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

our librarians, and so do the books. Lydia would not have found this journal if the library hadn’t wished her to find it.”

She turned back to Lydia. “I may call you Lydia, mayn’t I? We’ve corresponded enough that I feel I know you.”

Lydia refrained from hugging the delightful lady out of fear she’d crush frail bones. “Of course. Thank you for coming all this way. Was the journey difficult?”

Leafing through the volume’s pages, Lady Abbott described the travails of her journey, completely ignoring the suited gentlemen. The men rustled their papers and attempted to speak, but they were ordinary gentlemen, unable to be rude to ladies, particularly aristocratic ones with the power to jeopardize their positions, if they wished.

Lady Agnes and Miss Merriweather joined Lady Abbott in admiring the ancient tome. Their ancient, billowing crinolines pushed the gentlemen even further from Lydia.

Lady Phoebe snatched the list of questions from the tall gentleman and carried it off to a far corner where the younger ladies gathered around her. Peals of laughter erupted as they read the questions aloud.

With her visitors reduced to embarrassed, annoyed irrelevance, Lydia concentrated on her fellow librarians. She pointed out interesting passages and a few amusing drawings in the journal. Then excusing herself, she sailed past the gaping gentlemen, signaling Zach, the footman, as she did so.

“I believe Misters Lawrence and Harrison have completed their business, if you would escort them out. After you show them the door, I’ll have tea in my office.” As if she really were owner of all she surveyed, Lydia strolled toward the corridor leading to her safe haven.

The Malcolm ladies accepted her. The library was hers. She could feel the triumph in her bones. She could hear the books in her head.

She was really and truly the Librarian.

Which meant she had to deal with whatever that dreadful din coming up the mountain represented.

Feeling so at home that he almost burst out in song, Max led the wagon train of carts and equipment up the long, winding mountain path. He had enough funds now to buy fancy horse flesh to match anything his cousins owned, but he liked old Matilda. He patted the mare reassuringly. She hadn’t been in the least fazed by the noisy oxen and mules.

Nor had she sidestepped Lord Crowley’s carriage as it had barreled toward them, bearing the two gray-suited gentlemen Max had locked in the cellar yesterday. Max grinned and waved his hat at the trio. Crowley scowled and maneuvered his high-strung steeds off the road so the wagon train could pass.

Scowling surely meant his Lydia had won the day, and Max hummed happily.

One of the engineers he’d just hired rode up to join him. He studied the enormous fort at the top of the hill with admiration. “You need to build a road up the easier slope so we can haul in rock.”

“I think you’ll find the slope is riddled with tunnels and possibly mine shafts. We’ll be bringing in engineers who know shale oil mining. They’ll dictate where it’s safe to build a road.” Reaching the castle drive, Max pulled his mount to one side and gestured for the train of carts and animals to follow the path to the stable.

The engineer stopped beside Max. “You’ve traced the tunnels?”

“Not all of them, not yet. But from my explorations, I deduce that the original Roman sewer was disguised by a newer medieval sewer, presumably to prevent invasion.” Max had studied the drawings in the journals Lydia had given him, and she’d read relevant pages to him over breakfast. He loved that woman madly. Who else would even think to feed him words with food?

“Invasion?” The engineer tilted his head back to examine the tower. “That’s disgusting. Who invades through sewers?”

“Clever enemies. Castles have fallen to such tricks. In this fort, if invaders took the obvious opening, they fell into traps. We’ll hope there are no bones down there. The Roman drain, on the other hand, allowed waste to fertilize those grounds. It didn’t provide an obvious entrance into the tower. I don’t want any mining to disturb that hillside. We have farmers who need to till it.” Max had listened when his cousins had spoken of their lands. He’d just never thought to apply those lessons until now. “So we need experts who can tell us how to mine without disturbing the fertile soil.”

Lydia appeared on the portico. She looked grand in a sweeping silver skirt and a blue bodice to match her gorgeous eyes. Her red-gold hair had been carelessly stacked and now dangled in enticing curls along her nape. Max’s heart swelled to twice its size.

“Come meet my lady,” he told the engineer. “Just be wary of her friends. They’re a conniving lot.”

“And your wife isn’t?” the engineer asked skeptically.

“My wife will tell you bluntly to your face whatever she wishes you to know. Just don’t argue with her. She is a font of wisdom and you’ll lose.” Max happily steered his mount up the drive.

Bakari and Richard came running from the direction of the garden gate. They studied the caravan of equipment and animals in awe, then finally spotted Max.

He winced as they shouted and raced over to him in concern. Lydia was already rushing down the stairs. Here was the hard part of learning to live in civilization—dealing with family.

“Your arm,” Lydia cried as she approached. “What has happened to your arm?”

The engineer wisely rode off as Max awkwardly swung down from the saddle, trying not to wince in the process.

“I’m fine. I’m more than fine. Admire the gifts I have brought.” He gestured in satisfaction at an entire camp of men who knew how to build and mine, the kind of men he’d spent the better part of his life with. “They will fix the tower, determine if we’ll be rich with oil, and perhaps even build us a better road for your visitors.”

Lydia flung herself against him, hugging his waist in a gratifying manner, while avoiding the bandaged arm