The Librarian's Spell Patricia Rice (top 100 novels .txt) 📖

tried to make heads or tails of the estate’s maps and boundaries. She’d hoped Max might look at them, but of course, he really couldn’t.

Praying she wasn’t in over her head, Lydia twisted the sapphire ring Max had given her. He and his mother had chosen it from the jewelry box. He’d promised her any ring she liked once he’d won his case, but she liked this one because it was a family heirloom, and Max had picked it out. It made her almost feel as if this wedding were real.

Well, the ceremony would be real enough. The marriage itself. . . Again, she hid her doubts. “I wish Papa could have lived to see my study,” she called to her sister, while she pinned her cameo brooch to the mantel around her mother’s shoulders.

Both her mother and sister were considerably shorter than herself, so she could not loan them any of her other finery. They’d grown stouter than Lydia remembered as well. She gestured for her mother to precede her from the bedchamber. They had to descend and meet the guests at some point.

“Papa always loved you better,” Sara claimed, lifting her skirt and petticoat so they didn’t knock over the blocks covering half the floor. “He used to let you sit with him for hours.”

“That was because you attended school, and I didn’t,” Lydia reminded her. “He called you his pretty butterfly.”

“He loved all three of you equally,” Mrs. Wystan said firmly. “I’m sorry Elizabeth couldn’t attend, but she couldn’t leave Scottie with his broken leg. She said she’s sorry to miss this, but she thought it best if she stay home with all the children.”

Elizabeth was their prettiest sister. She’d had a lovely wedding. Lydia had helped make her gown and find the flowers for the church and planned the reception. She would have loved seeing her again—and maybe showing off just a little. She wouldn’t reveal her disappointment. “The children must come first, of course. Perhaps once everything is settled, I’ll be able to visit. I’d love to see my nieces and nephews.”

“You’ll have time?” her mother asked warily.

She hadn’t been able to get away while Mr. C had been ill. Now that she was performing both his duties and hers, Lydia didn’t have an answer, so she pretended not to hear. She’d been having a nightmare lately that she left the castle and the door locked behind her, refusing to let her back in.

“It’s hard to imagine you’re in charge of all this,” Sara said in awe as they descended the main stairs. “Will you show us your library? I’d love to see journals on rearing children who imagine ghosts and goblins.”

Lydia had dreaded the moment when a guest asked her to find a specific book. She put it off now. “Perhaps there will be time later. You haven’t talked young Geordie out of monsters under the bed yet?”

“Not monsters. He’s quite convinced he’s talking to Papa’s ghost. And there is a spirit in the cemetery of a young girl he likes to play with. Play with, mind you. He’ll be labeled strange if he does not give it up.” Sara didn’t hurry down the stairs but stopped at each bend to admire the scenery from the windows and to examine the open cubicles.

Their mother hadn’t encouraged any of them to develop their various Malcolm abilities for fear their father’s parishioners would call them witches.

Perhaps that fear held her back? Lydia cast a longing look at the wall concealing her secret library, but she couldn’t leave Max fending off relatives on his own.

Feeling like Boudicca off to do battle, she led her troops onward and prayed she was doing the right thing with this wedding.

Twenty-three

Garbed in one of the new suits he’d ordered so he didn’t shame Lydia, hoping he could pay for them soon, Max lingered at the entrance of the great hall, studying the occupants. He recognized his aunt and few others. A new female he didn’t know—surely she wasn’t part of the wedding party?—glanced up. He avoided looking directly at her.

Not seeing Lydia, Max steeled himself for the moment of truth. By the windows waited a tall group of males who could only be family. If he couldn’t convince them of his identity, his goose was cooked. He stalked past the females as if they weren’t there.

His tension eased as he thought he recognized the men his mother had chosen to stand up with him tomorrow. They watched him expectantly, testing. One was obviously a tall, dark Ives. The shorter twins were several years older and auburn, like their mother.

He acknowledged a fourth, slender, blond man and his higher title first. “Rainford. How’s the duke faring? Did he prevail and you’re a physician these days?”

The marquess grimaced. “Don’t ask. That’s a topic for a night of drinking, not a wedding.” He glanced at his companions waiting for Max to identify them.

Max shook his head at the lot of them. “It may be over twenty years, but you really don’t think I’d forget the clowns who nearly drowned me, did you? And for honesty’s sake, if I were a real fraud, I could easily have had someone research everyone my mother invited. It’s not as if any of you are monks.”

“We taught you to swim while drowning you, didn’t we?” Rainford asked.

“There are easier ways of learning,” Max replied dryly.

The others remained silent, waiting, simply because they were obstinate that way.

With a sigh of exasperation, he nodded at the dark-haired earl who stood taller than he. “Ives, your proboscis is still larger than mine.” He turned to the auburn twins. “Bran, Brendan, I can still tell the two of you apart because Bran squints.”

“It’s him,” Bran said in disgust. “I was hoping for an imposter we could pound into pulp and dump down an oubliette.”

“This is a Malcolm fortress. You don’t really believe the women had an oubliette, do you?” Max asked, fighting a grin of extreme relief. “I’m hoping to uncover a hypocaust