Max ran after the hackney and caught the driver before he turned down Cowgate. He had the urge to order the carriage straight to the port.
But he was no longer an eighteen-year-old coward.
He felt like eighteen, filled with rage and despair and not knowing where to turn. He’d trusted Lydia. He’d thought she was sensible, level-headed, and not inclined to escalate the conflict between Max’s gentlemanly upbringing and his animal nature.
If Lydia chose to push herself at him, he would not be able to resist. He knew it right down to the marrow of his bones. And other places. That she was at his mother’s house, waiting to pounce like every other female. . . His disappointment was immense.
Why was she at his mother’s house? And where would he go now if he couldn’t even keep Lydia at a distance?
Bakari was back at the castle. He’d have to collect his son and depart for parts unknown until he knew what to do with the boy. And himself.
He still needed to speak with his mother. How would he do that without being set upon by a pack of savages?
Leaning his head back against the carriage seat, Max ordered the driver to the nearest stable. This was insane. He had a tower with a key to lock it. The tower belonged to Lydia, so he’d have to leave eventually—after he figured out how to talk to his mother.
He could have Lydia send her a letter. . . Max laughed bitterly at that. He could dictate a telegram, perhaps, asking his mother to come to him. His mother might even know what to do with Bakari. Maybe he wasn’t too late for the Burma project.
By the time he’d purchased a steed suitable for mountain climbing and was on the road, Max had talked himself out of panic and fury. He was in despair that he could no longer rely on Lydia, but he’d managed these last fifteen years without her. It was just. . . he felt as if his right arm had been severed. How had he become so dependent on her in just a few days?
He’d never had a woman he could count on before. He had to acknowledge that he’d thoroughly enjoyed kissing Lydia, teasing her until she blushed, waiting in anticipation for those moments they shared over the silly books. Her research had been so helpful that he was almost certain he knew the cause of the tower’s tilt.
He had to stay long enough to organize the repairs. Damn.
He tried to revive his anger at seeing Lydia rushing to the door with all the other females, but all he could summon was how beautiful she’d looked in that fancy gown, with the foolish hat perched on her mass of sunset hair. Her eyes had widened to enormous pools of indigo when she’d seen him. Out of all the feminine pulchritude rushing for that door, Lydia was the only one he could recall. Literally and figuratively, she would always stand out above all others.
Which meant he’d probably have to picture her every time he took another woman to bed. Imagining stripping off that fancy gown and seeing what she wore under it carried Max out of the city and half way back to the castle before the long northern day darkened. He stopped at a tavern for food and to rest his nag, then decided he might as well go the rest of the way. At least he wasn’t walking.
He continued his fantasies as the horse swayed through the night. Lydia had generous breasts. Would they have freckles? Would her nipples be pert and small or rosy and large? Did she wear frills and lace beneath her petticoats? And if he removed them, what color was the hair below?
He wasn’t entirely certain why he was torturing himself that way, but by the time he reached the dark castle around midnight, he was almost prepared to seduce the librarian just to satisfy his curiosity. He watered, fed, and curried his new horse himself, patted the old mare he’d bought for Bakari earlier, and tested the garden door. It still wasn’t locked.
Shoulders relaxing for the first time all day, Max traipsed up the tower stairs to the safe and cozy haven Lydia had provided.
He had never thought he’d have to lock out Lydia as well as the maids.
Wrapping her crocheted shawl around her plump shoulders, Lady Agnes set her lips with determination as she stepped off at the Calder train station the next morning. Behind her gray ringlets and bows and dangling earrings, the lady was a force to be reckoned with, Lydia had discovered.
“I cannot promise he is there,” she warned the lady again. “He may have fled for Burma for all I know.”
Lydia had salved her conscience by knowing Max had intended to let his mother know he was alive, and that the girls had seen him, even if they couldn’t identify him. She didn’t think she was violating his privacy, much.
Lady Agnes nodded and fiercely regarded the mule wagon pulling up to the station. “My son is alive. That’s what is important. I understand you can’t explain what is wrong with him, but I appreciate that you told me he was on my doorstep. He came home. I’ll learn the rest in good time.”
“Only if he is here,” Lydia was compelled to remind her. She couldn’t mention that Max’s son was here too, and that was her main hope for his return. Surely Max wouldn’t abandon Bakari. “I had hoped he’d be on the train this morning, but I saw no sign of him.”
“I’ll wait,” the lady announced as Laddie assisted her into the cart. “I know he will come here again. And you will need him. There’s a dark cloud on your future.”
Lydia shivered. The lady’s prescience had proved correct in several small ways. She couldn’t disregard her predictions, especially since she was almost certainly right about Max. He’d left his trunks in the tower along with his son. She hadn’t told his mother that.
Did the lady know about Lydia’s inability to find books? That was definitely a black cloud.
Laddie threw their hat boxes and satchels into the back of the cart. Holding her new parasol, Lydia settled on the seat beside Lady Agnes and leaned over Laddie’s shoulder. “Do you know if Mr. Ives has returned yet?”
“There’s a new mare in the stable,” Laddie said. “Reckon someone rode it there.”
Lydia sat back in relief. She would have hated raising Lady Agnes’s hopes and dragging her up the mountain for nothing.
They arrived at the castle a little after noon. They’d seen no sign of Max fleeing down the narrow path, so surely he was still inside. Somewhere.
Once they arrived at the castle, Lady Agnes wanted to sit in the parlor until Max made an appearance. Lydia persuaded her to take tea in her room and rest a bit until he was located. She had Beryl lead their guest to one of the newly-cleaned chambers in the main block. She traipsed off to the tower’s downstairs guest room, the one she had chosen for hers while Max was in residence. Musical bedchambers did not bother her so much as wishing she knew she deserved these privileges.
She’d ordered some new day dresses, but they would have to be delivered later. For traveling, she’d worn her old black wool. Studying the aging mirror in her new room, she decided she didn’t look any different after this past week of turmoil. Her hair still escaped its pins. She brushed it down and pinned it again. To drape over her boring bodice, she’d bought a pretty gold scarf that looked well with her hair so she didn’t look quite so matronly. But there was little else she could do to improve her appearance.
And she shouldn’t be trying. The annoying man had made it quite clear that he didn’t appreciate her looking after him.
She took the stone stairs up to Mr. C’s chamber and rapped on the door. Lloyd answered it. She could read the expectant question on his dour features, but he’d never ask.
She hated lying, so she prevaricated, only slightly. “I am officially in charge, as Mr. C wished.”
Lloyd appeared to release a sigh of relief. Before he could say more, she asked, “Is Mr. Ives in? He has a visitor.”
Bakari waved cheerfully from the floor where he appeared to be working on a sketch of. . . the universe? “Hello, Miss Lydia. Papa says he’ll teach me to ride!”
“An excellent notion, I’m sure, sir.” Lydia waited for Lloyd to answer.
“He’s down in the dungeon,” Lloyd explained. “Said something about wells and plumbing, but I didn’t grasp it all.”
“I don’t suppose Zach would know how to find him?” Lydia tried to remember if the footman had ever stirred himself to so much as descend to the wine cellar.
“He’s got a voice and feet,” Lloyd said. “Tell him to employ them.”
Well, yes, that firmly put her in her place. If she must play the part of Malcolm Librarian, she must act as ruler of all she surveyed. Librarians ordered servants, not questioned them. Interesting lessons and challenges loomed.
Knowing Max was on the premises helped. He hadn’t completely run away. He’d just rejected her and a school full of giggling girls. She couldn’t blame him too much for that.
Downstairs in her study, she rang the bell for Mr. Folkston. A butler was supposed to command the household when there was no steward.
Mr. Folkston was a portly man in his fifties, not much taller than Lydia. His black suit and starched white shirt were impeccable but showing signs of wear. Recalling with satisfaction the legal documents Keya had sent around last night, Lydia felt the day improve incrementally. She had a bank letter and a larger allowance than before.
“If you would, send Zach into the tower cellar to fetch Mr. Ives. But before you do that, I’d like to assure you that I am now in control of the castle funds.” Lydia watched the butler relax ever so imperceptibly, although all he did was bend slightly in acknowledgment. “I will pay everyone on first of September as always. I shall give them a full quarterly wage and a little extra for their loyalty. I hope to raise that wage by ten percent, if you will explain that to them for me, please.”
She had told Keya that raising the household funds was absolutely necessary. At some point, she hoped to have some idea of the entirety of the trust, but knowing the castle’s allowance had been increased was enough for now.
Mr. Folkston broke his reserve sufficiently to exhibit a brief smile. “The staff will be more than pleased to hear that, miss, thank you.”
“They’ve earned every penny. Once I have a better understanding of our funds, I’ll attempt to set aside enough to cover any more emergencies so this doesn’t happen again. I still have a year’s worth of repairs and maintenance to catch up, but I’ve been given the wherewithal to buy new uniforms and shoes for all. If you’ll have Mrs. Folkston handle that, I’d appreciate it.”
The butler bowed again, this time looking grateful. “Do we use our local merchants?”
“I’d prefer that. If you think the fabric quality is inferior, you might suggest that we are able to pay a little more and ask them to order what they need from the city. I trust your judgment.” And she trusted the Calder merchants not to cheat their best customer.
After Folkston departed on his tasks, Lydia stared at the correspondence gathering on the desk—her desk now, not Mr. C’s. The weight of responsibility—and her fraud—weighed heavily on her shoulders.
It was a good thing she had wide shoulders.
Even wide shoulders couldn’t stop a tower from toppling—taking the library with it. She had to find a way to make Max stay.