The Librarian's Spell by Patricia Rice (ebook offline reader TXT) 📗

had never dressed for guests, but she sort of wanted to look like she’d tried. At least everything she owned was already dark so she needn’t worry about buying mourning. With a sigh, she added her bit of lace and rummaged in a drawer for her father’s gold watch. Perhaps she could wear it as she had the keys. It was gold anyway—almost like jewelry.

And then she worried that lace and gold weren’t appropriate for mourning. . .

Rolling her eyes at herself, Lydia brushed out her hair, curled it into a chignon, and fastened it tightly. Her hair had a mind of its own and bits and frazzles would eventually pop out all around her face, but at least she could start out neat. She pinched her cheeks, bit her lips, took a deep breath to be certain her buttons would hold, then marched down the stairs to the dining room.

Except everyone had gathered in the small parlor, and she stopped there instead.

“I’m sorry the drawing room isn’t quite ready,” she said, uncertain why everyone was here. “Did you find your rooms satisfactory?”

“You’re not a hotelier, Lydia,” Max said. “You’re the Malcolm Librarian. Let your housekeeper tend us. She and Mr. Folkston have been very helpful.”

“A librarian can be a hostess,” she corrected defensively. “Did your trunks arrive? Are you and Bakari settled in? I had a talk with Lloyd—”

“Yes, he told me. He’s with the boy now. And yes, our trunks arrived, thank you. I simply have to decide whether to work on the tower or go into the city and fight for my money.” The usually affable Mr. Ives almost snarled that speech. He took her hand and placed it on his arm. “Let us go to dinner before I start gnawing on the furniture.”

Lydia sent a helpless glance to Mr. Morgan and Miss Trivedi. They set down their half-empty glasses. Mr. Morgan wordlessly took his companion’s arm, but Miss Trivedi gave Lydia a sympathetic look and smiled.

“The warriors are arguing over battle plans,” she explained. “It makes them disagreeable.”

Did she even wish to ask what battle?

“I showed the boy the stairs up to the tower,” Max told his hostess as they strolled toward the dining room. “He’s thrilled with every part of this fortress. We’ll probably never see him again. Lloyd can’t possibly keep up with him.”

Max was actually pretty proud of the boy. People apparently terrified his son, but exploring castles was a fun game.

“Up until this past year, the place has been well maintained. I don’t think any part is truly dangerous.” Lydia hesitated in the formal dining room where plates were laid out. “And it’s usually easy to find the great hall and the way back to the tower. He should be fine.”

Max could think of a dozen ways a boy could find trouble without getting lost, but he refrained from mentioning them. He shouldn’t be taking his ill humor out on a woman who was trying to help.

“A round table, just like King Arthur’s court!” Approving of this setting, Max pulled out a chair for Lydia against the back wall so she could watch the door, then appropriated the seat beside her. If maids were to be leaning over his shoulder. . . He wanted Lydia as shield.

Morgan set Miss Trivedi in the next chair and took the one beside her. The table was fairly large, but the plates had all been set on one side. Max wiggled uneasily at having a woman he didn’t know this close, but Miss Trivedi didn’t seem to notice.

Huh. Did that prove his theory that she was loyal to Morgan?—an interesting new angle to his preposterous gift. Could he detect which women were inclined to wander?

“Do we dispense justice like King Arthur’s court?” Morgan asked, indicating the round table. “Or do we need more knights?”

“More ladies,” Miss Trivedi said demurely, settling her napkin in her lap. “That’s the problem with all governments, they’re male. They only ever have one thought in their heads at a time and cannot perceive the ramifications of their decisions with any clarity.”

“It’s easier to make decisions if we don’t have to consult a thousand different opinions,” Max argued, using his own predicament as an example. “If we all agree someone is a usurper, we simply decide on how to remove him. We don’t care if his family suffers for it. That would stand in the way of decision-making.”

Lydia sat silent, pushing her soup around with her spoon.

“Both your uncle and your cousin have families,” Morgan pointed out the obvious. “If you have them jailed for fraud and take away all their assets, their families will suffer. And some of the assets may rightfully be theirs.”

Max couldn’t see Lydia’s expression, but he was pretty certain she was frowning, albeit still silently. The librarian didn’t like to express her opinions without a great deal of thought, it seemed.

“I will benevolently grant the families of my usurpers an allowance, as they have my mother.” Max was still furious and not ready to be rational.

“Do not most men of finance, particularly avaricious ones, keep books that show how much they have earned?” Lydia finally spoke, albeit slowly. “Would that not be a starting place in dividing what belongs to whom?”

“It won’t matter much if Max doesn’t stand up in court and accuse them,” Morgan said grumpily.

“And once investments are sold and the funds intermingled, it’s not quite that easy,” Miss Trivedi added. “But yes, there is probably a foundation that both families started with. And profits could be divided to some degree by applying a percentage based on what each family contributed. It would not necessarily be a fair division, only a means to start a conversation.”

“I’ll just cut off their heads and leave others to work out the money.” Max tucked into his excellent lamb broth. “If I have to expose myself to the city again, I want them to pay. I counted on those bastards to take care of my mother and my inheritance!”

“I do not understand