A Gentleman in Search of a Wife: The Lord Julian Mysteries--Book Five by Grace Burrowes

Author:Grace Burrowes [Burrowes, Grace]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781962291088
Publisher: Grace Burrowes Publishing
Published: 2024-05-23T18:30:00+00:00

CHAPTER ELEVEN

“My housekeeper is unwell,” Tait said, welcoming me personally into his abode. “Some intestinal matter, or so I’m to believe. One doesn’t inquire too closely when the ladies are indisposed.” His signature smile was nowhere in evidence, and grooves bracketed his mouth.

“Is anybody else in the household ill?” I harbored an intense, personal aversion to dysentery, which had carried off a good number of Wellington’s soldiers.

“No other casualties, thank heavens. Will the library do, my lord? The formal parlor is being aired, and the informal parlor is very informal at the moment. Harvest keeps us all busy, and domestic standards suffer accordingly.”

“I enjoy libraries. They can say a lot about an entire household.”

Tait showed me to a largish room with French doors that opened onto the back terrace. Afternoon sunshine slanted onto a carpet only slightly worn. The hearths were swept, though the andirons could have used a blacking, and the sconces were polished. The chairs were comfortably cushioned, albeit no longer in the first blush of youth, and the books were rather fewer than I expected a library to have.

Was I seeing evidence of financial hardship, or merely life at a busy, venerable country manor?

“Evelyn had most of the books put into storage,” Tait said, glancing around at half-empty shelves. “She said the collection was largely tripe, and she was gradually creating a worthwhile selection. She was right too. My mother bought boxes of books at estate sales. Didn’t want the village folk to think us unlettered.”

“Evelyn enjoyed books?” I noted Mr. Scott’s verses, Mrs. Radcliffe, Mrs. Burney, Mr. Swift, and myriad others both witty and entertaining. Mr. Wordsworth had earned his place, as had Restoration playwrights, the Bard, and Mr. Burns. Moliere was represented, and I was surprised to see a fair amount of classical literature in both Latin and Greek.

“Evelyn enjoyed books very much. Should have been one of those lady authors who pokes fun at polite society while pretending to set store by decorum and gentility. She started writing a novel, in fact, right after we were married, and I was amazed that she had the…” Tait fell silent, glanced around at the half-empty shelves, and linked his hands behind his back. “This ancient history is neither here nor there, my lord. I apologize for maundering on. Do have a seat. Shall I ring for a tray?”

Tait’s manner was different somehow. Perhaps harvest was taking a toll on his energies, but his attitude was also less cocky, to use one of Lady Ophelia’s words.

“I haven’t had luncheon,” I said. “A cup of tea would be appreciated.” True to Arthur’s prediction, morning’s cerulean skies had given way to a few wispy clouds from the west. I wanted to conclude my business and get home, lest those clouds join together and make a sopping-wet fool of me later in the afternoon.

Tait tugged the bell-pull twice and led me to a pair of wing chairs before an empty hearth. “You’ve been to London.”

I’d sent him an epistle sketching only plans—a call on Ardath Deloitte, a call on Lina Hanscomb.

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