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

paper in his pocket and pushed back his chair. “I really want to kiss you right now but realize it’s inappropriate.”

He flashed a wide white grin that left Lydia stunned and unable to speak as he ambled out, trailing his son.

How was she supposed to even think after that declaration?

Eleven

“The service was perfect, Miss Wystan.” Blond and compactly rounded, Mrs. Olivia Blair, formerly Lady Hargreaves, almost made Lydia feel like a towering giant.

Except Lady Phoebe stood between them. A beanpole with a high stack of chestnut tresses, the lady never seemed uncomfortable with her height. “The heather was a lovely touch. I’m amazed the stained glass has held up so well all these years. I had never thought about how old this place must be.”

It was on the tip of Lydia’s tongue to discuss what Max had told her about the tower, but then she’d have to reveal how she knew, and it all became too complicated. She settled for social niceties instead. “I didn’t expect your aunts to send you in their place. They are always so interested in the library.”

Lady Phoebe waved a dismissive hand. “Aunt Agnes is certain that Max will arrive any day, and she wants to be home when he does. She said it’s time for the younger generation to step up now that we’re all marrying.”

“It’s so sad to see her disillusioned,” Lady Dare added. Newly married to Viscount Dare, who had just come into his title, the viscountess was a dark-haired beauty from India—about the same height as Olivia.

Lydia hadn’t met her before. But Azmin, as she was known, had brought her photographic equipment and had been memorializing the occasion. Lydia pondered whether the future library should contain photograph albums.

Phoebe sipped her tea and shook her head. “No, Lady Agnes will be proved correct. Mr. Morgan has sent letters all over the world, to every place Max has ever worked. One of them will reach him.”

“Unless he’s dead,” Olivia pointed out.

They all seemed to wait for Lydia to respond. She tugged the lacy black mantle tighter and steeled herself. She loved talking to other Malcolms. It was wonderful having guests to ease the sorrow of Mr. C’s passing. But she had to be the official Malcolm Librarian and say nothing. No wonder Mr. C had given up entertaining.

She simply couldn’t label herself with that fraudulent title and had to reply from his perspective. “Mr. C kept anything he knew in confidence, and you know your cousin won’t write journals. I can tell you nothing.” Which was completely the truth.

“It’s always good to know our confidences are being kept,” Olivia acknowledged. “I’m thoroughly relieved you are here to step into the position. The twins are reaching an age where they’ll want to know more about their abilities. I’ll need a guidebook on how to keep them from shocking the neighbors.”

The discussion evolved into the rest of the family and their various abnormal gifts, and Lydia drifted away to greet the neighbors and encourage them to enjoy the buffet.

The guilt of knowing she could ease Lady Agnes’s mind ate at her. Should the lady ask her directly about Max—Lydia didn’t think she could lie. It was a relief knowing Max’s mother had stayed home.

She watched Lady Dare and Mrs. Blair wander off to explore and prayed Max had figured out how to lock the tower door.

Sitting in the tower window seat overlooking the castle drive, Max watched his family ride off to the train station early the next morning. From this distance, he didn’t think he could identify any of them except Lady Phoebe. She’d only been about ten when he’d left home that last time, but she’d been a beanpole with a head full of hair even then. She’d been too young to be involved in any of the catfights surrounding him.

Lydia had explained who the others were last night, after everyone had retired. He supposed he vaguely remembered the brown-skinned, scrawny child Azmin had been in some of the family summer gatherings, but she hadn’t lived in Edinburgh as Phoebe had, so his memory wasn’t strong. And Olivia had apparently wandered with her parents throughout England most of her life, so he didn’t know her at all.

He was just thoroughly relieved that his mother and aunt hadn’t chosen to attend the funeral.

Since he’d spent the better—or worst—part of his youth in boarding school, he didn’t know any of his family well and hadn’t particularly missed them. But he was curious about them.

He’d love to meet his eldest son someday too, although the boy would probably try to lay him flat for being absent all his life.

He set Bakari to work adding sums after the boy had proved he already knew his numbers and letters. So far, he hadn’t persuaded the boy to take a suitable nickname, but Max was growing accustomed to the foreign one. He still worried about the boy attending school, but at least he didn’t show any tendency to Max’s disability.

Working on sketches of what he’d learned of the tower’s construction, Max waited for Lydia to let him know the house was clear of guests.

After the last cart had been gone half an hour or so, he heard footsteps on the outer stairs. Lloyd had delivered breakfast earlier, but Max was ready for a mug of tea and company. He wasn’t much used to isolation. He eagerly opened the door before anyone could knock.

Lydia looked a little startled and a trace frazzled, but she beamed in relief. “You’re here. Good. There’s been a telegram from Mr. Morgan and one from the solicitors. I am to present myself to their offices as soon as possible. I had hoped that they might come here.” She frowned worriedly as she handed over his telegram, then realized what she was doing and took it back.

Max waited as she unfolded his message. His mind was already ticking though. He couldn’t let Lydia face a cadre of dour solicitors who would disdain a woman