But even if he had consulted her, he probably still would have chosen to do things his way.
He’d never cared if anyone thought poorly of him before—not even Gracie. Which of course had done nothing good for his marriage. She’d abandoned him for another, and only returned when she had no other options. None whatsoever.
And he really shouldn’t care what Lydia thought of him.
She placed a hand on his arm, the slender imprint of her fingers trailing down to his elbow. “I’m—”
“Look . . . ” Nicholas grabbed her hand and squeezed. “I’m sorry I’m not fulfilling your wishes as you wanted.” She’d be plenty pleased with what he had in store for her later, surely. But he’d hoped she’d be delighted with the traveling library. It was a great way to help so many who couldn’t or wouldn’t take advantage of a normal library.
“No, I was just about to say I shouldn’t be disappointed. I don’t deserve anything.”
“Of course you do.”
“No, I don’t.” She tugged her hand from his and shook her head. But then a slow smile lit her face. “But I got it anyway, and you obviously put a lot of thought into this.” She let out a disparaging laugh and gestured at the coach’s interior. “You’re fulfilling my desire for the town to have a library, and providing for me. What better job could you have offered? I didn’t even know I needed one.” She looked up at him, her forehead all wrinkled up again.
Did she like it or not?
His fingers ached to smooth the furrows on her brow, but he knew better than to touch her right now, lest he forget himself and take the wayward wisp of hair dangling in front of her face and tuck it behind her ear, then let his fingers trail down the bit of her exposed neck to feel her pulse throbbing there. Was it heightened like his was, sitting this close to each other?
She closed her eyes. “It’s not what I hoped for, but thank you. For everything.”
He tore his gaze off her earlobe and blinked. Though he didn’t give her what she wanted, she was still thankful? An honest-to-goodness grateful woman?
He tipped his head back and stared at the ceiling, his Adam’s apple working. God help him. If she got one more thing right, he’d start pursuing another man’s intended.
He tried to find another inch or two on the seat to scoot over. He really should’ve thought about how small this bench was before he’d hopped in here with her. “You’re welcome, though I see now I should have consulted you.”
She fidgeted beside him. “Perhaps, but even so, I don’t deserve the consideration you’ve shown me. And through it, I’ve learned a few things . . . not exactly things I wanted to learn, but I’m glad of it.” She gave him a small smile and turned back to reading the titles around her.
In silence, they swayed with the coach’s movements, each little bump bringing them within inches of each other.
As she perused the books, the smile slipped back onto her face, her lips wriggling occasionally whenever she found a title to her liking.
He should stop looking at her mouth, but since she seemed oblivious . . .
She suddenly turned to look at him, and her smile died.
He swallowed and shuttered his features. Though likely too late for her to miss where he’d been staring.
The wagon slowed and stopped. Nicholas slipped off the seat and opened the door before she could say anything. “We’re only visiting the Blairs today.”
She looked over his shoulder to the lowly hovel behind him, her smile growing bigger.
He let out a sharp exhale to keep from kissing her and wiping that smile right off. “I figured you and Theresa would like to talk about your new library.”
He hopped outside and waited for her to descend. “I’d like you to take out the library coach twice a week. I doubt many will read fast enough to warrant visiting more often—except Theresa, of course.”
Lydia remained on the middle of the seat, the copy of Roughing It in her hands, staring at the small shelf to her right. “Just a minute. I need to memorize the available titles since Theresa won’t be able to look herself.”
After a moment or two of his standing in a mud puddle, she took his offered hand, but he failed to keep her from mucking up her hem. She hadn’t worn a work dress today. A lovely blue skirt with purple embroidery embellishing its hem fluttered under the edges of her navy cloak. Hopefully when Theresa saw the book in Lydia’s hand, she wouldn’t notice how her dress outshone his worn lumberyard uniform.
He linked his arm with Lydia’s and tore his gaze away. Would it be wrong to tell a woman courted by another man that she looked lovely?
He had to get someone else out here before he said or did something foolish. “Hello, the house! Theresa? Errol?”
22
Beside her, Nicholas was oddly quiet.
Given that she’d already looked at the books lining the inside of the carriage three times over on their way back to town, she allowed herself to look at him.
He was completely entranced by the passing scenery in the coach’s one small window, though there was nothing but brown grass and brown trees to look at.
He’d hardly talked at the Blairs’. Granted, Alec hadn’t been there, but even so, Nicholas had said hardly a word all afternoon. She fidgeted beside him, the silence strangely uncomfortable.
Had he really found her mesmerizing when she talked about books? And that look on his face when she’d caught him staring . . .
She’d resisted the urge to peek at him while she told Theresa of the handful of novels in the library coach, but she couldn’t help sensing him watching her—again—and more than he should have.
He’d played checkers with Errol but had lost every single time. And he didn’t seem to be purposely throwing the games.
And though she’d tried to forget about him as she and Theresa dreamed up a list of books to order for the library, she felt his eyes on her every movement.
When she’d turn to catch him, he’d drop his gaze instantly.
But she’d caught one look that mirrored her father’s expression back when Mama was well and he was in high spirits. The one that made her mother blush as he twirled her in his arms and whispered in her ear.
It was a good thing Theresa carried most of the conversation on her own. That look had so jumbled Lydia’s thoughts that Theresa could’ve insisted Mr. Elton would have been a better husband for Emma than Mr. Knightley and Lydia would’ve hummed in affirmation.
The coach jolted, and Lydia blew out a breath.
All this afternoon’s talk of Jane Austen heroes must have been what scrambled her brain. She’d not caught Nicholas looking at her like that again, even after he’d joined their conversation on what books they should buy. Maybe she’d imagined it.
She glanced down at the list of titles he’d helped them compile. So many books they wanted to read, but with the size of this coach and his desire to dedicate most of its space to the education of the poorest of the poor . . .
Though she wanted to be happy with this traveling library setup, she’d dreamed of a grand room filled to the brim with stacks of novels she wanted to read herself, heading up a ladies’ reading club, sitting behind a desk, sneaking in a page or two of Twain or Libbey between attending to patrons.
She sighed and shook her head. After a day or two, she’d recover from that lost dream and be ready to start work in this odd mobile library in good spirits.
The rolling library stopped sooner than expected. They couldn’t have returned to his mansion already.
Nicholas got out and waited. They weren’t outside but rather inside a small carriage house. The large doors behind them didn’t open onto Nicholas’s expansive acreage but instead faced a building’s brick wall across a wide alley.
Mr. Parker pulled the two giant doors closed, and the room dimmed.
She put her hand in Nicholas’s and looked around as she alighted. “Where are we?”
“At the library.” He pulled her to the side.
“B
ut I thought the coach was the library.” She passed in front of him and through an open door.
The room’s chipped tile floor and high ceilings weren’t exactly inviting, but the walls were lined with barely filled shelving. A large table and desk were thrown in the middle of the room, and a few rolled-up rugs drooped across the arm of a floral couch. Four crates and their lids littered the floor.
So she didn’t have to settle for a tiny coach of books? Why did her heart hiccup as if she’d just received a gift and not a job? She couldn’t help but gaze at Nicholas with a cheek-hurting grin, but he wasn’t looking at her.
Probably a good thing, considering the way he’d stared at her earlier.
She blew out a calming breath. This building would have been small for a store, but for a library? The number of books she could put in this room . . . “It’s enormous.”
“Then we can fill it with lots of books.” He rubbed his hands together, smiling just as widely as she had earlier.
Her heart fluttered again. Sebastian was never this giddy over something she loved.
Nicholas perched on the edge of the desk, just as he had on that day she’d barged into his lumber office at the beginning of October demanding thirty dollars and comparing him to Scrooge.
How much had he spent on her requests since then?
Much, much more than thirty dollars.
“This will be good for the town. I hadn’t thought of starting a library until you wrote it down. I’d often lent my own books, but not everyone would feel comfortable asking me. You had a great idea, and I’m sure you’ll make this a great outreach.” He scooted farther back on the desk. He was acting more like a big brother than a boss, arms crossed, his heel thumping against the desk.
How had she ever compared him to the red-eyed, thin-lipped Scrooge?
He stopped his kicking, his smile fading. “I know you weren’t thrilled about continuing to work with me last week, but I won’t be involved much beyond paying bills. I’ve got plenty of business to get back to.”
Why did his no longer being involved make her want to frown? “Are the books I requested in these boxes?”
He leaned back, pulled out a desk drawer, and fished out a familiar sheet of her stationery. “I had a quarter of your list in my personal library already.” He pointed to a shelf filled with several small stacks of books. “I figure there’ll be some in town who’ll donate. You’ve said I need to involve others, so we’ll wait to order the rest of these and the list we came up with at Theresa’s until after we see what comes in. I did order manuals and books I thought the farming folk might like, though. I want everyone to have access to books that would interest them.” His shoulders lifted with a deep breath and he looked straight at her, his eyes penetrating but gentle. “Which means I want Queenie to have access, and she’ll borrow for the other ladies.”
So last week was not the last time she would have to converse with prostitutes. What would her mother say to her taking this job if she knew that?
His mouth twitched. “I want you to reserve three, maybe four, hours for library maintenance or whatever you want to call it. Queenie can come in at those times if someone wants to borrow something so she doesn’t make any patrons uncomfortable.”
Lydia paced over to a brand-new shelf beside the front doors and looked out the window. They were eight blocks north of the corner of the red-light district, far enough away for no one to worry about its proximity but close enough to walk.
“I know it’s a lot to ask, but I hope you’ll tolerate Queenie. I’m not asking you to deal with the others. They know you shouldn’t associate with them, but those who have extra time . . . If they don’t occupy their minds, they fall into even more trouble. And perhaps something in this library will help one of them. Words are powerful things.”
How could she deny anybody a book?
“Are you still interested in the job? Will you have a problem with Queenie borrowing the same books as your friends?”
She pressed her arms against her stomach; the uncertainty in his voice made her feel small and petty. “Red-light fines help pay for our schools, streets, and other municipal improvements, yes?” When she’d asked Sebastian why they allowed the women and gamblers to return to the streets instead of jailing repeat offenders, he’d said the fines were too lucrative to ignore.
“They do.”
“Then if the town takes their money for our betterment, they can use our books for theirs.”
Nicholas stepped closer, his breath ruffling her hair and tickling her ear. “I hadn’t thought I could like you more.”
She looked up at him. Did he see the gooseflesh pop up across the back of her neck at the grit in his voice?
He didn’t back away. And he wasn’t looking at the gooseflesh on her neck . . . not that looking at her neck would have made his gaze any less unsettling.
Parker walked in from the carriage house and cleared his throat.
She took a step back. They were employer and employee. Nothing more. She’d only imagined how his eyes had sparked—they were uncommonly piercing, after all, and the man did seem to analyze and pick apart everybody and everything.
“Shall I escort Miss King home?”
“No, I will. See you tomorrow morning, Parker.”
His driver nodded and shoved his hat on his head before preceding them out the door. “Good night, then, Miss King.” The man’s grandfatherly gaze held a bit of warning.
But surely he wasn’t afraid of Nicholas’s harming her in any way. His intentions were always honorable. He’d given her a desk, a library, an income . . . He was looking out for her, as he did for so many others without the town knowing about it.
If Nicholas wasn’t waiting, she might have started unpacking boxes, smelling new pages, deciding how to organize despite the waning afternoon light.
But he was waiting—and the thought of walking home with him pulled at her almost as much as those half-packed crates of books.
Or maybe more.
Not good.
When had she started wanting to spend time with him instead of avoiding him at all costs? “I don’t want to be a bother. Well, no more than I already am. I appreciate your offer, but I can see myself home.”
He smiled. “You’re no trouble. During the winter, I expect you to close the library early so you don’t walk home near dark. Drunkards might wander nearby.” His smile disappeared. “Promise me you won’t ever stay after hours if it’s dark.”
Her mother would have a conniption if she ignored such commonsense advice—it wasn’t as if she couldn’t come back the next day, and the next. A small, giddy huff escaped. What was Sebastian’s book allowance compared to this? “No need to worry about that.”
“Good.” Nicholas gestured for her to go outside ahead of him, and she shuffled past.
On the sidewalk, she stopped and looked down at her skirt and then back at his faded uniform. “This is the first time we’re . . . Should we walk through town together with you dressed as Nick? Your work clothes won’t conceal your identity to anyone who knows you.”
And if anyone saw them together, Sebastian would know within a day or two.
“Our secret adventures are over, and it will soon be common knowledge that I’m funding the library.” He rubbed at his frayed cuff. “The only reason I still need the poor-worker disguise is to keep the trust of the truly needy, whose pride keeps them from taking what they need unless someone as bad off as they are does the giving.”
She clasped her hands behind her back to thwart him from deciding to offer his arm. They might walk together, but they shouldn’t look . . . together. “As long as you’re doing what you think best.”
“You’ve made me question my methods and motives a lot lately.” His brow furrowed. And was he actually slumped a bit?
Though she might imagine he sounded like a repentant Mr. Darcy from Pride and Prejudice or Mr. Thornton from North and South, he wasn’t really like either of those two characters. Darcy
and Thornton had been so cold . . . but, well, so was Nicholas, or at least she’d thought him to be . . . once. Like the other two . . .
Did Nicholas think about her the way Darcy thought about Lizzy Bennet? Thornton about Margaret Hale? Or could a gruff man just be a gruff man?
But would a truly bad-tempered man look at her the way he had at the Blairs’ today?
No, she was just being silly. She shook her head and let out a breath. She must not ruin things with Sebastian because of her overactive imagination. Besides, she’d agreed to be courted by him, and he’d done nothing worthy of being jilted—except maybe paling in comparison to her romantic notion of a misunderstood hero.
She tripped on an uneven brick in the sidewalk, and Nicholas’s firm grip kept her upright. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t minding my feet.”
What a romantic fool she’d become—just like her father warned her would happen after reading too many novels.
She was neither Lizzy nor Margaret.
They were the quintessential women of independence, motivated by the ideal.
And she’d sell herself to marriage with Sebastian for worldly security.
Nicholas wouldn’t want a woman who accepted the most convenient solution to her problems, ignoring deeper issues like her motivations and distrust of God’s provision.
He was only trying to be nicer after she’d harangued him the other day in the carriage. Surely that was it.
And she needed to stop thinking he felt anything for her before she began believing he did. “So how do you think Robbie, Angel, and Pepper are adjusting?” The children were more important to be ruminating on anyway.
“I’m not sure. I’m afraid Pepper will make good on her threat to leave one day. She puts up a fight anytime she’s asked to scrub floors, wring laundry, or otherwise contribute. Angel’s having a grand time, though—she thinks dusting is fun.”
“But surely Pepper knows that sleeping in a closet at your place is far better than living at Madam Careless’s—and I know you wouldn’t put them in a closet.”
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