Page 12 of The Last Heir to Blackwood Library

“What gave me away?” she asked. “The accent, I suppose?”

“Might as well have a sign around your neck saying you’re from London,” he said, a wink gilding his bluntness. “What luck that we should bump into each other like this, and in a bookshop of all places. But I must say, I wouldn’t expect the lady of Blackwood Abbey to be perusing a bookshop, not when the abbey boasts one of the finest libraries in the county, if not England.”

The book she had been holding nearly fell from her hands. “The abbey has a library?” She was certain she hadn’t seen one on Mrs. Hewitt’s tour, and she definitely would have remembered if anyone had mentioned it. He couldn’t possibly be referring to the few bookshelves that lined the fireplace wall in the parlor, could he?

A finely shaped brow arched. “It most certainly does. Don’t tell me that you haven’t seen it yet?”

“Well, no. That is, I only arrived the other day. I haven’t had much time to explore.” The house was large—huge, really—so it stood to reason that she wouldn’t have seen every corner yet. But a library was hardly an old bedchamber or water closet. Why hadn’t Mrs. Hewitt mentioned anything about it?

“You have an enviable task in front of you then.”

“I haven’t much else to do, so I suppose so.” She hadn’t meant her words to come out quite so pathetic sounding, but they were out before she could stop herself.

“I should say so.” Sir Arthur was regarding her with a thoughtful tilt of his head, and she waited for him to excuse himself from the conversation. But instead, he surprised her. “Listen, if it’s not too forward of me, I’d love the chance to show you around, introduce you to some of the society here in Yorkshire. I can’t imagine what a shock it must be to come from London and be thrown into an entirely new life. What do you say?”

A loneliness that was deeper and older than she could fathom swirled and eddied around her, threatening to pull her down into its depths. Ivy, who wore the wedding band to avoid conversation. Ivy, who was content to share her world with only one other person. Ivy, who had never left her little corner of London. Is that who she wanted to be? She worried at her lip. What had started as an innocent conversation was quickly slipping past her control. But there was a hopefulness in Sir Arthur’s voice, and he seemed genuine enough. Better yet, he liked books and anyone that liked books had to be, at the very least, a decent person.

He must have felt her indecision. “How about this—let’s have lunch at the King’s Head next Monday, right in the village. We can compare our reading lists and chat about the inanities of country life. If you find my company tolerable, perhaps we can go from there.” He stuck his hand out. “Deal?”

Ivy found herself smiling at the young man in the bookshop who had successfully swept her off her feet. “Deal,” she agreed, shaking his hand.

6

“Did you know that Blackwood Abbey has a library?”

Ivy had hardly slid into the back seat and deposited her new stack of books on the seat beside her, when she bombarded Ralph with the question.

He started the engine, a jerky puttering that soon smoothed into purring as he shifted gears and pulled away from the shop. “Is that so?” he asked without the slightest hint of interest.

“Yes, apparently quite a grand one. I wonder that Mrs. Hewitt didn’t mention anything about it,” she added, more to herself. It had to be through those locked double doors at the far end of the hall—the only place Ivy hadn’t seen for herself. Mrs. Hewitt had said that room had been used as the infirmary during the war. Maybe it had suffered damage or become disorganized, and the housekeeper hadn’t wanted Ivy to see it in such a state. Well, no matter, she would assure Mrs. Hewitt that she didn’t mind a little mess.

The car had barely rolled to a stop when Ivy threw open the door and let herself out, ready to find her library.

“M’lady. Wait.”

Ivy turned to find Ralph standing beside the car, fidgeting his cap around in his hands. “Yes? What is it?”

Ralph glanced about as if checking to make sure no one was around, and then he was swiftly closing the distance between them, drawing her around the corner and out of sight of the front door. “What are you—”

Taking her by the shoulders, Ralph brought his face down to her level. His breath smelled like cinnamon, and his body radiated heat. Too stunned to resist, she stood there, letting him handle her as if she was a doll, and not lady of the house.

“Listen to me. You get out of here, my lady. Get as far as you can and don’t come back.”

His fingers dug into her shoulders, but she just blinked at him. “What?”

“It’s only going to get harder to leave,” Ralph told her. “You’ll start forgetting, and then before you know it there will be nothing left of you. You should leave, today. Christ, I should have put you back on the train as soon as you arrived.”

“What are you talking about? Ralph!”

Her voice seemed to snap him from his agitation, and he drew back, dropping his hands.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, but you’re never to touch me like that again. Do you understand?” Her face was flushed, her heart racing, and she didn’t like the way that her skin was tingling where his fingers had been. “Do you understand me?” she repeated.

“Aye, I understand,” he said darkly.

She hurried back to the house, but not without one last glance behind her. Ralph stood, hands in pockets, making no secret of watching her retreat.

Best not to dwell on whatever had just happened. She raced to the double doors at the end of the hall. They were locked, as she had expected. Finding the nearest bellpull, she rang for Mrs. Hewitt as if the house were on fire.

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