She liked socializing with people well enough, but she had her limits.
Looking about to make sure she wasn’t being observed, she slipped out of the ballroom. She had made a note to herself of where the library was located when she and Lavinia had been taken on a tour of Cantwell Hall after arriving and settling in at Ashworth Park earlier in the week. They had been told by none other than Lord Cantwell himself that he hoped they would make themselves at home during their stay in Oxfordshire and were welcome at Cantwell Hall at any time. Since they’d been in the library when he’d made his pronouncement, she had decided to take Lord Cantwell at his word.
The library was the place Susan would feel most at home anyway.
Its location wasn’t far from the ballroom, where all the wedding celebrations were taking place. Susan walked down the corridor, her slippers making no sound on the lush carpets. She eventually reached the library, opened the door, and stepped inside, shutting the door behind her.
She leaned against it and closed her eyes, breathing in the wonderful scent of leather and paper and ink. Her father’s library wasn’t as large as this one, his collection of books modest by comparison, but it held the same familiar smell she was breathing in right now—one that spoke of years gone by, battles fought, science and mathematics and languages, fantastical tales of heroism and romance all written painstakingly on the pages of the tomes within these walls.
She took in a great lungful of air as though it alone would rejuvenate her and then pushed herself away from the door. It was time to wander the shelves and peruse the titles to find a book or two that would pique her interest for the afternoon, until it was time to return to Ashworth Park.
To her immediate right were four comfortable-looking overstuffed chairs cozily arranged with a few small tables where one might place chosen books. Directly in front of her and to her left were rows of bookshelves placed back to back, creating small aisles between them, and the walls of the library were lined with bookshelves as well. It seemed a veritable feast.
Susan started with the row nearest to her.
The first row held science books, and she quickly learned that the books were arranged alphabetically by topic and title: primarily agriculture and animal husbandry, but alongside those were books on astronomy, botany, physics, physiognomy, and the like. Since those subjects, while interesting, weren’t quite what she was in the mood for at present, she continued on.
The next row of shelves dealt with history and appeared to include everything from the Trojan War forward, unless she counted the Bible that she’d spotted sitting on a bookstand near the door, which technically took them all the way back to Adam and Eve. But she had had enough news about the war with the French that she was not inclined to pull any histories from the shelves. And she already studied her Bible on a daily basis.
She continued on through the rows of bookshelves, eventually locating a small section dedicated to literature, which delighted her. After thumbing through several, she eventually decided upon the novel Evelina, a delightful discovery, and a book of poetry by William Blake and then settled into a small upholstered chair in a back corner of the room—completely hidden and wonderfully solitary. She removed her spectacles from her pocket and put them on and then allowed the words of Blake to weave a soft, musical rhythm in her head.
***
George made it past Cantwell’s butler merely by handing the man his calling card and glaring at him. From there, it was obvious where the wedding luncheon was being held simply because one needed only to follow the sounds of the guests coming down the main corridor.
He eventually arrived at the ballroom, not surprised to realize he knew many of the people present—the Duke and Duchess of Atherton and Lord Bledsoe and his wife appeared to have made the journey from London. George discreetly avoided the Marquess and Marchioness of Ashworth, who were neighbors of Lord Cantwell and were the parents of Lady Louisa, the woman to whom George had been betrothed eight long years ago. He was well over whatever attachment he had formed to Lady Louisa, but as he had important work to do today, he didn’t need the distraction that would come from potentially rehashing events of the past.
Eventually, he spied Phillip Osbourne and subtly caught his attention. Osbourne excused himself from the guests with whom he was speaking and came directly to George.
“You’re here,” Osbourne said.
“As you see,” George replied. “Where do you suggest we talk?” he added in low tones.
“The library,” Osbourne said. “It’s the first door on the left when you take the corridor that runs parallel to this one.”
Before Osbourne could say any more, however, the bride and groom approached them, and George could tell by the expression on the new Lady Cantwell’s face that she was surprised to see him—as, of course, she would be, having not invited him herself.
Lady Cantwell was the image of loveliness and gentility. She was undoubtedly the most beautiful woman George had ever seen. Her features were as though painted by a Renaissance master: alabaster skin, shining blonde hair, and eyes of the deepest blue. He doubted there was a man alive who, upon beholding her, would not have become her instant admirer. George certainly had. But alas, she had been off the marriage market since childhood, promised to the Marquess of Ashworth’s heir until recently. George had seriously considered marrying Lady Elizabeth when she’d returned to London this Season, despite the disrepute of her father, the Duke of Marwood. But George had taken his eye off the prize—and Cantwell had been the victor.
He nodded to Lord Cantwell and bowed over Lady Cantwell’s hand. “Please forgive me for intruding on your special occasion as an uninvited guest,” he said to her. Cantwell was studying George a bit too closely for his liking.
“He is not entirely uninvited,” Osbourne said in response to his brother’s unasked question. “I extended the invitation to him, you see, and as I’m the brother of the groom, I presumed I could invite a guest if I wished.”
“Aylesham is always a welcome addition,” Lord Cantwell said, still studying George.
George’s fingers instinctively sought out his quizzing glass. “Many thanks,” he replied. “Lady Cantwell, may I offer my congratulations to you and Lord Cantwell on your nuptials,” he said. “However, I would be dishonest if I didn’t say that I am disappointed—or perhaps envious is a better word. He is an extraordinarily fortunate man. I hope he knows that.”
“Thank you,” she replied, gazing at George with those soul-deep blue eyes of hers. “I am humbled and grateful for your words.”
She truly was the most perfectly beautiful woman, and her graciousness only added to her beauty. He nodded slightly toward her, holding his regret firmly in check, and then excused himself under the pretext of mingling with the other guests.
Instead, he exited the ballroom and went in search of the library.