Lady Charlotte and the Lending Library (The Rogue’s Alliance #1)

Chapter Seven

D espite the fact they accomplished little in the House of Lords that day, Ashford was in an excellent mood. Britain was at peace, and he could ask for nothing more. Sessions were over, and he looked forward to a quiet night at home with a good book and some excellent brandy.

Ashford stretched his arms over his head, happy to no longer be seated on the hard benches in the upper house.

“You saw Lady Charlotte today,” Cecil said drily, shaking his head.

He replied with a question, “How can you tell?”

“You are sickeningly cheery,” came the grumbled reply.

The gentlemen exited the Palace of Westminster, greeted by the cool night air. Despite the warmth of recent days, the weather seemed to be changing yet again. A thick, sooty fog began to roll in from the Thames, cloaking their surroundings in wispy shadows.

“I spotted the young lady at Lady Cairs ball,” Nathaniel chimed in. “She is lovely. No wonder Ashford looks cheerful.”

“Did you tell her about the cit?” Cecil asked.

“I did.” He shrugged. “According to Lady Charlotte and her friends, they have seen no evidence that Landry is trying to sabotage the business.”

Cecil replied grimly, “As I told you: If James Landry wants the land, he will get the land. Don’t underestimate him.”

“The ladies are determined to save their lending library.” He paused before saying coolly, “My involvement in their schemes is at an end.”

He’d enjoyed the time spent with Lady Charlotte. She was easy to talk to, and she liked reading as he did. Ashford would have to give Thorne’s a wide berth from now on. Unless he was courting an unmarried woman, he could not spend an excessive amount of time with her.

“I might well have to visit the library myself,” Nathaniel said with a lopsided grin. “Lady Cairs informed my sister it is the perfect place to meet an eligible partner.”

Ashford stopped walking to frown at his friend. “Are you looking for a bride, Nathaniel?”

The other man shrugged. “It is time I thought about the future. The war is over; Napoleon has been defeated. We put our lives on hold for long enough. It is time to live again.”

Nathaniel’s words were sobering. Although the three men came out of the war physically unscathed, family members and friends had been lost. Although he knew life went on, sometimes he felt callous going blissfully about his day when the lives of many of his brothers- in-arms would never be the same.

“Well, I wish you luck at Thorne’s Lending Library,” he replied sincerely. “As I said, I wash my hands of the young ladies and their exploits.”

“I will, of course, escort my sister there. She is such a frivolous young woman. Perhaps if she read more...” Nathaniel sighed.

“Perhaps,” Ashford replied lightly, ignoring Cecil’s doubtful look. He hoped his friend questioned a change in Alicia’s personality rather than Ashford’s resolve not to insert himself into Lady Charlotte’s activities.

“I did hear some interesting gossip today,” Cecil remarked quietly. “Lord Aberdare let drop the name of the man who is publishing Lady Lamb’s book.”

“And?” he asked, rocking on the balls of his feet.

“The publisher is Mr. Henry Colburn. The gentleman manages Morgan’s Library on Conduit Street.”

Ashford stopped his rocking and nodded. “Thank you, Cecil. Thank you very much.”

The next morning, Ashford made his way to Morgan’s Library, intent on meeting Henry Colburn and finding out what he could about Lady Lamb’s book. Rumor said the novel would be published with the author listed as anonymous.

The sky was gray that morning, matching his current mood, the smell of coming rain in the air.

A man was sleeping in the doorway of an empty shop next to Morgan’s Library. When the man heard Ashford speak to his coachman, he stood up abruptly, pulling off his hat, and running a hand through his short gray hair. The scruffy man looked oddly familiar.

“Lord Ashford? Well, knock me over with a feather.”

He recognized the man’s cockney accent at once. “Mr. Bones! It has been an age. You’re not in any difficulty with the law, I trust?” he asked with a grin. The Foreign Office had recruited Bones to infiltrate some of the smuggling gangs at work during the Continental Blockade and he had firsthand knowledge that Bones had also profited from said smuggling.

Ashford had been on a transport ship in the channel when the galley Bones was on was stopped and boarded. To prevent his boat from being burned, Mr. Bones had advised Ashford of the names of several smugglers in Guernsey, his latest home port. Bones was then allowed to continue on to Dunkirk with his illicit goods.

“I was rounded up for loitering. A shopkeeper said I was begging, but you know I never would, Lord Ashford,” the man answered with a grimace. “I’ll always find a way to make a living. I won’t accept no charity.”

The man looked thin, his complexion pale. He could use a good meal. Ashford had an idea of how to help Bones by utilizing his unique skills.

“I have a friend who could use your assistance, Mr. Bones. He needs someone who can find out things. Someone who can blend in anywhere.” He handed two guineas to the man. “Get yourself along to see Lord Cecil Wycliffe. I’m sure you’ve heard of the man?”

Bones looked down at the coins in his hand. “I’ve heard of Lord Cecil.”

“Get a hackney to number four, Curzon Square. Tell Wycliffe’s butler I sent you.”

“You always were a fair one,” Bones said gruffly before turning on his heel and walking rapidly away in the opposite direction.

Ashford entered Morgan’s library, pleased to see no other patrons in the establishment. It would not do for anyone to overhear his conversation with Mr. Colburn. Unlike Thorne’s, the library was rather dark inside, the heavy wood furnishings reflecting a desire to cater to a masculine clientele.

He inquired as to the whereabouts of the manager from a young clerk, the only clerk visible behind a crescent-shaped desk.

“Mr. Colburn is in the back room, my lord. I will get him for you. Excuse me.”

A short time later, a tall, well-dressed gentleman approached the desk. “I am Mr. Colburn. It is a pleasure to meet you, Lord Ashford. How may I be of assistance?”

“Is there somewhere we may talk in private?” he asked the publisher.

Mr. Colburn looked about him. There were still no other patrons in the library. “The backroom contains two of my clerks at present. Perhaps we may find some privacy in that corner?”

The gentleman pointed to a secluded nook surrounded by bookshelves on three sides. There were two leather gentleman’s club armchairs in the middle of the space, a small mahogany drum table between them.

Ashford nodded. “That should do nicely.”

Both men walked to the nook and took a seat.

He said without preamble, “Mr. Colburn, I won’t waste your time with pleasantries. I want information about Lady Lamb’s book.”

“What book?” the man asked in response. His gaze didn’t quite meet Ashford’s eyes.

“I have it on good authority that you are publishing a book written by Lady Caroline Lamb. Does she cite names of the ton in her work? I desire to know if a lady close to me is mentioned in the novel.”

Mr. Colburn looked at him squarely. “My lord, I am not at liberty to divulge whether I am the lady’s publisher or not.”

“I will not share any intelligence you give me.” He crossed one leg over the other and folded his hands in his lap. “I have all the time in the world to wait for the information I want.”

After a few moments of silence, Mr. Colburn visibly sighed and said, “The book is about the Irish rebellion of 1798, my lord. It has nothing to do with current London society.”

He replied with a raised brow, “So you are printing the book.”

The other man nodded. “Lord Ashford, the novel isn’t finished. I have no idea whether your lady friend is mentioned in Lady Lamb’s book.”

Ashford looked up at the faint sound of swishing skirts to see Lady Charlotte standing only a few steps away from where he was seated with Mr. Colburn. The lady turned on her heel and rushed away, the musky scent of Tuberose in her wake.

* * * * *

W illiam merely grumbled when Charlotte asked him to escort her to Morgan’s Library.

She ignored him and said, “We should arrive soon after the library opens as I desire a private conversation with the proprietor.”

When they entered the establishment on Conduit Street the next morning, William made his way toward the backroom, as no employees were in evidence. Traces of cigarillo smoke and spicy cologne hung in the air like cobwebs.

Charlotte looked about her. The shop was full of dark wood bookshelves and somber furnishings. She didn’t see any merchandise in the library for sale other than books.

Curious to see how Morgan’s Library displayed its tomes, she strolled to the other side of the shop, noting that the bookseller arranged the books in alphabetical order according to author. She walked around the corner of a bookshelf and heard voices. Before Charlotte could make herself known, she’d overheard Lord Ashford ask about a book to be published.

“Pardon me,” she said quietly, turned, and retraced her steps back to the curved desk near the front of the library. Mortified that the marquess would think she’d been purposely eavesdropping, she felt heat on her cheeks.

Her brother approached the desk with a clerk in tow.

At that moment, Lord Ashford and the man he’d been speaking with reappeared.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be of further help,” the unknown man said to the marquess and took up a place behind the desk.

Lord Ashford nodded to Charlotte and William. His gaze held hers for the briefest moment, and she felt her breath catch in her throat. A man should not have such beautiful eyes. It wasn’t fair to her equilibrium.

The marquess sketched an elegant bow. “I must be on my way. Good afternoon, Lady Charlotte , Lord Beaumont.”

She dropped a shallow curtsy and the marquess exited the shop.

“Lord Beaumont, how may I be of service?” the man behind the desk asked.

“Mr. Colburn, my sister Lady Charlotte would like to speak with you.”

The publisher nodded to Charlotte. “Good morning, my lady. I’m the manager here. How may I assist you?”

“Mr. Colburn, I’ve heard you specialize in publishing female writers. Could you tell me which authors are your current best sellers?”

The publisher did not ask her why she wanted the information but merely replied, “Ann Radcliffe is still quite popular, as is Fanny Burney. All of Mary Wollstonecraft’s works sell particularly well.”

“I am familiar with their work. Are there any other female authors you think would be of interest to Londoners?”

“I think it would be simpler if I showed you.” Mr. Colburn walked from behind the desk to a nearby table covered with several stacks of books. “The books on this table are the ones most requested by lending libraries at present.”

Charlotte looked over the books on display, noting several works by female writers: Maria Edgeworth, Castle Rackrent , Letters for Literary Ladies , Belinda, Patronage; Female Quixote by Charlotte Lennon; Adelaide and Theodore, or Letters on Education by Madame de Genlis. The Children of the Abbey, a Tale by Regina Maria Roche; Letters from The Mountains by Anne Grant.

“I couldn’t help but overhear some of your conversation with Lord Ashford,” Charlotte said idly as she listed the books on the table in a tiny notebook she kept in her reticule. “Is the forthcoming novel by Lady Lamb something the ladies and gentlemen of London would enjoy reading?”

Mr. Colburn cleared his throat. “As I told his lordship, I am not at liberty to discuss the contents of the book even if I am to be its publisher.”

Charlotte looked up to see her brother frowning at her. William jerked his head just the slightest towards the entrance to the library, and she returned her notebook and prized cedarwood-cased pencil to her reticule.

“Thank you ever so much, sir. I appreciate your assistance and look forward to seeing what you will publish in the future.” She nodded goodbye to Mr. Colburn and dutifully followed William outside. Hopefully, her brother wouldn’t remark on her question about Lady Lamb’s book.

William assisted her into their father’s town carriage. As the coach moved forward, he inquired, “Why did you ask about a private conversation Lord Ashford was involved in?”

Charlotte tensed for a moment before replying, “I wondered if I could get information about the book before anyone else did. If Thorne’s acquired the novel before other libraries, it might bring some fame to the lending library.”

Her brother appeared mollified by her answer and said no more on the subject. Charlotte blew out a breath and felt her shoulders relax.

Lord Ashford was anxious about some information Lady Lamb might include in her novel. It concerned a woman close to him. His mistress? Her very being recoiled at the thought. As she and William returned home in their father’s carriage, her imagination ran wild with possibilities of what details about the marquess’s life could be in that book.

* * * * *

A fter his visit to Morgan’s Library, Ashford returned home. The sky was still gray, but rain had yet to make an appearance. Chloe, a ball of energy, greeted his return to the house with enthusiasm. He determined the little dog could do with a walk to the private park in Grosvenor Square before the weather changed.

As his mother was wont to stay in her rooms until nuncheon, Chloe had little company in the house other than the servants. His valet pretended to think the dog was a nuisance, but he’d seen the man give the Maltese a scratch now and then when he thought nobody was looking.

It was Saturday. A day Ashford could relax as there were no sessions that afternoon.

When the war was over, he’d resigned from his position in the Foreign Office. Cecil assumed he missed the intrigues of government service. Ashford’s position as an attaché dealt with ensuring finished goods from Britain reached the rest of Europe; he merely helped keep the British economy strong during the Napoleonic wars. He may have utilized bribery and smuggling, but he’d never been a spy.

Ashford would remain in London while Parliament was seated and then return to Kent until the cycle started all over again. Unlike his friend Cecil, he much preferred the country to town. He rather thought Chloe did as well.

When they reached the private park surrounded by railings, he used a key to access the garden. “Go and play,” he told Chloe as he released her from her leash to roam the area and sniff the multitude of scents only dogs could smell. The little Maltese wandered happily, her tail wagging incessantly.

He breathed deeply of the cool air, relishing the solitude of the green space. Looking up at the equestrian statue of George I in the middle of the garden, he spied a male chaffinch keeping a watchful eye on Chloe. “Don’t worry, my friend, you’re much too quick for my girl.”

Chloe brought him a small stick which he dutifully threw for her. He’d found her as a cold, wet puppy in a field in Portugal. Ever since he could remember, he’d always taken in needy creatures.

“Good girl!” Chloe returned her stick to him. He threw it again.

Thinking of needy creatures reminded him of Lady Charlotte’s brother. Had the boy told his sister of the service Ashford performed for him while they were at Eton? He doubted it. The tale would not show William in a positive light.

“What are you doing in this room?” he’d asked the first-year student upon witnessing him enter Cecil’s set of rooms at the Jourdelay boarding house.

“I must be lost,” the boy replied, his voice shaking. “I need to return a book for a friend.”

“Where is the book?” Ashford’s gaze never left the boy’s face.

The boy shook his head. “I don’t know. I must have dropped it.”

He noticed the young man holding something behind his back. “Show me what is in your hand.”

The boy held out his palm to reveal a pocket watch. Ashford recognized it as the silver pair case watch Cecil’s older brother had given him when Cecil went away to school.

“What is your name?”

“William. William Beaumont.” The boy placed the watch on a small nearby table in the bedchamber.

The boy was shaking, and. Ashford hoped Beaumont had learned his lesson about entering someone else’s quarters.

“This room belongs to Lord Cecil Wycliffe,” Ashford said with a grimace. “You do know who he is?”

The boy’s face turned white. William asked, his voice trembling, “You won’t tell him I was in his room?”

Ashford shook his head. “I don’t want to see you on this floor again, or I will inform Lord Wycliffe you were in here.”

“Thank you, sir.” The boy rushed out of the room without a backward glance.

Now that he thought about it, he couldn’t recall seeing William more than a handful of times again that year, Ashford’s final year at Eton College.

He’d never told Cecil about the incident. His friend would have turned the boy into the headmaster, resulting in William receiving a birching on his bare posterior. Everyone knew stealing for a lark was a popular activity at Eton. Even the best families had children who rebelled at school.

William was as reckless as his sister. A good reason to avoid the family from now on. Lady Charlotte had provided a momentary diversion, nothing else. A lady should not be seen on St. James’s Street, let alone dressed as a beggar.

She hadn’t been dressed as a beggar today. Her dress and bonnet had been of the first stare of fashion. He found himself wondering how long her hair was when it was down. Would it curl about her milky white shoulders or cascade down her slender back? His breath quickened as he imagined the lady daubing Tuberose perfume all over her body.

He shook himself and threw the stick for Chloe several more times before a light rain began to fall. “Come along, girl! Let’s get you home.”

When Ashford and his furry companion reached the townhouse, he entered his study, and Chloe padded along beside him, curling up on one of his boots as he sat at the large mahogany desk looking through his correspondence. He was determined not to think about Lady Charlotte.

He should look in on Cecil or Nathaniel. Perhaps not Nathaniel. The constant chattering of the man’s sister Alicia generally gave him a migraine. It was curious how the girl’s high-pitched voice irritated him when she prattled on, whereas Lady Charlotte’s husky voice had the opposite effect.

“Blast it!”

Chloe scurried out from under the desk and ran out of the room. Ashford needed to get out of the house. He required a distraction to keep from thinking about Lady Charlotte and her mission to save the lending library. It didn’t matter whether she was suitable or not. Despite how much his mother wished otherwise, he wasn’t ready to look for a bride.