The little bell on the door of the library tinkled as they entered the premises, and the soft smell of paper greeted Catherine's nose. Her lips spread into a smile. It was one of her favorite scents, and every visit to the circulation room was a happy one.

With two rooms, the circulation library was unusually large for a country town, owing slightly to the general intelligence of the community, and greatly to the general uneventful nature of everyday life.

Ingleston was indeed a quiet town, without many varied personages of ill repute, and this afforded most genteel people of society a good amount of reading time.

Glancing around the front room, Catherine let out a sigh. It didn't seem that there was much of anything new or exciting in stock.

"Anne, I think I shall go to the back room," she said, waving to her sister. Anne had already picked up a tome and was perusing through its pages.

"Don't mind me," she said. "Go ahead and look for something jolly we can read this afternoon."

So, Catherine gathered her skirts and slid through the narrow door to the second room of the library. The chamber was one of Catherine's especial favorites, for she felt that it might be a bit like the great libraries in London, if somewhat plainer. The walls were high and practically groaning under the weight of books. If the little room could sink into the ground, it would. Everything was partitioned by four narrow walkways with shelves on either side of each, towering to the ceiling. Catherine walked down the furthest passage, delighting in the closeness of books hugging around her person.

A gold-leafed volume caught her eye, and she unshelved it, rifling through its musty pages. It was a romance–her favorite kind of book. Lydia might complain, but Catherine was not want to bow to the wishes of a girl not yet fourteen. She was just beginning to delve deeply into the novel when she heard a small noise come from the opening of the passage.

She turned, expecting to see Anne come to find her. Instead, her eyes clapped upon none other than Lord Glenarvon. He stopped moving as she saw him, seeming to fear that he might startle her more than he already had.

Presently, he swept into a low bow.

"Miss Catherine," he said. "It is good to see you again. I hope you are doing well."

His formality startled Catherine. It was so unlike the behavior that he had displayed when they first met. He walked forward, approaching her with a steady ease that all men of power seemed to learn.

Unsure how to react, Catherine fell back on common courtesy. She dipped into a light curtsey, bobbing her head.

"Indeed I am well," she said.

His mouth parted as if he wished to speak, and yet no words came. He looked askance at her, seeming unable to coagulate his thoughts into speech.

Catherine took in a deep breath, and put down her book.

"Are you well, sir? What brings you to the circulation room?"

At Catherine's words, the marquess unfroze. "I am as well as can be expected. I am unused to life in the countryside after having been gone so long. I find that it is very quiet in my home, without..." He trailed off, as if he had meant to speak someone's name and thought the better of it.

"Without whom?" asked Catherine.

"Never you mind," he said abruptly. "I am here to take out a book with which I might while away the time. It is of good use to read. It awakens the senses and exercises the mind."

"Are you here for a history, then, sir? Perhaps something on the Greeks?"

"No, indeed. I find I enjoy novels more than histories. A story well-written can teach us just as much as history might."

Catherine's brow arched. "I was under the impression that most men of fashion believed novels to be best left to the females. I have had more than one man declare the trivialities of such stories."

"Those men are ridiculous," said Lord Glenarvon curtly. His eyes shone darkly. "A man who is incapable of ceding that any story told well is worthy of one's time is no man at all."

Catherine was quite surprised at Lord Glenarvon's strangely enlightened speech. Where had the man who was so gruff and entitled learned to love novels? Certainly not while embroidering with sisters, as Catherine had.

"But surely," Catherine said, "You must have novels aplenty at Castle Fen, then. I am surprised that you find the need for a visit to the circulation library at all. A man of your means may never need be in want of a book."

Now it was Lord Glenarvon's turn to be surprised. Catherine's frank assessment of his affluence shocked him, and yet he found that he appreciated that she did not tip-toe around him. Too many women were wont to pursue him for his fortune whilst never speaking a word about money or social standing. Such women were disingenuous treasure seekers, attracted to him more for his wealth than anything else. Here in front of him was a woman who knew her place, and knew his place, and did not balk at the divide between them.

"I see you have found me out," he said. "There are numerous books at Castle Fen, yes. Both novels and histories alike. There are even many that I have yet to read. But..." he paused, unsure if he wished to continue his thought. "I must confess that I was passing through town, and I saw a flash of red hair entering the circulation room out of the corner of my eye, and I became determined to follow you inside."

"Follow me?" asked Catherine. What temerity this man had! "I realize that we did not start our acquaintance with the warmest of conversations, but I do not believe that I deserve to be accosted thus. My business is mine own, Lord Glenarvon, and I do not appreciate your constant need to insert yourself into my affairs to tell me how best you think I should behave. Truly, I am shocked. Until meeting you, I had reason to believe that all members of the peerage adhered to a strong sense of morality and personal etiquette. I can now see that I was mistaken."

Gathering her skirts, Catherine made to sweep regally from the room. As she brushed past the Marquess, his hand snaked around her arm, preventing her from leaving.

"Unhand me!" she said. "This is not how one should behave, and you are well aware of that fact. It is no surprise to me that I never see you in the company of the female sex, for I can barely suppose that any woman would ever bear your insubordinate behavior."

Glenarvon's eyes darkened and he loosened his grip on Catherine's arm, but did not let her go completely.

"Forgive me, Miss Catherine, but I think you misunderstand me. I did not follow you here to attack you in any manner. Do not suppose that I am taking the bounty that my birth affords me for granted. I hold no contempt for the gentry or even for the working classes. I do not–I am merely here to..."

"What? I can hardly see that you are living up to your words at present. There are many men of my acquaintance who have far better manners than you and maintain estates nearly as large as yours," she spat.

"Are you speaking of Lord Daventry?" For the briefest of moments, the marquess's face twisted in anger, but as quickly as Catherine blinked, it was gone. Glenarvon's visage was once again placid and aggravatingly handsome, if a bit flushed from their argument.

"I do speak of Lord Daventry,” said Catherine. “He is the true measure of a goodness. A man like that is far more worthy of the ton than the likes of you."

"I fear that you may rethink that statement before long," said Lord Glenarvon, shaking his head. "You do not know of what you speak."

"I know plenty well of what I speak," replied Catherine, color rising in her face. How dare he condescend to her thus! "In fact, I have spent a good amount of time in Lord Daventry's presence, and all of it has been perfectly lovely. I have no reason to think him ill, and every reason to think ill of you."

"Oh, really? I can hardly imagine Lord Daventry choosing to spend time with someone of so little fortune."

"There! You have said it. You do believe me to be poor and wretched. I will have you know that what my family lacks in wealth, it makes up for in good breeding and manners. Unlike yours."

Glenarvon sighed. "I'm sorry. That is not quite what I meant. I was suggesting that Lord Daventry would hardly dream to marry below his station. He is not that sort of man."

"Then you are wrong," said Catherine, tossing her red hair. But the moment the words escaped her lips, she paled. She had not meant to imply that Lord Daventry was aiming for her hand–at least, not in so public a manner, and certainly not to this brute of a man. "That is, I mean to say that he is calling upon me this Tuesday. That is all." She wrested her arm from Lord Glenarvon's hand triumphantly. She would show him. The entitled snob.

The marquess's face fell. "That is a terrible idea. I know how he must seem to you, but I promise you that the moment he sees your house and realizes your family's circumstances..." Lord Glenarvon stopped himself before he revealed anything further. If he told Catherine about Daventry’s disgusting intentions, he would be breaking his half of the wager, and Daventry would be free to prey upon Catherine as he wished. The best he could hope to do was to imply that Daventry desired only wealth in a mate.

"Oh, how kind of you to worry about my circumstances," Catherine spat. "I can hardly believe that I have managed to live for so long without your guidance. Now, if you will excuse me, my sister is waiting for me in the outer room."

Catherine swept past Lord Glenarvon, her hair streaming behind her like a flame. She slammed the door to the inner room in the marquess's face, punctuating her exit with a bang.