Page 89 of The Duke and the Lady in Red
“Sleeping.”
“You shouldn’t wander about without him.”
Although only a solitary lamp on the desk provided light, Avendale was still able to make out Harry’s smile. “I won’t get lost. I wanted to be in this room because it has the most books. Their fragrance is heavier here. I like the way they smell. But I’ll come back later.”
“Stay. Take a seat by the fire. Join me in a drink.” His guest nodded, and Avendale strode over to the marble table and poured scotch into two glasses before joining Harry. After taking his seat, Avendale lifted his glass. “To a day of adventures and getting your sister into the balloon.”
Harry grinned, drank. Avendale did the same.
They sat in comfortable silence, as Harry gazed around the room and Avendale watched him. Finally he asked, “How did you learn to read? I can’t imagine that you went to a schoolroom.”
“Rose.”
“Of course.”
“She attended school for a short time before Father decided to share me with the world.”
Share me with the world.Phrasing that made what his father did sound less sinister, less unconscionable.
“I know numbers, too,” Harry said. “I don’t like them as much. There’s beauty and magic in letters and words and the way they come together.”
“There’s beauty and magic in numbers as well, my friend. They have come together in ways that allow me to do quite a bit that I wouldn’t be able to otherwise.”
“Am I?” Harry asked.
Avendale angled his head. “Pardon?”
“Am I your friend?”
It seemed there was also truth in words. Avendale had used the term without thought, without considering the weight of it. Without realizing how Harry, who wrote with such honesty, might interpret it. “Yes, I believe you are.”
Harry grinned, nodded. “You are my friend as well.”
Avendale lifted his glass. “I’m honored. To friendship.”
They both sipped, savored. With a blunt-tipped finger, Avendale tapped his glass. “I’m enjoying reading your story very much.”
“It’s all true.”
“I thought as much. Your sister is an extraordinary woman. You should know that I shall see to it she’s well cared for.”
In spite of his limited facial expressions, Harry gave Avendale a grin that could only be described as cunning. “I know.”
Avendale realized very little got past Rose’s brother. He could have accomplished anything he wanted were the world more accepting of those who were different.
Harry craned his head back slightly. “How do you get to the books up there?” He pointed at the balcony—its walls composed of more shelves laden with literary treasures—that circled the room. “The ladder isn’t high enough.”
“No, it’s only useful in getting to the books on the top shelves at this level. To get to the balcony—come. I’ll show you.” Setting his glass aside, he took Harry’s and placed it beside his. Then he stood there, fighting not to reach over and help Harry to his feet. He had a too keen understanding of pride, and he could see it reflected in Harry’s struggle. There would come a time when he would not be able to get up on his own, but the time was not yet.
Avendale never would have described himself as a patient man. Odd that he was being so now.
When Harry was finally as upright as possible, leaning on his cane, Avendale jerked his head in the direction behind him. “This way.”
He led Harry to a section of shelves not far from the fireplace. “Now watch.”
He gave the shelves a quick shove at the seam that separated one section from the other. A click sounded as an inner latch was released, and the shelves sprang forward a tad. He slipped his hand behind the fissure and opened the door fully to reveal a spiral staircase nestled inside a small alcove.
With a gasp, Harry widened his eyes in astonishment as he whispered in awe, “A secret passage.”
