Chapter Four
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Daunt was sitting on the floor in front of one of the shelves of books when Magdalene came into the library. She wore a gray silk that suited her complexion and a gray shawl with fringe of a darker shade. Not deep mourning any longer. She held one end of her shawl and rolled a few strands of the fringe between two fingers.
He liked the color on her. The color made her hair look more definitively brown. A silver watch was pinned to her upper bosom, dangling from a short, silver mesh chain. She looked harassed and out of sorts.
While she closed the door, he reshelved the book he’d just inspected. “Ave, Daunt,” she said when she was done.
“Ave.” He blew out a breath to move a lock of hair off his forehead. “Forgive my disrepair.” He’d taken off his coat while he worked and was in his shirt-sleeves, hardly decent, even between good friends. “I do not mean to offend.”
“You haven’t.” She stayed with her eyes cast down while he retrieved his coat from a chair that was too far away. “Any man who fills my room with flowers that are almost as beautiful as those at Plumwood may presume a great deal.”
He buttoned his coat and grinned at her, quite smug now. “You like them?”
“I do.”
He bowed. “I presume, then, that our dispute is concluded, and you concede that Vaincourt has the better gardens.”
“I concede nothing.”
“I shall try harder to persuade.” Good. He’d made her smile.
“Do.” She continued into the room. Her hair was all curls, without any combs or ribbons or silk flowers. She looked as if she’d done little but run her fingers through it before she came downstairs. He’d once accused her of favoring the Welsh-comb-style of hairdressing, and she had laughed at him without any embarrassment or denial. From across the room, Angus had winked a confession of his wife’s disregard for fashion. “I have recently learned you are a very… charming man.”
He turned to keep her in his line of sight as she came in. “I am devastated you did not come to that conclusion years ago.”
She blinked, and a shiver of arousal shot through him. “I take it you have not found any Dukes.”
“No.”
From the corridor, someone tapped on the door, and then Gomes called out, “Dinner, my lord.”
Daunt raised his voice. “Come in.”
While Gomes supervised setting out their meal, Magdalene went to the shelf she’d been working on earlier and recommenced. A woman of no nonsense and action. He liked that she was tall, given that he was a tall man. An internal energy burned from her eyes and propelled her body through space with emphatic determination. She was no dainty female, and he liked that too. Because she was so slender, her features were sharp. Her face was strong and somewhat irregular. She was only sometimes handsome but was always compelling. When she was among friends, she was full of life and good humor.
By design, he’d ordered simple fare, but even simple fare from his kitchen was sublime. Soup, roast beef, a selection of cheeses, bread, two or three sweets, wine, and a decanter of cognac. As they ate, they chatted about the marginalia in a manuscript she had recently acquired.
“When we are done here,” she said, “and we have all our Dukes, you must come to Plumwood to see it.”
“I look forward to it.” He would, no matter the outcome.
Their conversation continued in that vein for a while, but when they were done and the dishes cleared away and the servants gone, rather than return to the shelves, she stayed at the table with her hands pressed down flat and her eyes on her hands. “May I ask, my lord, about Mrs. Taylor?”
She said the name as if she expected some reaction other than confusion from him. “Who?”
“Mrs. Taylor.”
“I’m afraid I don’t know her. Or don’t recall her, take your pick.”
“That is odd, Fordyce, for she seems to know you well. From London, she says.”
“We must have been introduced, then, but I’m sorry, I don’t recall her.”
“She knows about the Bibliomania Club.”
“It’s not a secret.”
She glanced up, and their eyes met. He was always taken aback by the ferocity of her gaze. “I have two lines of inquiry. Perhaps three.”
“Very well.”
“She says you frequently entertain in London.”
He straightened a cuff, then shrugged. “I do.”
“She says you are suffering from melancholy.” Her eyebrows drew together. “Are you melancholy? I wish you’d confided in me if you are.”
“Not that I am aware.” His confusion increased.
“Perhaps you do not notice. After Angus died, I did not know I remained in the grips of despair until long afterward when I saw the degrees of my mourning. I had Ned to comfort, you see. What mattered was him. Only now do I see I was not well at all, and that seems such an insidious state of affairs.”
He lifted his hands. “I am happy. In the main. I don’t believe I am in a state of despair. Unless we do not find the Dukes, then I shall be.”
She stared at him thoughtfully. “There is more to life than books.”
He smiled. “No, there isn’t.”
“I am serious, Daunt. For quite a long time after Angus died, I was despondent without realizing. Had you asked me, and I believe you did, I would have told you I was perfectly fine. I worry that you mourn your father more than you admit.”
Daunt’s amusement faded, and he reached for her hand. “Oh, Magdalene.”
“You are my friend. If it hadn’t been for you, I don’t know how I would have survived those days, and now I am worried for you. Someone who knows you well believes you are melancholy.”
“How well can she know me if I don’t recall her? But never mind that, you think I am melancholy?”
“Not I, Daunt. Though I fear I may have been inattentive.”
“You? Never. Very little escapes your notice.”
“Mrs. Taylor said you are much changed. She is worried for your happiness. She says you told her you would not attend the ball tonight.” She pressed his hands.
“I shall be there long enough to address the assembly. I’ve told dozens of people that.”
“Stay longer, Daunt. See if it doesn’t lift your spirits. I can continue the work here while you surround yourself with friends and merriment.”
“First, I do not require merriment.”
“Is that the melancholy speaking?”
“No. Second, if I attend, so ought you.”
“You know I do not care for crowds.”
He withdrew his hands from hers. Whatever this Mrs. Taylor had intended, her pronouncement of him as melancholy was pure nonsense. “Are you certain? For I tell you, you are much altered. You have been racked by grief.”
“Don’t change the subject. The topic to hand is you enjoying this evening.”
“I shall get immense joy from finding one of the Dukes.”
“Go, Daunt.” She took his hands in hers, a state of affairs of which he approved. “Attend long enough to refresh your spirits.” She waved a hand, then reclaimed his. “From this dull work.”
“The work is not dull.”
Her mouth twitched. They’d spent long evenings discussing words and when one ought to use one over another. They were comfortable together. She knew him. He did not have to explain himself to her or moderate his opinions or remember to talk less about books rather than more. They were friends, yes, but he wanted more. “Tedious, then,” she said.
“I have no desire to dance tonight.” He did not know how, or even if it was possible, to effect a change in their relationship without risking their friendship. But just now a future without the two of them as more than friends seemed bleak indeed. “Unless it’s with you.”
She took in a breath and slowly let it out. “Don’t be difficult.”
He froze. Half a dozen possibilities whirled through his head, but he discarded them all. She was a straightforward woman who would tell him outright if there was no hope. The problem, as he saw it, was that she did not at present think of him, or any other man, as a potential lover or husband. Until she did, until she’d had the opportunity to consider such a thing at all, any advance from him risked swift rejection.
“She is very beautiful.”
“Who is very beautiful? What is your point? Magdalene—” He cocked his head and lifted his hands palm out. “A moment. Have you somehow got the impression that I have some attachment to this Mrs. Taylor? A woman I cannot even recall?”
“You are a man of considerable charm and good looks.”
“Thank you.” He was Viscount Daunt now. Others were eager and even impatient to be introduced to him. Parents presented their daughters in hopes he would agree to a marriage. He declined all such suggestions. The only woman he wanted to marry was sitting before him, and she would not be convinced by arguments involving rank, wealth, or political connections. “However, I remain baffled as to the identity of this woman.”
Her cheeks turned faintly pink. “I don’t want us to quarrel.”
“We are not quarreling. But I submit to you that any man who declares his love based on a woman’s appearance alone has confused love for lust.”
She had a habit of listening intently, without expression beyond one of deep thought. That was her expression now.
He continued, rash, reckless, but frustrated that she was so eager to have him in love with someone else. “I know a great many beautiful women. She could be any of them.”
“In all the time I’ve known you, you have never spoken about women you admire. Most gentlemen of your rank and position are married by eight and twenty. Is there truly no woman you wish to marry? I think you must forgive me for assuming the answer is yes, there is.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “Do go on.”
“There is a woman whom you love, but you have not secured her because there are impediments.”
“Such as?”
“Most likely, a husband.”
“That is certainly an impediment.” He met her gaze forthrightly. “I do not poach other men’s wives, however beautiful the woman might be. I can assure you I have never been the least tempted.”
“Oh, that is a relief.” That was her way. She debated a point, conceded when necessary, and moved on. “We have now arrived at my next line of inquiry. I am pleased that you are not melancholy and that you are not enamored of Mrs. Taylor.”
“Whoever she is.”
“I believe she may be here because of the Dukes.”
Daunt cocked his head and stayed silent for several long moments. Magdalene’s instincts and intellect were superior. If she suspected Mrs. Taylor of nefarious intent, that must be taken seriously. “What facts have you in support of that statement?”
“She asked me about the Dukes and about Angus and asked if I had found De Terris Fabulosis among his effects. Ridiculous, I know. Hear me out. I have more to say. I believe it is possible she came here to disrupt your attempt to find the Dukes. She may be using the chaos of Accession Day to her advantage. I suspect she is here under false pretenses and with the express intent of stealing the Dukes.”
He picked up his cognac, served just after dinner, and took a sip. “I concur,” he said with a grim smile. “She has certainly caused mischief.”
“Either she is in love with you, or she means to steal the Dukes.”
“Not both?”
That got a smile from her. “It’s highly possible.”
He was sorry now that he’d been so flippant. She’d taken him seriously. “What do you recommend we do? Shall I close the house and send everyone home?”
“You can’t!”
A brilliant idea occurred. He turned it over in his head, looking for flaws and found none.
“What, my lord?”
“I propose that the two of us appear at the ball and see if anyone attempts to gain access to the library. If your suspicions are correct, the sooner we expose our mysterious Mrs. Taylor, the better.”