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

testify because they’re not objective, I’d need my Ives relations, and they’re all in the south of England as far as I’m aware. Dare is the only one close. He really isn’t an Ives, just a relation by marriage, and if we ever crossed paths, I don’t recall it. My cousin George knows me, best, damn it.”

Estes, the portly barrister Hugh Morgan had hired, crossed his hands complacently over his belly. “Then we’ll present Mr. Morgan’s evidence that funds have been misappropriated, demand the investments be held by the court until you can produce witnesses, and threaten the miscreants with criminal action for fraud and theft. They’ll either have to admit that you are who you say you are or fight a long legal battle to regain control of their monies.”

“There’s enough evidence in those files?” Max asked. Morgan had explained the papers to him, but paper was just that to him—expendable fuel for fires.

“The judge won’t understand them,” the barrister said dismissively. “I have documents prepared that simply need his signature to freeze the funds. That means you can’t access them either, but it’s a delaying tactic. We need to be going.” Using the chair arms, Estes hauled himself up.

“What about Lydia?” Max inquired anxiously.

The librarian had been sitting quietly in a dark corner, listening. She had to be going mad with worry about her own problems, but she sat patiently through this meeting, absorbing it all, reading any document he handed to her so he knew he could trust what he was being told.

“Estes is a barrister,” Morgan reminded him. “Miss Wystan needs a solicitor. The meeting with the judge has been scheduled, so that takes precedence.” He turned to Lydia. “Miss Wystan, would you be comfortable speaking with the trust’s solicitors with Miss Trivedi in your company? If not, then do you think the meeting might wait until we find a suitable attorney to accompany you?”

Max wanted to crawl under a desk at her look of panic. He needed to be there for her.

But the truth was, his aid was rubbish. The whole reason he’d left the estate to his uncle and cousin was because he was useless in these matters and only made himself look like a fool. Lydia didn’t need a fool to accompany her.

He needed to hug her, to tell her everything would be all right, that he would sue the trustees into perdition the instant he had his hands on his money. . . But that did not help her now.

He felt like a total cad when he saw her accept that he could not help. This was the reason he could never be the man his father had been. He was only useful in uncivilized areas that needed his crude abilities.

Lydia clenched her fingers in her lap and nodded at Morgan. “I would appreciate Miss Trivedi’s accompaniment, thank you, although I dislike taking her away from her tasks.”

Hugh Morgan almost managed a smile. “Miss Trivedi lives to take apart presumptuous gentlemen. Let us all hope your trustees are reasonable men or they’re likely to be left in shreds on the carpet.”

“Thank you, I think.” Lydia tentatively returned his smile. “Where will I find her?”

“She works here most afternoons, in the office next door. I warned her that you might need her help, so she is ready any time you are.”

Max stood up when Lydia did. He took her hand as she passed. “If it doesn’t go well today, we’ll have alternatives. Just remember—you are the Malcolm Librarian. It’s like being a duke, I think. Think of yourself as a duke and the lawyers as ignorant peasants. You can do it.”

Her bottom lip trembled slightly, until she bit it, squeezed his hand, and nearly broke his heart with her courage. “A duke, thank you. Or a duchess. I think I’d like being a duchess. I’ll see what I can do.”

She bravely left, leaving Max no choice but to grit his teeth and do the same. He tapped on his hat and held the door for the portly barrister. “Thanks, Morgan, and if I ever pry those funds loose, you’ll be the one I turn to for investing. You’ll be worth every farthing of your commission.”

The taciturn broker saluted with a finger to his brow and returned to work.

Max swallowed hard and set off to make an ass of himself. After which, he’d have to visit his mother. He wasn’t sure which was worse.

“It is best if you present yourself as a person of authority,” Keya Trivedi told Lydia as they entered a building not far from Mr. Morgan’s, off elegant Prince’s Street in the new part of town. The area was exceedingly respectable, and there were lovely shops nearby that Lydia wished to peruse.

She had never been a person of authority. Shopping and reading she understood, not managing. How did one handle the responsibility of an entire estate, especially when one was only pretending to be what she was not?

Mr. C had wielded a great deal of authority in his own quiet, hermit-like way. His journal had said he’d left her in charge. He must have had confidence in her, confidence she didn’t feel. Max had said she must be a duchess, however unqualified she might be. People more experienced in the world relied on her. She had to listen.

“Do I pretend you’re my servant?” Lydia asked doubtfully. “When you know everything and I know nothing?”

Keya flashed a brief, mischievous smile. “Let them think me a servant. Surprise can be advantageous. Of course, if they are broad-minded men willing to listen to a small, brown female, then we’ve lost the element of surprise, but we will still be far ahead. Just think of this as an informational meeting.”

“Informational, right.” Lydia straightened her rather broad shoulders, adjusted the lace mantle she wore for luck, and tried not to be intimidated by the soaring ceilings, gilded walls, and marble floors of the foyer they traversed. She started up the stairs. “I am a duchess, and you