Attracting the Spymaster: Sweet and Clean Regency Romance (His Majesty's Hounds Book 15)

by Arietta Richmond

  “Ooooff.”

  An odd sensation followed, so unusual that Lydia opened her eyes. And found herself staring into concerned deep brown eyes, merely inches from her own.

  “Oh my!”

  Mr Godfrey, who had somehow miraculously appeared, and caught her before she had reached the floor, gently lowered her feet to the ground but did not release her from his arms. Time slowed again, in a completely different way. She became acutely aware of the warmth of him, where his body pressed against hers, and the rapid beat of both of their hearts. He seemed as if he had meant to say something, now that he had recovered his breath from the impact of her person, yet he did not speak. Instead, they stayed there, their eyes locked, as the silence lengthened around them.

  The edge of the book which had caused it all dug into Lydia’s side, but she barely noticed it. His eyes were the colour of the best madeira – a deep red brown which glinted almost red and gold in the right light. What was happening to her? She was the practical one – always had been, and yet, here she was, so lost for words that she had not even thanked the man for saving her!

  She forced her eyes away from his, and the spell was broken.

  “Miss Millpost! I do hope that you have not been harmed! It was fortuitous indeed that I arrived when I did.”

  “Thank you, Mr Godfrey. I believe that I am completely unharmed – well, except for my pride. I feel rather foolish. After all these months climbing about in this library, I should not have fallen so. But I am most grateful for your impeccably timed arrival.”

  “I am relieved – and… I do not think you foolish.”

  “You are far too courteous.”

  Mr Godfrey smiled at her, and the smile transformed his rather serious face into something entirely different. Her heart sped up again, and she mentally chided herself for behaving like one of the green girls she had previously been companion to.

  “No, simply honest. I think you adventurous, determined and capable.”

  Lydia gave a little snort of self-derision.

  “Determined – as in ‘far too stubborn to know when it would be wise to seek assistance’?”

  Mr Godfrey laughed, in genuine delight at her words.

  “I would never say such a thing, Miss Millpost!”

  “Of course you wouldn’t, you are far too much the gentleman. But you not saying it does not make it untrue.”

  She realised, as she spoke, that she was still in the circle of his arms. A blush rose to her cheeks, and as she felt its heat, she made herself move back from him. She was disgusted with herself. She had not blushed since she was a girl still in the schoolroom. He released her immediately, but his eyes followed her. There was something in his expression – almost… regret?

  She turned away, making that little self-deprecating sound again. When she had suggested to Lady Sybilla, all those months ago, that there was something about this district that led a person to madness, she had never expected to catch the malady herself! Yet here she was, allowing a man to discompose her.

  Silence stretched again. After a few moments, in which she straightened her skirts, he cleared his throat, then spoke.

  “I fear that you are too harsh on yourself.”

  “No Mr Godfrey, I am far too old to be anything other than pragmatic. But surely, you have come here today for some reason other than saving me from flinging myself from a great height, to almost certain injury?”

  “Indeed. I have made a most fascinating discovery.”

  Lydia turned to him again, interest on her face. If Mr Godfrey described something as fascinating, the it was likely to be very interesting, and related to the history of one of the great houses of the area. Considering what they had unearthed here, this last year, for him to describe whatever it was in such a way meant that he regarded it as highly significant.

  Mr Godfrey had been Vicar at the small local church for many years now, and had, from his first arrival there, become obsessed with local history. The discovery of a previously unknown Templar crypt under this very building, one year before, had transformed his life, allowing him to indulge his passion for history. It had also brought him into Lydia’s life, when he discovered that her passion for bringing the libraries of Dartworth Abbey, Greyscar Keep and Gallowbridge House into order was uncovering many wonderful items.

  He was the only man that she had ever met who cared about the sort of things that she did and who did not, in any way, disparage her interest or her knowledge.

  “Please, let us be seated, and I will send for tea and biscuits. We might as well be comfortable while you tell me about it.”

  She pulled the bellrope to summon a maid, and requested the refreshments.

  Mr Godfrey reached down, and picked up the small valise he had dropped to allow him to catch her, and came to sit on the couch beside her. Lydia eyed the valise with intense curiosity. From within it, he produced, rather ceremoniously, a very ancient looking book. Without a word he passed it to her.

  She opened the worn cover, taking great care with the aged binding. There on the first page, was an inscription. She gasped, her eyes going wide in surprise.

  ~~~~~

  Nathaniel Godfrey was not a man prone to excess in any way, except perhaps in his passion for history. He had rarely found anyone who understood why he cared. Which was why he had found himself becoming more and more intrigued by Miss Millpost – for she seemed to be almost as obsessed with the preservation of the past as he was.

  He had spent so much time at Dartworth Abbey this past year, cataloguing everything that had been discovered during the renovations, that his housekeeper had commented that he was never home. And every visit to Dartworth Abbey had involved at least one conversation with Miss Millpost, or a moment where he had assisted her in reaching the hardest to reach books, or where they had shared their finds.

  He had come to look forward to time spent with her – with someone who understood his enthusiasms.

  On this particular day, he had rushed to the library, almost desperate to share with her the amazing find he had made – a find which he knew, instantly, would be the start of a long investigation.

  But when he had stepped through the door and seen her teetering on the ladder, reaching for a falling book, his heart had nearly stopped. He had flung himself forward, filled with terror that he might not reach her in time. The idea that she might be harmed had cut into him like a knife. He could not bear the idea of seeing her bright hazel eyes filled with pain, or her energy for life diminished in any way.

  Somehow, he had reached her, somehow, he had caught her before she had reached the hard and unyielding floor, and somehow, remarkably, he had managed to stay on his feet when she landed in his arms. He had discovered that he did not want to put her down. For a time, he had simply stood, his heart rate slowing, and savoured the fact that she appeared unharmed, and that he held her. If he was to be honest with himself, he had rather wanted to hold her for quite some time now – he simply had no idea what to do with that desire.

  For most of his life, he had been happy to be a man of the cloth, to focus on God, and on helping his parishioners, as well as on his research into the history of the district. He had thought, at times, of taking a wife, but had never met the woman who made him actually act on the idea. But, over the last year, the idea had begun to seem more and more appealing – if he knew how to go about such a thing, which he did not. But holding Miss Millpost in his arms, even for those short minutes, had rather forcibly brought the idea back to the surface of his mind.

  They had stayed there, staring into each other’s eyes, for what seemed hours, until she had looked away, and moved. He had released her regretfully. Now, as he sat on the couch beside her, and watched as she opened the book, he was still unsettled. He could tell that she understood the importance of the find immediately. She gasped and looked up at him, her bright hazel eyes full of delight and curiosity.

  “But this is wonderful! Where did you discover this?”

&
nbsp; “You remember that, in that last sealed room that we found, behind the private chapel, there were quite a few old chests? It was in one of them. I must confess that, whilst I have been wondering if I might ever discover more about Edward Cetan de Hirst’s family, ever since Lord Barton Seddon arrived here, and I saw his uncanny resemblance to the effigy of Edward in the church crypt, but I did not expect anything so remarkable as this.”

  “Have you read much of it yet?”

  “Not yet. I confess that, when I pulled it from that chest, I expected nothing more than a ledger listing food purchases or similar. Once I saw that first page, I rushed here to share it with you.”

  He felt a little sheepish, when he heard it put that way – but it was the truth – his first thought had been to share it with her. She looked at him, her eyes wide, and, after a moment, nodded.

  “Thank you. I am honoured.”

  He felt himself blush – really, what was he, a man of near fifty, doing blushing? But he knew that she meant her words – she valued this find as he did.

  “Turn the page – whilst that first page simply appears to be a notation of ownership of the book, the next declares it for what it is.”

  She turned the page, and gasped again.

  He thought, in that moment, that he would like to be always able to give her such pleasure in her day.

  “Oh! ‘A record of the descendants of Edward Cetan de Hirst, and their achievements’ – But… the person whose name is on the at first page is Jerome Seden de Hurst?”

  “Yes – and that’s the exciting part – it means that the name evolved over the near four centuries between when Edward Cetan de Hirst lived, and when this book was written. I would not be at all surprised if the name has evolved even further since then – for that which you hold was written at least two hundred years ago.”

  “My, that is interesting. It makes perfect sense when you say it. But – why was the book here, at Dartworth Abbey? I thought that, after Edward Cetan de Hirst died, Ralph Kentworthy became the first Marquess of Dartworth? So why would Edward’s descendants still be able to leave a book here?”

  “I don’t know – which is what makes it so very intriguing! I was hoping… that you would help me investigate?”

  Her bright eyes opened wide, and her face lit up with a wonderful smile.

  “Why Mr Godfrey, I thought you’d never ask!”

  He discovered that, with her words, he felt happier than he ever had in his life.

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