Anne Herries - An Improper Companion

She stopped to speak to one of the footmen, asking for the direction of the earl’s library and was informed that it was on the ground floor at the rear of the house. She made her way unhurriedly towards it, entering with a feeling of pleasure as she saw that it was a large, long room lined on three sides with impressive mahogany shelves, the windows on the fourth side sufficiently large to let in a good light. There were several sofas and chairs with reading stands close by, and a leather-topped drum table at one end, a square pedestal table at the other. She walked along the length of the shelves, feeling puzzled as she realised that nothing was in order; there were all kinds of literature, estate records, poetry and serious works jumbled up together.

‘It is in rather a mess, is it not?’

Elizabeth jumped as she heard the earl’s voice and turned to look at him. ‘I beg your pardon, sir. I did not hear you come in.’

He ignored her rather flustered address. ‘My father was a great buyer of books, but he had no idea of how they should be stored. I have thought that I would make a start on cataloguing what we have one day, but as yet I have not begun.’

‘I have seen several volumes that would seem to be first editions,’ Elizabeth said, looking thoughtfully at the shelves. ‘How would you wish the books to be arranged, sir—in categories or by author?’

The earl raised his brows, his piercing blue eyes intent on her face. ‘Are you offering to undertake the task, Miss Travers?’

‘It would be a pleasure to at least make a start, though of course it could take many months or even years to complete,’ Elizabeth said, turning her serious eyes on him. ‘But only if I have your approval?’

‘Well, you must not tire yourself,’ the earl said, ‘or my mother will have it that I am a wicked slave driver—but if you have a few moments to spare now and then…’

‘It would be much easier for you if all the estate books were in one section, the serious works on another shelf, for they are perhaps the books you like to read, and then literature and poetry.’

‘You have excellent judgement, Miss Travers. I see that I could do no better than to leave my library in your hands.’

‘Oh…’ She blushed with pleasure, for something in his look had made her heart flutter. ‘If you are sure, it would be such a pleasure to me, sir. Of all things I love books, reading and touching them—and to catalogue such a wonderful collection would be such a treat.’

‘Is it a wonderful collection? I had thought there were a few treasures, but most of it seems a hotchpotch of nonsense.’

‘Oh, no, how could you?’ Elizabeth caught the gleam in his eyes and realised that he was teasing her. ‘But you know there are some rare volumes here, do you not?’

‘Yes, I confess it is one of my interests, and if I were not dreadfully indolent I would have put them in order before this—but I have not been at home often since my return from the Peninsula, you see. And there has been much to see to at our various estates—my father had not been well for a while before his death.’

‘And I dare say you did not like to make sweeping changes to your father’s domain too soon?’

The earl gave her a thoughtful look, his eyes slightly narrowed. ‘You are perceptive, Miss Travers. For one reason or another my father had allowed things to slide. I have improved things gradually, particularly here since this was my mother’s home. She dislikes our estates in Hampshire and Devon, and of course I reside in London for much of the year.’

Elizabeth nodded. She had noticed the changes he had made—they brought a breath of fresh air to the house. ‘I believe you have patronised Mr Adam, sir? I must say that I admire his work greatly.’

‘His work gives a lightness not often found in the design of others—Mr Chippendale is a great furniture maker, but I believe I prefer Mr Adam’s work.’

‘That is my own feeling,’ Elizabeth agreed. ‘Lady Wentworth recently began the refurbishment of Worth Hall, you know. We discussed the merits of Mr Sheraton and Mr Adam at length—but in the end she decided that she would choose Mr Adam’s work for the drawing room.’

‘Ah…’ The earl smiled. ‘Then I shall know who to turn to when it comes to persuading Mama that she should have her own apartments refurbished.’

‘Oh, no,’ Elizabeth said, a faint colour in her cheeks. Was he mocking her? Perhaps she had spoken out of turn, forgetting that she was merely an employee? ‘I could not possibly influence Lady Isadora. She has excellent taste.’

‘Yes, she does,’ he agreed. Hearing the longcase clock in the hall strike the hour, he inclined his head to her. ‘We must not keep Mama waiting—or perhaps it would be more precise to say we must not upset Monsieur Delfarge. You must know that he is French and somewhat temperamental. I had to bribe him to come here, for he prefers London, but he obliged me and we must not do anything that would cause him to desert us. Poor Mama suffered with a terrible cook for years.’

‘Oh, dear,’ Elizabeth said and laughed, for he was clearly jesting now. ‘I do understand. My mama had a dreadful cook for some years, too. Papa finally told her that if she did not dismiss her he would go to London and live at his club.’

‘Then you understand why we are all at such pains to be punctual for meals.’ The earl gave her his lazy smile, which unaccountably made Elizabeth’s heart beat rather faster than usual. ‘Tell me, Miss Travers, do you think you shall settle here?’

‘Yes, I believe so, sir,’ she replied. ‘I was very grateful to Lady Isadora for offering me the position as her companion.’

‘Ah, yes,’ the earl said, and mischief lurked in the depth of his eyes. ‘Did you have a good journey down?’

‘Yes…’ Elizabeth hesitated for a moment, and then, ‘It was an odd coincidence…I met and spoke to Mr John Elworthy, who I believe is a friend of yours—and I also saw Sir Montague Forsythe at the inn we had chosen to break our journey. Mr Elworthy had been given one of our rooms, but he gave it up to me and slept in the stables when he learned of the mistake.’

Cavendish nodded. ‘Yes, John would do that. He is one of the best—a perfect gentleman.’

‘You know him well, sir?’ Elizabeth looked at him, her fine brows raised.

‘Certainly. His estate is some fifteen miles from here and we were at school together as lads.’

‘Oh…’ Elizabeth was thoughtful. ‘Mr Elworthy was the only reliable witness to my father’s wager, you know.’

‘Yes, I do know. He has told me of what he saw and heard that day. John says that he wishes he had not heard Sir Edwin’s words so clearly, otherwise he would have believed that your father was trapped into the wager—which would, of course, make it null and void.’

‘It is what I have always believed. Papa would not normally have done anything that foolish. He was not a gambler nor did he drink to excess.’

The earl nodded and looked thoughtful. ‘I dislike Sir Montague Forsythe for reasons which we shall not discuss, and there may come a time when his activities will be under intense scrutiny. I can say no more for the moment—but should his affairs be investigated, I will undertake to see what can be done about your father’s affair.’

They had gained the top of the stairs. Elizabeth stopped to look at him, trying to read his expression and failing. ‘Do you think my father could have been coerced into making that wager, sir?’

‘I cannot tell what may have occurred,’ the earl said. ‘I only know for certain that I believe Sir Montague to be less than honest—and perhaps a dangerous man.’

‘Dangerous?’

‘Yes, I believe so, though I have no proof,’ the earl said. ‘But you must say nothing for the present, Miss Travers. I have only suspicions to go on, and there must be proof.’