“Where’s your father?”
“He won’t leave his project no matter what I say.”
“Oh, dear. The man’s thin enough. He needs to eat.”
“James brought him a plate. With luck he’ll grow hungry and do so.” She took her seat. “I’m not certain what to do about his obsession with this project.”
“It would be so much better if there was more than one copy of that book. Or if the other book, what was it called? The Book of Secrets? If that was found, surely we could convince your father to ease back on the time he’s spending on this.”
“Perhaps I should make some inquiries of my own. I’ve found a few unusual bookstores while locating books for Father.” Though well aware Oliver was an expert in ancient texts, she couldn’t help but wonder if she might be better at finding them. Based on the gruff way he’d acted when she’d first met him, bookshop owners might not enjoy doing business with him.
“That’s an excellent idea, dear. Shall I accompany you?”
“If you wish. Lettie Fairchild made some inquires about The Book of Secrets. Perhaps I’ll visit with her to find out with whom she spoke so I don’t duplicate her efforts.”
Aunt Matilda beamed at her. “You have always been a clever girl. Your smile could charm honey from bees. I’m certain if the book is in London, you’ll discover its whereabouts.”
Confidence filled Julia at her aunt’s words. “Thank you. I appreciate that. Did you decide which gathering we’re attending tomorrow evening?”
“I was waiting to make certain your father would be all right by himself.” She frowned, worry in her eyes. “Somehow we’ll need to find a way to pry him out of the library and away from that book before we leave.”
“Indeed.” She took another bite of the potato croquette the cook had made with roasted chicken. “I will place that in your capable hands.”
“If you find another book that might diffuse his interest in Viscount Frost’s project, be sure to pick it up. We may need it to lure him away from the intensity of his research. Do you think we should speak with the viscount?”
“I’d rather leave that as a last resort.” Well aware of her aunt’s watchful gaze, Julia put on a bright smile. She didn’t care to discuss why she’d prefer to avoid visiting with Oliver. That would only lead to a complicated excuse. After all, lies were always complicated, and she certainly couldn’t reveal the truth—that she was far too attracted to Oliver. Her aunt would latch onto that without hesitation and do all in her power to encourage it.
But Julia wasn’t about to allow her feelings for Oliver to develop further. It would serve no purpose and only lead to pain. How could she ever leave her father? Keeping him healthy and happy required both her and her aunt’s abilities. If she wasn’t here, checking on him several times a day, spending as much time with him as possible, he might fall into despair.
Directly after luncheon, she stopped in the library, frustrated when she saw her father had still not eaten. By coaxing and threatening, she managed to get him to eat half of it before he insisted on returning to the book and his notes.
With more determination, she set out on her mission, deciding to call upon Lettie and discover where she’d inquired. And she knew of at least two small bookshops she could visit yet this afternoon. There had to be more than one copy of those books in this city. Her father’s health depended on her finding one of them.
Chapter Seven
“There are whole communities of men, constituting complete branches of our social economy, on whom the taint of dishonesty rests, and their masters are fully aware of it, and yet year after year they are allowed to continue in the same employment.”
~The Seven Curses of London
Julia wasted an entire afternoon visiting several bookshops with no results. She’d called upon Lettie, but her friend hadn’t been home. With no alternative, she’d left a message stating she hoped to see her at the Tatherton’s ball the following evening.
Upon returning home, Julia found her aunt pacing the drawing room.
“Thank goodness you’ve returned, dear. Your father has not left his desk even once while you were gone. This cannot go on.” Compared to her normally calm manner, Aunt Matilda was obviously distraught.
“The doctor will be displeased to hear he’s not getting at least some exercise and fresh air.” The physician had suggested her father take a walk each day to keep up his strength. Crouching over a desk was not healthy for him. As was not eating.
“I attempted to convince him to meditate with me for a time to no avail. The man won’t see reason when he’s involved in something like this.”
While Julia wasn’t surprised to hear her father had refused to meditate with her aunt, she was disappointed to hear how single-minded he was acting.
Each year, her father’s ability to find happiness in life diminished, leaving the brunt of his care to fall to her. Some days felt overwhelming. She couldn’t help but be frustrated by his lack of regard for himself and his family. And at the pit of those feelings was anger at her mother.
“I don’t envision him wanting to do anything different on the morrow.” Aunt Matilda wrung her hands. “We must think of something to force him to step out at least for a brief time.”
Julia knew she must set aside her emotions and think of a way to deal with it one day at a time. She couldn’t change the past, and she wasn’t certain about the future. Dealing with each day was how she’d managed thus far. “I have an idea. I’ll return in a moment.”
She requested that morning’s paper from one of the footmen then opened it on a table in the drawing room to more easily search the pages.
“What is it?” Aunt Matilda asked as she moved to look over Julia’s shoulder.
“I believe The Medievalist Society is hosting a lecture on the morrow. I want to check the topic to see if it might be anything we could convince Father to attend.”
“Then he’ll simply be sitting there instead of here,” her aunt protested.
“True but with careful planning, we can stop the carriage far enough away that he’ll have to walk a short distance to where the meeting is held. That will provide some exercise. We’ll do the same upon leaving. Perhaps the lecture itself will distract him from the book and temper his obsession with it.”
“Excellent idea,” her aunt declared with a decisive nod.
Together they studied the notice in the paper of the lecture featuring William Morris, who had recently written The Earthly Paradise, an epic poem designed as a homage to Chaucer and set in the late 14th century.
“Surely Alfred was already aware of this,” Aunt Matilda said. “He was at the last meeting, was he not?”
“He probably forgot about it. I’ll see if I can’t rouse his interest.”
Aunt Matilda drew a visible sigh of relief. “I will leave it in your capable hands. Let me know if you need any assistance.”
Julia made her way to the library with the notice, hoping merely showing it to her father would cause him to grow excited at the prospect of the meeting. The topic was certainly in his range of interest.
Days like this were exactly why Julia knew she could never marry and leave her father in her aunt’s charge. Aunt Matilda was only five years younger than him. While she was in better health, in both mind and body, that didn’t mean she was strong enough to bear the burden of the care her father required.
Besides, no matter how much she told herself otherwise, Julia still felt responsible for her father’s condition. From all he’d told her, he and her mother had been quite happy with their life until their first child—Julia. Her mother’s restless behavior hadn’t started until she’d become a parent.
Julia couldn’t help but believe it was her fault her parents’ happiness had dimmed. Her mother became even worse after Julia’s brother’s birth. The only reason she’d been pleased to have a second child was because he was a boy. She’d produced an heir, done her duty, and considered her responsibilities complete.
No matter how hard Julia had tried to please her mother, she’d failed. Granted, Julia realized there were limited ways a young child could do so. But she still felt she’d failed in the worst possible way.
If only Julia had been...more. More intelligent, more clever, more attractive...something—anything—that would’ve made her mother love her and therefore kept their family together. Instead, her mother had looked elsewhere for joy, always chasing it and had ended up dead in her pursuit of it.
Though she hadn’t been able to save her mother, the least she could do was aid her father. Even on the days he didn’t want to be helped.
She shook her head at the sight of him as she entered the library. He appeared to be in the exact same position in which she’d left him.
“How is the research progressing, Father?”
“Quite well. Many things to share with Frost,” he muttered, not taking his eyes from the text as his ink-stained finger ran along the page.
“I have a question for you.” She knew better than to ask him anything unless she had his full attention.
“Perhaps later, Julia. I’m quite busy at the moment.”
She brushed aside her hurt at the way he so easily brushed her aside. Or rather, she tried to. Why wasn’t she used to it by now? She’d lived with it all her life, that dismissal of her by both her mother and father. She’d never been a priority to them.
Oh, she knew her father loved her dearly, but her mother had tolerated her at best. That made her father’s love all the more precious. Still he rarely set aside anything for her.
Ignoring his statement, she remained at his side and set the paper near the book with the notice clearly visible. “Didn’t you say you were attending the Medievalists Society lecture tomorrow?”
“What’s that?” her father glanced over to the paper to which she pointed. “Oh. I’d nearly forgotten. I had wanted to attend, but this research is a priority. Frost made that quite clear.”
“I’m certain he wouldn’t mind if you stepped out for a few hours. Perhaps taking a break will clear your thoughts and refresh you. Provide you with better insight.” She wasn’t about to let him say no, no matter what it took.
Her father glanced at the notice once again as though tempted. Then he shook his head. “I simply can’t spare the time.”
“Perhaps Viscount Frost will be there. That would give you a chance to update him on your findings.” Surely that would force him to attend.
“He never comes to any of the events. I don’t think he often leaves his house. Now that I’ve begun this research, I can see why he finds reading with a specific purpose so invigorating. I don’t want to leave it for any reason.”
Julia wanted to stomp her foot in frustration. This was all Oliver’s fault. Somehow, she had to make him aid her with the problem.
“From what little he said to me,” Julia offered, “he has come to realize he needs to venture out more.” That was a total lie, but what choice did she have?
“Oh?” Her father actually looked at her for the first time since she’d entered the room.
“Why don’t we send a message to him to see if he’s attending? Then you can decide if you should.”
“Very well. Let me know if he responds, will you?”
Which meant sending the message was up to her. That was fine, as she intended to do all she could to convince the reclusive viscount to attend.
Without bothering to say anything more to her father as she knew he was no longer listening, she left to find pen and paper in her room.
Seated at her desk, she held the pen poised above the paper, wondering how best to approach the message. Rarely did she ask someone other than her aunt or her brother for assistance with her father. She didn’t care for it. It made her feel as though she’d be indebted to the viscount if he were to agree.
Shaking her head at her silly thoughts, she decided it best to keep it simple.
Viscount Frost,
Will you be attending the lecture held by The Medievalist Society tomorrow? My father will be and would like to speak with you there as he has significant findings to share.
Lady Julia
That was simple enough. Not completely true, but such a small deception would cause no harm. She directed a footman to deliver it immediately and to await a response before he returned.
Now she could continue her own research on other book dealers who might have one of the texts. Never mind the anticipation that filled her as she awaited the viscount’s response.
~*~
Oliver had enjoyed nearly two full days of peace and quiet at home. The stress of venturing into the world had faded, and he was reluctant to repeat his outings. Plus, there was no true need. Tubbs had made some inquiries with various individuals and shops who were keeping an eye and ear out for the books. The lad was hopefully watching Mr. Porter’s import and export store. Hawke had been apprised of his progress, or lack thereof.
There was no need to leave his home. No matter that it felt a bit lonelier than ever before. He preferred it that way, didn’t he?
The delivery of a message was not a big surprise, nor was the knowledge that it came from Lord Burnham. But as he opened it and saw the feminine flourish to the writing, his heartbeat sped. He scanned the missive and contemplated tossing it aside unanswered when his footman advised that the deliverer was waiting for a reply.
Oliver scowled. The requirement of a response threatened his solitude. Responding meant temptation—the temptation to agree to her request. The lure of seeing her again was nearly overwhelming.
While setting it aside was problematic, replying immediately didn’t give him time to remind himself of the importance of keeping his distance.
Rather than focus on the thought of seeing her, he imagined the meeting itself. No doubt it involved a rather large room filled with people. He didn’t bother to pull out a new sheet of paper but instead, took the liberty of writing on hers.
No.
Frost
He folded it and handed it to his footman, telling himself he didn’t appreciate the interruption of his important work.
He returned his attention to the book before him. After several moments of reading, he realized he had no idea what it said. Instead of the Latin he’d been translating, a pair of brilliant blue eyes stared up at him, beckoning him.
~*~
Julia stared at the single word reply, unable to believe the gall of the man. No? That was all? How could she have forgotten how rude he was?
She considered her options. Part of her wanted to pay the lord a visit and explain to him how to properly respond to such a query. No. That was far too risky as it would mean she’d see him. Alone. The desire she’d felt was still too vivid. Seeing him would only make it worse.
She withdrew a new sheet of paper and tried again.
Viscount Frost,
It would greatly please my father if you would attend. The lecturer is William Morris, which should interest you as much as my father.
LJ
She reread it several times but could think of nothing more to add, so folded, sealed it, and once again requested the footman to await a reply when he delivered it.
~*~
The echo of a knock on the front door a short time later jolted Oliver’s nerves. Surely it couldn’t be another message. Anticipation hummed through him at the thought. He watched the door and could barely contain his anticipation at the sight of Tubbs entering with a message in hand.
As Oliver skimmed the now familiar writing, he waited for annoyance to fill him but found none. It was almost as if he enjoyed matching wits with Julia. He could sense the anger in the carefully polite words along with a strong will.
Why did he find that so attractive?
He truly couldn’t attend such an event. Who knew how many people might be there? The very thought of it made his mouth dry.
He penned the only answer he could, using the same paper she’d sent but attempting more politenes
s.
No, thank you.
O
Surely she’d accept that.
~*~
Julia studied the strong but simple strokes, attempting to interpret what his response meant. A more polite answer this time. She couldn’t help but take that as a good sign, although she supposed it might mean he was being firmer. But he’d signed it with his first initial, certainly a more personal signature. How was she to interpret that?
With a scoff, she berated herself. It didn’t matter if it meant anything else. His answer was still no. That was what should be concerning her.
Did she go to his house and insist he attend?
Did she accept his answer and attempt to convince her father to go anyway?
Or did she try one more message?
“Miss, will there be anything more?” the footman who delivered the message asked.
She’d forgotten he was there. “Yes. I need to send another.” Well aware of the waiting footman, she debated how to proceed.
Then at last, she wrote a new message.
Please? I need you.
J
~*~
Oliver’s heart stuttered as he read her words a short time later. What on earth did she mean? Did she literally need him? Or did she simply wish he’d attend? Yet that wasn’t what she’d written.
Need.
That was a word filled with both possibilities and pitfalls. Damn if he didn’t need her as well. For a moment, he allowed himself the truth. Then he began the internal conversation where he convinced himself it wasn’t true. He merely wanted her.
A true statement as well.
Tubbs cleared his throat, a reminder that her footman waited for an answer.
What should he do? He felt as though he were being pressed between two opposing forces. Part of him wanted to go if it meant he would see her again. The other part could hardly bear to even consider attending.
Charming the Scholar (The Seven Curses of London Book 2) Page 8
