“The service was perfect, Miss Wystan.” Blond and compactly rounded, Mrs. Olivia Blair, formerly Lady Hargreaves, almost made Lydia feel like a towering giant.
Except Lady Phoebe stood between them. A beanpole with a high stack of chestnut tresses, the lady never seemed uncomfortable with her height. “The heather was a lovely touch. I’m amazed the stained glass has held up so well all these years. I had never thought about how old this place must be.”
It was on the tip of Lydia’s tongue to discuss what Max had told her about the tower, but then she’d have to reveal how she knew, and it all became too complicated. She settled for social niceties instead. “I didn’t expect your aunts to send you in their place. They are always so interested in the library.”
Lady Phoebe waved a dismissive hand. “Aunt Agnes is certain that Max will arrive any day, and she wants to be home when he does. She said it’s time for the younger generation to step up now that we’re all marrying.”
“It’s so sad to see her disillusioned,” Lady Dare added. Newly married to Viscount Dare, who had just come into his title, the viscountess was a dark-haired beauty from India—about the same height as Olivia.
Lydia hadn’t met her before. But Azmin, as she was known, had brought her photographic equipment and had been memorializing the occasion. Lydia pondered whether the future library should contain photograph albums.
Phoebe sipped her tea and shook her head. “No, Lady Agnes will be proved correct. Mr. Morgan has sent letters all over the world, to every place Max has ever worked. One of them will reach him.”
“Unless he’s dead,” Olivia pointed out.
They all seemed to wait for Lydia to respond. She tugged the lacy black mantle tighter and steeled herself. She loved talking to other Malcolms. It was wonderful having guests to ease the sorrow of Mr. C’s passing. But she had to be the official Malcolm Librarian and say nothing. No wonder Mr. C had given up entertaining.
She simply couldn’t label herself with that fraudulent title and had to reply from his perspective. “Mr. C kept anything he knew in confidence, and you know your cousin won’t write journals. I can tell you nothing.” Which was completely the truth.
“It’s always good to know our confidences are being kept,” Olivia acknowledged. “I’m thoroughly relieved you are here to step into the position. The twins are reaching an age where they’ll want to know more about their abilities. I’ll need a guidebook on how to keep them from shocking the neighbors.”
The discussion evolved into the rest of the family and their various abnormal gifts, and Lydia drifted away to greet the neighbors and encourage them to enjoy the buffet.
The guilt of knowing she could ease Lady Agnes’s mind ate at her. Should the lady ask her directly about Max—Lydia didn’t think she could lie. It was a relief knowing Max’s mother had stayed home.
She watched Lady Dare and Mrs. Blair wander off to explore and prayed Max had figured out how to lock the tower door.
Sitting in the tower window seat overlooking the castle drive, Max watched his family ride off to the train station early the next morning. From this distance, he didn’t think he could identify any of them except Lady Phoebe. She’d only been about ten when he’d left home that last time, but she’d been a beanpole with a head full of hair even then. She’d been too young to be involved in any of the catfights surrounding him.
Lydia had explained who the others were last night, after everyone had retired. He supposed he vaguely remembered the brown-skinned, scrawny child Azmin had been in some of the family summer gatherings, but she hadn’t lived in Edinburgh as Phoebe had, so his memory wasn’t strong. And Olivia had apparently wandered with her parents throughout England most of her life, so he didn’t know her at all.
He was just thoroughly relieved that his mother and aunt hadn’t chosen to attend the funeral.
Since he’d spent the better—or worst—part of his youth in boarding school, he didn’t know any of his family well and hadn’t particularly missed them. But he was curious about them.
He’d love to meet his eldest son someday too, although the boy would probably try to lay him flat for being absent all his life.
He set Bakari to work adding sums after the boy had proved he already knew his numbers and letters. So far, he hadn’t persuaded the boy to take a suitable nickname, but Max was growing accustomed to the foreign one. He still worried about the boy attending school, but at least he didn’t show any tendency to Max’s disability.
Working on sketches of what he’d learned of the tower’s construction, Max waited for Lydia to let him know the house was clear of guests.
After the last cart had been gone half an hour or so, he heard footsteps on the outer stairs. Lloyd had delivered breakfast earlier, but Max was ready for a mug of tea and company. He wasn’t much used to isolation. He eagerly opened the door before anyone could knock.
Lydia looked a little startled and a trace frazzled, but she beamed in relief. “You’re here. Good. There’s been a telegram from Mr. Morgan and one from the solicitors. I am to present myself to their offices as soon as possible. I had hoped that they might come here.” She frowned worriedly as she handed over his telegram, then realized what she was doing and took it back.
Max waited as she unfolded his message. His mind was already ticking though. He couldn’t let Lydia face a cadre of dour solicitors who would disdain a woman as executor of anything. She needed her own man with her. Would Morgan go?
Uncle filed request to declare you dead, she read. Her expression echoed the dread he felt.
“What will you do?” she whispered.
Max rubbed his face. “We discussed this. Morgan says I must appear in court with witnesses to declare I’m alive and that I am who I say I am. And it’s not as if I can ask my cousin or uncle to do so.”
“You can’t have your own solicitor simply charge them with fraud or theft? Wouldn’t that stop them?”
“Not if I’m dead,” he pointed out with warped humor. “I believe that’s the whole point. I can’t sue if I’m legally dead. The dead have no rights. And I’ve been gone long enough for them to have a case, although Morgan can produce my letters to prove I’m alive. But he can’t prove the letters come from me, because, of course, they were written by other people.”
She folded the paper and creased it with her fingers. “How did you meet Mr. Morgan? Would that count if he saw you in person at some point in those years?”
“Good thought but not workable. Morgan owns shipping firms. I had my assistant correspond with him over supplies we needed while I was in Egypt. He had some sensible suggestions. We continued corresponding. We became friends and business partners, but I never met him in person before the other night.” Max wanted to pace, but his son was watching him worriedly, and he didn’t want to upset the lad.
He could see his hostess fretting, and he hated that he was adding to her burdens. “We’ll go into the city together,” he impulsively suggested. “Morgan will arrange to keep everyone clear of the courtroom when I arrive. And after, we’ll talk to your solicitors. Perhaps Morgan will have a lawyer willing to accompany you. Will that help?”
The relief on her fine features was so enormous that Max actually felt a little proud of himself for a change. Now all he had to do was figure out how to make this happen.
“If you wouldn’t mind. . . if you would. . . oh, please, yes. I’m terrified they’ll tell me things I don’t understand or make demands I can’t carry out. If I can’t keep the castle running, I’ll have to send everyone home again.” She looked as if she wanted to hug him.
Max wanted her to hug him. Huh. He usually backed off at this point, but his arms were feeling empty. But he could not, would not, use this admirable woman as he used others. “If they take away the castle, you’ll lose your home and the library as well.” He pointed out the obvious to show he grasped the problem. “We can’t let that happen.”
Her smile was positively beatific. “Thank you for understanding. I can have Laddie harness the mule to take us into Calder. I’ll have to hire a carriage there. We won’t have another train coming through until tomorrow, and these messages seem urgent.”
Now? Today? Max almost panicked. He had hoped to dally a little longer, work on the tower. . . Avoid any chance of seeing his mother, who would take his head off, then introduce him to every female in her damned school. . .
At his hesitation, Lydia looked worried. He wanted the happy look back. She was an intrepid female who would keep marching forward, doing what was right, even if she had no idea what she was doing and was too terrified to speak. She’d go into the city by herself if he didn’t go.
The Librarian’s ghost had said to take care of Lydia, that she was more valuable than she knew. Max knew damn-all about specters, but the advice seemed sound.
“I’ll start packing. Do you think Lloyd would mind watching after Bakari? If we leave within the hour, we might reach the city by lunch, but I don’t imagine we’ll accomplish everything in an afternoon. We’ll have to take rooms.” Rooms somewhere no one knew him and wouldn’t immediately report his presence—a gentleman’s club maybe. Could he join in one day?
“Lloyd and Laddie will help with Bakari. He can ride a mule and polish silver or whatever. I’ll telegraph Lady Phoebe to let her know I’m coming. She’ll arrange. . .” She caught his look and sighed. “I’ll simply tell her I’m coming, and I need a place to stay. You can make your own arrangements.”
“An hour then. We’ll send telegrams from Calder to let them know we’re on our way.” At her worried look, he remembered what she’d said about having no funds. “I’ll take care of the telegrams and carriage. It’s the very least I can do given all you’re doing for me.”
She nodded uncertainly. “I’ll repay you if I can. I’m reasonably certain Mr. C had funds. I simply don’t know if I’ll be allowed access to them.”
She left to pack her bag.
Max studied the tidy nest he’d made of the tower and the boy watching him with worry. For the first time in his life, he wasn’t eager to hit the road. He must be growing old.
He crouched down to meet his son’s eyes. “I will be back, I promise. I’m your father now, and I hope to be a good one. Is there a book or game you’d like me to bring back?”
Max felt pretty adult when the boy threw his arms around his neck as if he actually were a father worth holding onto.
Lydia was glad that it was a lovely summer day as Laddie drove the open cart down to the village. In her effort to look like a lofty librarian, she’d left Mr. C’s old cloak behind.
“Do you think I could ask the trust solicitors to reimburse me for the money I took out of my savings to keep the castle running?” she asked as the wheels rattled down the rutted path. “It would be nice to buy one or two things I need since we’ll be near shops.”
“I’m appalled that they didn’t make the arrangements a year ago,” Max grumbled.
He wasn’t in a happy mood, she knew. She hated that he had to worry over family he’d trusted. She wanted to pat his hand and tell him all would surely be fine in a day or two, but that seemed. . . presumptuous. And he might feel as if she were an encroaching female like all the others.
“After his illness, Mr. C couldn’t write well. And I was afraid if I told anyone how helpless he was, they’d put him in an institution. I couldn’t bear that. So it’s my own fault that no one looked into matters,” she admitted.
“Your loyalty and your frugality are to be admired. Whereas I left family in charge, men who owed me loyalty, and they have either frittered away an entire fortune or stolen it, leaving women and children helpless. I should put you in charge.” He crossed his arms and glared at the horizon.
He really was unhappy about going to the city. Lydia sighed. “Well, I had to send away servants who relied on their wages in order to protect a man who was presumably wealthy, so I’m not exactly admirable. We do what seems best at the time and learn the error of our ways. Are your sons relying on the estate you left behind?”
Max snorted inelegantly. “Let my family know I had sons and no wife? I set up separate funds for each of them in the countries where they were born. Lawyers look after them.” He smacked his forehead as she’d seen him do before. “Damn—what if those lawyers are as greedy as my family? I’ll have to write. . .”
“Just tell me what to write, and I’ll do it for you,” she finished for him. “I’m not sure how you write a lawyer and ask if he’s cheating though,” she said with a trace of humor.
“I’ll think about it. If I weren’t so perfectly wretched about these matters, I’d do it myself.” He slumped into gloom again.
“You cannot do everything,” she admonished. “You taught yourself engineering despite your inability to read. You have evidently made a fortune all on your own, without need of your father’s estate. You put people in charge you had every reason to trust. The harm is theirs, not yours.”
He shrugged. “Other men manage. But I suppose they stay in one place so they can oversee in person. I thought I could walk away and live on a desert island.”
“You could have been right here in the city and your uncle might still cheat you. You don’t possess your mother’s prescience. Do you have any Malcolm traits at all?” she asked, re-directing the topic to prevent him from beating up on himself more.
“Besides animal magnetism?” he asked with a chuckle. “Not that I’m aware. I’m pretty certain my ability to do calculus in my head is from the Ives’ side.”
“Animal magnetism—charming. Ladies are not animals. And if you’re such a magnet to women, why am I not in your lap right now? Perhaps your charm has worn off.” She primly crossed her gloved hands in her skirt.
He twined his fingers and stretched his arms in front of him, exposing the grand magnitude of the muscles beneath his tailored coat. The cart hit a rut and lurched, but he swayed and stayed upright as if he were a sailor at sea.
Lydia had to clutch the side to prevent falling into him.
Max noted the gesture with a quirked eyebrow. “You were almost in my lap just now,” he said with a naughty leer. “But I take your point. Other than age, I perceive few differences between any of the women who are drawn to me. The very old and very young mostly lack interest, but you don’t fall into that category. I’ve noticed some women, like Miss Trivedi, are so firmly attached to their men that they resist my magnetism. Do you have another man in your life that I don’t know about?”
“Hardly,” she said with a sniff. “Unless you count Mr. C, but he’s dead.”
“Then it must be reverse magnetism,” he decided, flashing her that smile that turned her insides out. “I’m very attracted to you. You have reversed my poles.”
Hot lava coursed through her middle. Lydia forced herself to look at the back of Laddie’s head. “That’s ridiculous. We’ll see how well that works once we’re in the city, and you’re surrounded by beautiful ladies.”
“I have no intention of being surrounded by anyone. We’ll go directly to Hugh Morgan’s office. He’s just recently moved from Phoebe’s lair to a proper building where no one will know us. The only other female likely to be around is Miss Trivedi, who is happily attached to Mr. Morgan and barely acknowledges my existence, as it should be. We can hope that by the time we arrive, he’ll have arranged to meet a judge and keep the courtroom clear, since it’s a private matter. And I’ll find a gentleman’s hotel for the evening.”
“And Mr. C’s solicitors will certainly have no women about. Perhaps, if all goes well there, you can take the train back to the castle, and I can stay in the city and do a little shopping.” Since it was hard to speculate more, Lydia chose to admire the landscape she had seen so rarely this past year. She drank in the fresh scent of heather, absorbed the sun’s heat, and noticed Max smelled of sandalwood today. She’d added it to that last batch of soap Marta had made. She clasped her hands tighter.
She would not, could not, be one of the ladies he despised so much.