“They’re coming,” Lady Agnes said placidly, clicking her knitting needles. “Positions, ladies.”
Lydia rolled her eyes at this prediction. She could not see outside the hall to the road up the mountain. Still, if she accepted the lady’s odd gifts, she had to listen. At the urging of her new cousins-in-law, Lydia took the enormous throne of a chair the ladies designated as hers.
A deputation of Malcolms had remained at the castle to defend Lydia from impostor testers. Lydia had tried to tell them she could handle this, but one did not tell forces of nature like Lady Phoebe and Lady Dare that they weren’t needed. They were enjoying themselves too much.
Lydia glanced ruefully at Miss Trivedi, who was handing her more documents to sign. “You realize if I fail this test, that the solicitors will go to court to stop me from transferring the trust to Mr. Morgan?”
“You won’t fail,” Miss Trivedi said with certainty. “The trust’s solicitors chose the wrong side and must pay the price.”
Lydia admired the ruby on the bookkeeper’s ring finger. “That is new, isn’t it?”
The Hindu lady smiled briefly. “Your wedding and too much champagne finally persuaded Mr. Morgan to ask. We are to be wed in autumn. I have insisted that he must meet my family, so we will leave for India shortly after the nuptials.”
That alarmed Lydia more than the impending arrival of the testers. “What about Max’s investments? And the trust? How will we know how much we have to spend on the tower?”
“Everything will be prepared and in good hands before we leave. Do not worry. And Mr. Ives is a very astute businessman. He simply prefers that other people manage the paperwork. We will have competent solicitors to assist his endeavors, and there is always the telegraph.”
“And Lady Dare’s studio? Weren’t you helping her look for abused women?” Lydia asked in concern, darting a glance to the photographer, who was busy setting up equipment.
“Now that Azmin understands her gift, anyone can be her assistant. She’s employing one of the school’s art students, plus a normal photographer. She’s more involved with finding abused women and helping them than doing studio portraits.” Miss Trivedi placed the signed documents into her folder.
The door knocker pounded the ancient plate, followed by the tolling of the entrance bell as the visitor discovered the rope.
“Anxious, aren’t they?” Lydia said, almost amused. “I’m amazed they’re still functional after all they imbibed yesterday. And very bad wine it must have been. Mr. C didn’t like wine, so it’s been moldering down there for decades.”
“Better than drinking your whisky barrels dry,” Lady Phoebe said, coming to stand by them.
“Oh, Mr. Folkston emptied those for the reception. We need to restock.” Lydia nervously watched the wide foyer entrance.
“Your reception was quite grand. You need to have more gatherings in this gorgeous hall,” Phoebe advised. “It is good for local business. Drew and several of your guests enjoyed your whisky so well that they have ordered from your supplier.”
Lydia knew absolutely nothing of spirits but nodded as if she did. “We’re hoping to hire locally for the construction Max anticipates. And we’re keeping a tailor and seamstress busy with new uniforms as we add staff. But if this goes all wrong and the trust doesn’t come to me. . .”
“We will not allow that to happen,” Lady Phoebe said firmly. “We will hire lawyers, if necessary. We are Malcolms, and this is our library, and that’s what the trust intended.”
While Lydia appreciated the loyalty, she knew Calder Castle would languish if they fought legal battles. She couldn’t allow that to happen. She had to carry out Mr. C’s prediction and assert her hitherto invisible authority. Somehow, she must save the tower so the library might continue—in front of men who wouldn’t believe her.
“Misters Lawrence and Harrison esquires,” the footman announced from the doorway, as if the hall truly were a queen’s throne room.
The two gray-suited gentleman strolled in as if they’d been invited. Lydia wondered if that attitude of authority was arrogance or terror. They had to be just a little bit intimidated by the towering ancient oak hall adorned in weaponry and even more so by the nearly dozen ladies scattered about the seating area who had locked them up yesterday. Lydia didn’t think she knew all the women who had taken residence in her front room. She suspected the gray-haired ones might be friends of Lady Agnes and Lady Gertrude.
The visitors pretended not to notice the swords or the ladies. Lydia suspected their male bravado was derived from wearing guns or knives beneath those baggy, unflattering coats. She’d rather this test did not come to an outright battle.
Without rising to greet the new arrivals, Lydia spoke. “Your business, sirs?”
They had to look past her sea of feminine bodyguards to the far end of the hall, where she sat enthroned before the towering fireplace. The ladies truly did have a sense of the dramatic. She doubted the visitors could see her clearly in the filtered light from the floor-length, gothic-style windows.
The gentleman proceeded further into the hall. Small game tables blocked their path.
“We have come to test Miss. . . Mrs. Ives’ suitability as a librarian as required by the trust,” the older, taller gentleman said.
Mrs. Ives. Lydia considered the sound of that. She had never thought to be a wife. She’d always wished to be the Malcolm Librarian. She was both now, but in this instance, she was very definitely the librarian.
“I am the Malcolm Librarian,” she responded with the soul-deep certainty she hadn’t felt the last time she’d said it. Today, she was the authority here, and she rather enjoyed the power. It was as if she’d spent a lifetime preparing for this position. “Do you have credentials?”
The taller gentleman waved a document. Nearly as tall as he, Lady Gertrude snatched it from his hand and perused it. “It’s signed by the bounders currently managing the trust,” she said grudgingly.
Lydia really hadn’t doubted that. She’d met the bounders. “Then, gentlemen, how may I help you?”
“We have here a list of questions the librarian must answer to prove her right to the position.” The shorter, younger gentleman skirted an empty table, avoiding Olivia’s enormous skirt and the skein of yarn she dropped at their feet. They came to a halt when Azmin set up her camera tripod in front of Lydia.
Lydia wanted to laugh at the silly annoyances. She knew the ladies were simply expressing their disapproval. But after reading the journal last night, she’d decided to maintain the solemn demeanor of a judge.
Lydia didn’t accept the papers they brandished. Instead, she held up the early librarian’s journal. “According to this, there are no lists of questions. The only test to be administered is finding this book. I found it. Anything else is purely spurious pageantry for the sake of the solicitors. Turn around, address the ladies who own the library and represent its origins. If there are any objections to my status, they are the ones who must speak up. The trust’s solicitors are merely there to handle necessary business, not pass judgment.”
Lydia’s chair was on a small rise in front of the fireplace. Combined with her height, she looked down on the gentlemen from a lofty position. She could tell they didn’t like that. Both appeared flustered and annoyed.
“There is nothing in the trust agreement about the means of testing,” the older, more distinguished of them blustered. “We are perfectly in our rights—”
Lydia pointed at the ladies. “The trust belongs to the Malcolm family. Speak to them. Ladies, would you care to see the journal of Aldith Morrigan, the fifth librarian?”
“I’ve read it, dear,” Lady Agnes said placidly, helping Olivia with her skein of wool.
“I’d love to see it,” one of the unfamiliar gray-haired ladies said. “I’m Faith Merriweather, the Northumberland librarian. I daresay you were originally intended for my position, but your father’s unexpected demise sent you off in a different direction. I’ve heard of Miss Morrigan, of course. There are quite a few references to her in our journals.”
Another librarian! Lydia thrilled at the news, but she maintained her composure. “Miss Merriweather, how lovely to meet you. We’ve corresponded a time or two, I believe.” She handed the journal to the slight lady who approached—not the one who had spoken but the second of the unfamiliar gray-haired ladies.
“I’m Lady Abbott, from the new Highlands library. Your resources have been of immense help to us. Mr. Cadwallader has served us well, and you as his assistant have been a pleasure to work with.”
Even though she was scarcely half Lydia’s size, Lady Abbott turned on the two visitors with ferocity. “You should be ashamed of yourselves, and so should the men who sent you. The library is a repository of Malcolm knowledge. We know 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 he’d not inserted into his coat. Max hugged her against him and relaxed. He was finally home. “How did your day go, my dear?”
She huffed and pinched him through his shirt and backed off to study his arm. “I believe I am officially the Malcolm Librarian. Lord Crowley’s minions have been cowed and routed. Miss Trivedi will be transferring the trust to more female-friendly solicitors.”
“I knew you could do it!” Max crowed, hugging her again. He ruffled Bakari’s hair, pointed out a digging machine, and sent the boys off to question strangers. They’d be safe and might even learn a thing or two.
“Did you have to fight your way out of the courthouse?” his beautiful wife asked, studying his face.
He kissed her for good measure.
“Something like that. Should we go inside where I can lie to all the ladies at once? Then you won’t know the difference and won’t have to pretend. You’re not a very good liar.” Capturing her waist with his good arm, he headed for the stairs, waiting for Lydia to bite off his ear.
“You can tell them the truth,” she foolishly insisted. “But first, you must tell us the outcome of your uncle’s lawsuit. I am gathering from the plethora of equipment that you are now enormously wealthy and have money to waste.”
“Not wasting. It takes money to make money. I mean to provide an income for your castle for decades to come. Maintenance will eat through your funds otherwise.” Max stepped into the towering foyer with satisfaction. If he must settle down, it should be to a place that required his talents.
Lydia tugged him into the great hall, where his mother, aunt, cousins, and who-the-hell-knew else waited. Max wished for the Ives males to balance this sea of femininity, but they’d wisely opted to visit men of commerce in the city to avoid this scene.
Although it seemed now he could enjoy the company of women without fear of consequences. He could learn to appreciate that. He hugged Lydia for all to see.
“I trust there is an explanation?” his mother asked from her comfortable seat in front of the windows, where she was working on her knitting.
“This is Max’s home,” Lydia reminded her. “He needn’t explain anything he doesn’t wish.”
She spoiled the effect by taking his hand and turning to him anxiously. “But please tell us no one was killed.”
Max laughed. He couldn’t help it. Bloodthirsty women, he had to remember. He kissed her nose, then helped himself to the whisky decanter. His home. This was his home. He gazed at the enormous hall and decided it was quite large and eccentric enough to suit him.
“Uncle David went off his nut a bit before George and I settled him down. A gun accidentally went off, and I was nicked, but no harm done. Hugh Morgan is quite happy to work with a court-appointed attorney to divide up the estate in some equitable manner. All is well, and I have my brilliant mother and lovely wife to thank.”
Lydia clutched his good arm and whispered, “That was the lie, right? You had all your cousins with you. There had to have been a brawl that will be recounted for years to come.”
“And will grow ever more improbable in the telling,” he agreed. “But I really am fine.”
The ladies clucked and chattered. Max deftly dodged pointed questions. And as soon as he finished his drink, he steered Lydia toward the door. “I thank you for taking care of Lydia and being our support through all this, but we’re newlyweds. You’ll forgive us if we have a little private time.”
Regretting that his injured arm wouldn’t allow him to sweep Lydia off her feet, Max ushered her into the tower and threw the bolt.