name on it,” Mr. Brooks said, helping himself to his third biscuit.

“Novels,” Mrs. Peabody said as if in disgust. “Despite my scolding, my daughter reads those abominations from Minerva Press, one after the other. Why, if she didn’t have a subscription at Hookham’s, she wouldn’t have a pence of her pin money left for more important purchases.”

“Such as?” Miss Tuttle challenged.

“Ribbons and gloves and such,” Mrs. Peabody replied. “She’ll be of an age to marry next year.”

Sensing the discussion was veering from the topic of books, Catherine said, “In my avocation as a librarian, I’ve discovered there are a number of non-fiction books without the credit of authorship.”

Several people in the group blinked their astonishment.

“That should not be allowed,” Mr. Johnson stated.

“There should be a law,” Mr. Knox chimed in.

“Surely someone here knows someone in Parliament,” Mrs. Waddington said.

“Someone who could see to it that books must be credited correctly? Else we’ll be having just anyone writing books, claiming they’re experts on a topic when they are really charlatans out to make money off the book buying public.

” She directed her gaze to Catherine. “Surely you know a lord.”

Catherine blinked. “If I do, I’m quite unaware of it,” she countered. “As we’ve discussed before, I am of the opinion this country should do away with the House of Lords. They do nothing to help those who aren’t landowners.”

“Hear, hear,” Mr. Johnson said, nodding enthusiastically.

“Then who would make the laws?” Mrs. Peabody asked.

“We have a House of Commons,” Mr. Knox stated. “Representing the people.”

“You mean men,” Miss Tuttle said, her voice barely audible.

Resisting the urge to titter, Catherine had to cover her mouth as she inhaled and let her breath out slowly. “Well, should some earl or viscount decide to make me their wife, I’ll be sure to request they pass such a law.”

The others seemed shocked by her claim until they realized she was teasing them. She had made it quite clear during past meetings that she had no intention of marrying—especially not to an aristocrat. A round of titters and chuckles sounded before they returned their discussion to another book.

When the clock on the mantel struck four o’clock, the group dutifully rose from the seats and bade their farewells to their hostess.

Catherine joined them for the trip down the stairs and to the front door. “Where should we meet next?” she asked.

“I can host,” Mrs. Peabody offered. “I’ll see you in two weeks.”

The others nodded and filed out the door, all except for Eliza.

“Does the offer to stay for dinner still stand?” she asked.

“Of course. I’ve been counting on it all day,” Catherine replied. She motioned for Eliza to join her as she headed for the stairs.

“I was quite amused by your comment about marrying a lord,” Eliza said.

“I was being ridiculous,” Catherine admitted, sobering when she noted her friend’s expression. “What’s wrong?”

“I wish to remarry. I want to be a mother,” Eliza replied.

“I know,” Catherine said. “But I thought you had your attentions on someone. My father, perhaps?” She waggled her brows.

Eliza inhaled softly. “I know he’s older—”

“He’s twice your age.”

“But he’s quite handsome, and I’ve known him for so long. Since before I married Aloysius,” she commented, referring to her late husband.

“He’s been a widower for so long, I never thought about him marrying again,” Catherine replied. “Perhaps I could drop a hint on your behalf?”

Eliza blushed, her cheeks matching the color of her spencer. “Perhaps,” she hedged. She pointed to one of the doors near the top of the stairs. “I thought it interesting you didn’t offer to show your father’s new library to the literary society.”

Dipping her head, Catherine said, “I thought about it, but I feared once they went in there, they wouldn’t leave.”

“Oh,” Eliza breathed. “Now you really must show me what you’ve done with all his books.”

Catherine led her into the recently enlarged and rearranged library.

A wall separating the original library from a guest bedchamber had been removed, and newly installed floor to ceiling bookshelves lined all four walls.

A number of free-standing, shorter bookshelves had been built and lined up in the middle of the room.

At the end of each were glass-covered cases containing collections of ephemera and rare editions of books.

Eliza inhaled deeply, her nose wrinkling at the scent of old leather and the hint of mildew. “You did all this?” she asked in awe.

“Indeed,” Catherine acknowledged. “I would have finished a long time ago, but I had to wait for the carpenters to finish their work. Despite adding the length of an entire room, I ran out of space for books on the walls. Hence the need for these shorter bookshelves.”

“How does it feel to be a… to be a librarian?” Eliza asked, her attention on the contents of one of the glass cases.

Catherine tittered. “It’s not as if this is my first library,” she countered.

Eliza blinked and chuckled. “I’d quite forgotten you had redone Aloysius’s library,” she replied.

“And Mr. Johnson’s, and the one in father’s study,” Catherine said on a sigh. “Those were easy, though. Not nearly as many books.”

The two made their way back to the parlor and settled into the upholstered chairs closest to the fireplace.

“So what will our bluestocking do next?” Eliza challenged. “Marry a blue blood and arrange his library, perhaps?”

Catherine scoffed. “I’m quite happy being a spinster,” she replied, grinning at her friend’s tease. “Besides, whilst working on father’s library, I found a number of books I wish to read.”

“Oh?” Eliza helped herself to another cup of tea. “Of a particular subject?”

Catherine shook her head. “Not exactly,” she hedged.

Eliza furrowed her dark brows, which had a fold of skin forming between them. “What do you mean?”

“They’re novels,” she replied, waggling her reddish brows.

“Novels?” Eliza played at being shocked before a brilliant smile appeared. “I promise I won’t tell anyone in the literary society,” she promised.

“You had better not,” Catherine warned. “Why, I’d lose my membership in good standing.”

The two giggled before helping themselves to the last of the biscuits.