Chapter 1
November 1816
It was moving day for the members of the Ladies' Library
in Soho Square. Their lease had run out, and one of their
staunchest supporters, Lady Mary Gerrard, had offered her
mansion in the Strand. The house was buzzing as an army of
ladies and their helpers set to work to transform their
new quarters, room by room, from a palatial residence to a
library with lecture rooms, reading rooms, and a bright
and airy tearoom.
Caspar Devere, Lord Castleton, better known to his friends
as Case, stood just inside the marble entrance hall,
taking it all in. He was a harshly handsome man,
thirtyish, well above average height, with dark hair and
gray, gray eyes that, for the moment, were distinctly
amused.
He left his hat and gloves on a hall table and wandered
into the main salon. Some of the men who were helping the
ladies were known to him, and that made him smile. Not
many gentlemen wanted it known that their wives or sisters
were members here.
As the Viscount Latham passed close by carrying a chair,
Case called out, "Freddie, where can I find Lady Octavia?"
On seeing the earl, Latham registered surprise, quickly
followed by amusement. In a stage whisper, he replied, "I
won't tell anyone I saw you here, Case, if you don't tell
anyone about me." Then in a normal voice, "Try next door.
That's where she has set up her headquarters."
Case wandered into another salon, and there she was, the
library's founder and driving force, Lady Octavia Burrel.
Dressed all in white in something that closely resembled a
toga, with matching turban, she directed her small army as
they came to her for theirorders. Though there was much
coming and going, there was very little confusion.
Case was not here to help but for information, and when
the crush around Lady Octavia thinned, he quickly crossed
to her. He was sure of his welcome because he'd known her
for as long as he could remember. She and his great-aunt
were close friends.
When she saw him, her chubby face lit up with
pleasure. "Lord Castleton," she said. "This is a surprise!
I had no idea you were interested in our cause."
As Case well knew, there was a lot more to the Ladies'
Library than its innocent name implied. The cause to which
Lady Octavia referred was to improve the lot of women by
changing the antiquated marriage and property laws of
England. It was also involved, so rumor went, in helping
runaway wives evade their husbands. In some circles, Lady
Octavia and her volunteers were seen as subversives. In
the clubs he attended, they were frequently the butt of
masculine laughter. But there were others who sup-ported
the aims of Lady Octavia and her League of Ladies. His
aunt was one of them. He had never given the matter much
thought.
"I suppose," said Lady Octavia, "I have your aunt to thank
for sending you to help us?"
He avoided a direct answer. "I left her in Soho Square,
directing things there. I'm looking for Miss Mayberry. My
aunt told me she might be here."
"She's in the pantry. Turn left and take the green baize
door at the end of the hall."
As Case walked away, Lady Octavia's gaze trailed him. He
was easy to look upon, she reflected, this young man who
appeared to have everything. As heir to his father, the
Duke of Romsey, wealth, privilege, and position were
already his, and it showed, not in arrogance exactly, but
in something close to it. But it wasn't unattractive, just
the opposite, especially to women. And now that he'd
turned thirty and had finally taken up the courtesy title
of earl, as befitted a duke's heir, he was even more
attractive to women.
There wasn't the woman born, his aunt had told her, who
could resist Caspar, more's the pity. It would do him the
world of good to taste rejection. Lady Octavia wondered
how Lord Castleton had come to meet Jane Mayberry. Jane
didn't go into society much. When she was in town, she
went to lectures and concerts and the opera, especially
the opera. Jane was very fond of music. Maybe that was
where she had met the earl.
She frowned when another thought occurred to her. Lord
Castleton and his volatile mistress, La Contessa, had
recently parted company.
She dithered, debating with herself whether she should go
after him, to chaperon Jane, when Mrs. Bradley came up and
said that she was wanted in the old earl's library.
This request cleared Lady Octavia's brain. She was letting
her imagination run away with her. The poor man was just
trying to help.
He found her in the first room past the green baize door.
She hadn't heard him enter, so he took a moment to study
her. She was perched on a chair, on tiptoe, fiddling with
crockery on the top shelf of a cupboard. The first thing
he noticed were a pair of nicely turned ankles.
Unfortunately, they were encased in blue woolen stockings.
He should have guessed. He'd made a few inquiries about
Jane Mayberry and had learned, among other things, that
she was a very clever young woman. Clever women, Lady
Octavia and his Aunt Sophy among them, wore blue stockings
as a badge of honor, a kind of declaration that their
minds were set on higher things. Bluestocking was a
derogatory term that had been coined to describe such
women, and they wore that like a badge of honor, too.
Her fine woolen gown was a muddy green, "olive" his
mistress would have called it, but it was not a color he
particularly liked. All the same, it suited the honey-gold
hair streaked blond by the sun. The gown was well cut and
revealed a slender waist and the long, graceful line of
her spine.
He coughed to warn her of his presence, then shifted his
gaze when a tawny, bristling mass rose from the floor and
positioned itself in front of him with bared fangs.
As she turned from the cupboard, Case said softly, "Call
off your dog or I shall be forced to shoot it."
"If you do," she said coolly, "it will be the last thing
you do." Then to the dog, "Lance, down."
The dog, of indeterminate pedigree with perhaps a touch of
wolf thrown in--and that didn't seem right to Case because
there hadn't been wolves in England for three hundred
years--sank to the floor and rested its jowls on its
immense paws. Its gaze never wavered from Case.
"He doesn't like men," said Miss Mayberry, step-ping down
from her chair. "Lady Octavia should have warned you. I'm
Jane Mayberry, by the way."
It sounded as if Jane Mayberry didn't like men either--a
pity, because he found her direct manner and unfaltering
stare oddly appealing. She wasn't beautiful but she was
anything but plain. She had a strong face, with straight
dark brows and large, intelligent brown eyes.
"I'm Castleton," he said. He would have bowed, except that
Miss Mayberry turned away without bothering to curtsy.
"Yes, I recognized you," she said. "You're tall, that's
what matters. At least you won't have to teeter on the
chair."
She had the kind of voice a man could listen to day in,
day out, and long into the night. But he'd ruffled her
feathers by threatening her dog. If he wanted information,
he'd have to tread carefully now.
"You recognized me? Have we met?"
"No. But Viscount Latham almost introduced us once, at the
opera. You were late for an appointment, and rushed away."
Another black mark against him, he supposed. He had no
recollection of her at all, but then, he wouldn't if she
was dressed as she was now. His taste ran to something
more flamboyant.
He took the stack of plates she offered him and set them
on the top shelf. When he turned back to her, she had
another stack waiting for him. He gave her the smile that
never failed to make a lady's heart beat just a little
faster. He spoke to put her at her ease, but he was
interested in how she would answer all the same.
"How did you come to be involved with Lady Octavia's
library? I mean, you're not married. You can't have an
interest in changing the marriage and property laws of
England."
"Your aunt isn't married either," she said. "Why don't you
ask her?"
"So you know my aunt?"
"Everyone at the library knows Lady Sophy. She's a dear.
Would you mind?" She shoved the stack of plates into his
arms. "You can talk and work at the same time."
Case took the plates and turned away to hide a smile. This
was a new experience for him--being ordered about by a
young, unmarried woman. Young women usually tried to flirt
with him, or fawned over him. He could be charming, but he
could be cruel when he wanted to be, as any overambitious
young woman who had marriage on her mind could testify.
Obviously, this wasn't going to be a problem with Miss
Mayberry.
He said, "Lady Octavia is my aunt's closest friend. That's
how she became converted to the cause. And you?"
She could avoid questions as well as he. "Last stack," she
said, "then we can start polishing the silver."
He was taken aback. "I can't believe the silver in Lady
Mary's house is tarnished. She wouldn't allow it."
"Then it won't take us long, will it?"
When she opened a drawer and began to assemble her
materials, he decided it was time to come to the
point. "Miss Mayberry," he said, "I didn't come here to
help you move into your new quarters. There's something I
want to ask you."
The change in her was almost imperceptible. He might have
dismissed it as a quirk of his imagination if her dog had
not lifted its head and whined low in its throat, as
though uneasy with some implied threat to its mistress.
She said, "Lady Octavia didn't send you to help me?"
He smiled. "That was a misunderstanding. I don't mind
stacking dishes, but I'm hopeless with silver."
When the dog made a movement to rise, she pointed to the
floor, and it sank back again. She's afraid, thought
Caspar, amazed. What on earth have I said to frighten her?
Not that he could tell by looking at her that anything was
wrong. It was the dog that was on edge.
She pushed back a stray tendril of hair. "This is the
wrong time to ask me questions, Lord Castleton. As you
see, some of us are busy. Why don't you come back later?
Thank you for stacking the dishes. Now, if you'll excuse
me, I have a silver paste to make."
He didn't know whether to be amused or annoyed. He wasn't
in the habit of being dismissed like this. "One question,
Miss Mayberry, then I'll leave you to your--ah--labors.
Where can I find Letitia Gray?"
Her back was to him and he could see the tension across
her shoulder blades gradually relax. "Letty?" she said,
turning to face him. "You came here to ask me about Letty?"
He nodded. "I was told that you and she were friends."
"Who told you?"
"Does it matter? All I want from you is Mrs. Gray's
direction."
She stared at him reflectively for a long interval. "What
do you want with Mrs. Gray?" she asked finally.
"That's between Mrs. Gray and me."
He saw at once it was the wrong thing to say. Before he
could soften his answer, she said, as abrupt as he, "I'm
sorry I can't help you."
"You can't help me or you won't?"
"I won't help you."
Now his patience was wafer thin. "Do you mind telling me
why?"
"Because it's against the library's rules. What I can do
is ask Mrs. Gray if she wants to see you, or you can write
a letter and I'll see that she gets it."
"That could take days! If it's character references you
want, ask Lady Octavia or my aunt. They'll vouch for me."
"They'd give you the same answer as I. It's against the
library's policy to tell strangers where members live."
"I'm not a stranger!"
"You are to my friend."
"How do you know?"
Her brows rose fractionally. "Because she would have told
me, of course. Your name has been in all the newspapers.
Your brother-in-law is Col. Richard Maitland, the head of
Special Branch, isn't he? You and he brought a murderer to
justice. The papers called you a hero."
"An exaggeration!" he declared.
Her lashes lowered, veiling her expression. "I don't doubt
it, but I'm sure my friend would have told me if she'd met
the hero of the Maitland affair."
He didn't know how to take her. Was she poking fun at him
or was she serious? Both, he decided and grinned.
"You're right. I don't know Mrs. Gray, but I know her
brother, Gideon Piers."
"You know him? That's odd. Gideon died in Spain a long
time ago."
"I mean I knew him. We served together in Spain." He
realized that his voice had developed an edge and he made
a considerable effort to soften it. "This really is
urgent, Miss Mayberry, or I wouldn't be badgering you like
this."
She seemed to soften a little as well. At any rate, in
spite of the rising temperature of their conversation, her
dog seemed satisfied that nothing was wrong. Its head was
resting on its paws again, and its alert eyes were
shifting from Miss Mayberry to him, as if it were a
spectator at some play in Drury Lane.
"And I don't mean to be difficult," she said. "I'll tell
you what I will do, though. If you write a letter right
now, I'll see that it's hand delivered, and that I have a
reply, oh, shall we say by four o'clock? That's only a few
hours away. Surely you can wait that long?"
Stubborn was too mild a word to describe Miss Jane
Mayberry, but at least she was gracious with it. She'd
learn soon enough that he could be just as stubborn.
"Thank you," he said. "I can't ask for more than that.
Now, where can I find pen and paper?"
"Ask Lady Octavia. She knows where everything is." He was
almost through the door when she stopped him by saying his
name.
"You didn't answer my question," she said. "Who told you
that I was Mrs. Gray's friend?"
"I remembered that Piers had a sister who was a teacher at
St. Bede's Charity School. I went there yesterday and met
the woman in charge." This was the shortened version of
events and he saw no reason to enlarge on it. "Miss
Hepburn--that was her name. She said that when Miss Piers
married and moved away, that was the last they saw of her.
But you continued to visit the school from time to time."
He grinned. "I got the impression that you were the apple
of Miss Hepburn's eye. She told me that any letter
addressed to the Ladies' Library would reach you."
Copyright© 2003 by Elizabeth Thornton