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

and hastily buttoning. “I’d better shore up that wall until the bricks arrive. I’d hoped to explore the underground foundation more.”

“Do I need to find out if it was built on the bones of saints or dragons?” Lydia asked sleepily, admiring muscled buttocks and lamenting when he covered them. She had never known she was a wanton.

“I doubt you’ll find thousand-year-old journals to tell you. But you might want to peek at the oldest books, just in case.” He leaned over and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I love you. I need to practice saying that.”

“You need to practice feeling that,” she said dryly, pulling the covers over her breasts. “I am told that lust and love are not the same.”

“That is why I love you,” he crowed. “You are a sensible woman.”

He dashed out. She could hear him running up the stairs to his room. Lydia would like to hear him explain his state of undress to Lloyd.

She’d like to explain to herself why she had just agreed to share her life with a man who would forget her as soon as he sailed away.

She supposed, in a way, it made sense. While all was confusion and travail, she could pretend she was the Malcolm Librarian, and Max could pretend he was the marrying kind. For this moment in time, they could support each other’s fantasies. She would treasure this bliss she had never expected to know when the time came to part.

She bathed in the guest bath, wondering if she was eroding the foundation as she did so. She dressed in her plainest gown, prepared to tackle her chores and not reveal her new status as fallen woman. Besides the chafing between her legs, she didn’t feel fallen. She felt as if she glowed inside and the whole world would notice.

Richard was at the breakfast table alone when Lydia entered. That shook her a little. She’d have to learn to live with Max’s sons. Plural. She’d never even had a brother.

“Good morning, sir. Shall I call you Master Richard or just Richard?” she asked as she filled her plate.

“My mother just calls me Dick,” he said, somewhat diffidently. “But I prefer Richard. Lady Agnes says you are to be my stepmother.”

Lydia refrained from rolling her eyes and declaring the lady an interfering witch. Everyone who knew Lady Agnes knew that anyway. “We will see about that, but if you prefer Richard, then Richard it shall be. Where is Lady Agnes this morning?”

“Writing letters. She writes lots of letters. She brought her own paper with her. It has gold cherubs in the corner. She used to send me letters when I was at school.” Richard dug into his stacked plate of oatcakes and sausages.

“That was kind of her. I believe knowing she has a bright grandson like you has made her very happy.” While Max had made her very unhappy. Lydia didn’t see the need to mention that.

She carried her plate to the seat across from him. She had some understanding of why Mr. C had preferred eating in his tower. One never knew who would be at the table, and conversing with strangers was difficult. But this was Max’s son. She was Max’s wife, almost. She needed to remember how one behaved around family. It had been years since she’d seen hers.

The boy shrugged and lapsed into silence after his brief burst of speech.

“Have you met Bakari yet?” she asked, not knowing what webs Lady Agnes had been weaving.

Richard nodded. “He’s not British.”

“Your father is British. Bakari’s mother is Egyptian, which is a nationality even older than ours. So Bakari is the best of two fascinating countries. Admittedly, that might make it difficult for him in school since some people are not as worldly as your father.” Lydia tried to sound as if she were worldly too, but mostly, she read a lot.

Richard frowned a little as if he were considering this. “He’s small. He’ll be bullied.”

“I’m afraid so. I am hoping we may find him a tutor until he’s a little stronger. He must be very excited to have a big brother.” My word, the responsibilities for this family kept growing. Would she be able to manage?

Especially if she got booted from the castle.

The boy nodded uncertainly. “I suppose. I wanted brothers, but he’s pretty young. Are you really marrying my father?”

Lady Agnes shouldn’t be raising the hopes of young boys on the basis of prescience. But after last night. . . she and Max were for all intents and purposes, married.

“It does appear so,” Lydia admitted, not feeling as if the possibility were real quite yet. She’d only met the man. But she’d known him for years through his correspondence. She knew how Max’s mind worked, even if she often disapproved of its workings. But now she had a tiny glimpse of why he was the way he was. “Will that matter to you since you’ve just met him?”

Richard shook his head. “I’m going to university. I don’t need parents.”

Lydia wanted to laugh at that. “You sound like your father. Whether you need us or not, we still walk this world and would appreciate being acknowledged upon occasion. Although I understand why you would consider me insignificant. Still, everyone needs a home. This one will always be open to you. I shall try to be helpful and not too parental.”

He finished chewing his toast, then pushed aside his plate, obviously eager to be off. “Do you think I might see what my father is working on?”

“You have full run of the place, just as he has. But you might want to listen to his cautions. Some of the walls appear to be in a precarious state.”

Richard flashed a slight grin just like his father’s. “I believe I noticed. Thank you, ma’am.” He ran off.

Well, this past week had certainly been eventful. Now, if only she could learn how to make the books speak to her. . . She’d ask for information on marriage.

Under the tower, Max hammered a