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

designer. Lydia touched it to be certain the confection stayed in place.

“Are you sure I shouldn’t be wearing black?” she asked, probably for the thousandth time. Lydia was a wee bit dubious about Lady Phoebe’s fashion advice since the eccentric lady tended to wear split skirts, battered straw hats, and ride penny-farthings, but she was the only aristocrat Lydia knew to ask.

“Mr. Cadwallader was not your immediate family. Lavender is perfectly suitable half-mourning. You need to look like our librarian and not a vicar’s daughter.” Phoebe led the way up stairs set in between two storefronts.

Lydia rather wanted to protest that she was a vicar’s daughter, but that was not conducive to carrying out Mr. C’s wishes. He had wanted her to take care of his castle for a reason. She was hoping Phoebe’s aunts might enlighten her as to why he had chosen her, which was the whole point of this shopping spree to look like a proper Malcolm Librarian.

She was also hoping Max would be here, crowing of his courtroom success. If he wasn’t. . . she simply couldn’t lie to a despairing mother. She anxiously clasped her gloved hands and prayed.

The door at the top of the stairs was opened by a blond, blue-eyed adolescent nearly bouncing in excitement. “Lady Agnes told us you were coming. Welcome, our librarian!” She bobbed a curtsy.

Wondering if anyone had curtsied for Mr. C, Lydia had no idea how to respond. Did she curtsy back? If the girls were lying in wait for her, then that must mean Max hadn’t arrived yet, or they’d all be surrounding him.

Phoebe tugged Lydia’s arm, forcing her inside the foyer. “Celia, I’d advise you to gather up all the giggling girls hiding behind you and return to your studies. Miss Wystan may wish to visit with you later, but we need to speak with my aunts first. Off with you, now.”

Giggles and flurries of skirts and petticoats followed as a gaggle of students ran out of hiding places and up the stairs. Lydia thought of Max walking through those front doors and almost turned around to stand guard on the doorstep.

Phoebe tugged harder, pulling her toward the parlor on the right. “You can’t flee now. I can’t take the Malcolm Librarian into my home without introducing you to the ladies. They would scalp me.”

“I’ve already met them,” Lydia whispered in weak protest.

“Not as our librarian. They need to be confident that you can handle the library or it will make them quite anxious.”

And undermine her position, Lydia understood. She had to play her part.

Of course, if Max walked through that door, the ladies would forget her existence. Lydia took some comfort in that, although she was disappointed that he wasn’t here.

Her new bustle wiggled as she walked. She wasn’t entirely certain why she wanted her bottom to look any bigger than it already was, but the dressmaker had insisted it had to do with the gown’s draping. And the lace-trimmed silk draping was very fine, finer than anything she’d ever owned. The skirt itself rather restricted her ability to stride quickly. She wouldn’t be crossing any fields in a gown like this—but then, ladies did not stride fields.

The parlor she entered was even shabbier than it had been six years ago when she’d arrived at the school’s doorstep. Crocheted doilies and woven shawls obscured fading upholstery and battered, ancient tables. Amid the clutter of books and ornaments sat two gray-haired ladies in all their old-fashioned crinolines and bows.

“Miss Wystan, how lovely to see you again,” the shorter, plumper one cried. “Sit down, sit down. Phoebe, ring for tea, please.”

“I just sent the girls scattering, Aunt Agnes.” Phoebe bent to kiss powdery cheeks. “I’ll fetch the tea myself.”

Lydia bobbed a small curtsy. “It is a pleasure to be here, my ladies. I hope my visit isn’t disturbing your day.”

“Nonsense, girl. Sit down.” Dyed black hair fading to iron gray, the taller, stouter lady patted the sofa cushion beside her. “Have a seat. Phoebe was quite right to bring you here. We are so sad to hear of Mr. Cadwallader’s passing. He was with us for a good long time. A very helpful man.”

Lydia cautiously took the seat offered, hoping the aging furniture wouldn’t collapse under their combined weights. Lady Gertrude was not a small woman. “Mr. Cadwallader was a brilliant librarian. He taught me a great deal. Do you recall why he was chosen? Isn’t it unusual to have a male librarian?”

“Indeed, it is.” Lady Agnes beamed as if she had chosen the perfect topic. “For centuries, Malcolms only had girls, so only women were librarians. The stacks were much smaller then, of course.”

“And then Ninian Malcolm married the Earl of Ives over a century ago, and our world changed.” Lady Gertrude polished her pince nez. “We finally have sons, even if they are ungrateful adventurers like dear Max. Mr. Cadwallader proved his ability, so we accepted that the son of a Malcolm Librarian might take her place.”

Even Mr. C had to prove his ability? How? She didn’t dare ask.

Lydia smiled weakly and was relieved when Phoebe hurried in with the tea tray.

They had worked their way through the teacakes and the ladies were questioning uncomfortably close to Lydia’s weaknesses when the girls upstairs emitted a shriek and raced down.

“It’s summer,” Lady Agnes said apologetically. “Their classes are done early and they are excessively bored.”

Knowing Max had meant to call on his mother once he was done at court, Lydia gnawed worriedly at her bottom lip. Unable to explain, she rose briskly and entered the foyer just as the girls flung open the door and squealed some more.

On the other side of the entry stood Max looking shell-shocked at the wave of femininity pouring toward him. He raised his eyes, saw Lydia, and shock turned to panic.

Wordlessly, he slapped his hat back on and fled down the stairs. Before the girls could follow, Lydia slammed the door and blocked it with her body to cover the sound of