settled over the house, he had neglected to look for signs of occupancy before he opened the door. "Forgive me. I did not know this room was in use."
Elizabeth's eyebrows arched fractionally. She had the feeling she was not being apologized to at all, but rather taken to task for interrupting him. She placed her quill down slowly and, in the same deliberate motion, lifted her chin. She was wearing a hunter green flannel shawl across her shoulders, and now she adjusted the ends so they covered more of her bosom. Her cotton nightdress was less revealing than the gown she had chosen to wear at the musicale, but since it was clearly intended for the bedroom, she felt more exposed. To his credit, Northam's eyes remained on her face. Far from being insulted, Elizabeth was relieved. "May I assist you in some way?" she asked in polite but reserved accents.
Northam remained where he was. "I thought I might find something to read."
"How fortunate you have come upon the library, then."
"It is not by accident," he assured her, "but by design."
Elizabeth withheld comment, her skepticism communicated by her silence.
Northam lowered his candle and his gaze fell on the quill and foolscap in front of Elizabeth. "Your letter to the colonel?" She nodded. "It is rather late, is it not, to be composing your missive?"
"Months late. As you pointed out this afternoon."
He did not correct the meaning she took from his question, suspecting that the misunderstanding was deliberate. "May I intrude upon you long enough to search for a book?"
She made a graceful sweep with her arm, indicating he could go where he would. Elizabeth made no attempt to return to her writing, but chose to watch Northam instead. "Is there one in particular you have in mind?"
"The one containing Malthus's Essay on the Principle of Population," he said. "I believe I saw it earlier."
"Are you certain hot milk would not be more to your liking?" He laughed out loud at that, and Elizabeth was reminded anew how very enjoyable that sound was. She regretted she was not a more amusing person, for listening to his laughter would surely be a pleasure. "It is to your right. One shelf up."
Northam's index finger swept the gold-embossed bindings, guiding his eyes. He stopped suddenly and raised his candle. The yellow light burnished the dark leather spines, deepening and enriching their color. "Ho," he said, his interest arrested by one particular book. "What's this?" He picked out the book carefully, grinning as he examined the cover. "Castle Rackrent," he read aloud. "'A Gothic novel.'" He checked the spine for the author's name. "By Maria Edgeworth. A pseudonym, no doubt, for who would willingly give over their name to the penning of a Gothic novel?"
"That is very small of you. It is highly entertaining."
Still grinning, Northam somehow managed to arch one brow. His bright crosshatch of yellow hair gleamed in the candlelight. "Is it?" he asked, his tone signifying great cynicism. "Is it yours?"
"It is her ladyship's," Elizabeth said coolly. "But yes, I have read it. That is how I know it is entertaining. You, on the other hand, have no experience by which to judge its content."
"Well said, my lady." He slipped the book under his arm and continued to search out the Malthus essay. "Aaah. Here it is." Northam put the candle down in order to take the collection of essays from the shelf. He fanned through the pages, making certain it contained what he was looking for, then folded it under his arm with the Edgeworth Gothic tome.
Amused that he intended to take Castle Rackrent with him, Elizabeth nevertheless did not comment. He did it for show, no doubt, because she had managed to sting him a bit with her comment. The Earl of Northam probably considered himself to be of a liberal bent. It was the fashion among the younger set. The baroness said he was two and thirty, which clearly placed him on the outer edge of that wave of thinking.
Elizabeth leaned back in her chair, finding
Elizabeth's eyebrows arched fractionally. She had the feeling she was not being apologized to at all, but rather taken to task for interrupting him. She placed her quill down slowly and, in the same deliberate motion, lifted her chin. She was wearing a hunter green flannel shawl across her shoulders, and now she adjusted the ends so they covered more of her bosom. Her cotton nightdress was less revealing than the gown she had chosen to wear at the musicale, but since it was clearly intended for the bedroom, she felt more exposed. To his credit, Northam's eyes remained on her face. Far from being insulted, Elizabeth was relieved. "May I assist you in some way?" she asked in polite but reserved accents.
Northam remained where he was. "I thought I might find something to read."
"How fortunate you have come upon the library, then."
"It is not by accident," he assured her, "but by design."
Elizabeth withheld comment, her skepticism communicated by her silence.
Northam lowered his candle and his gaze fell on the quill and foolscap in front of Elizabeth. "Your letter to the colonel?" She nodded. "It is rather late, is it not, to be composing your missive?"
"Months late. As you pointed out this afternoon."
He did not correct the meaning she took from his question, suspecting that the misunderstanding was deliberate. "May I intrude upon you long enough to search for a book?"
She made a graceful sweep with her arm, indicating he could go where he would. Elizabeth made no attempt to return to her writing, but chose to watch Northam instead. "Is there one in particular you have in mind?"
"The one containing Malthus's Essay on the Principle of Population," he said. "I believe I saw it earlier."
"Are you certain hot milk would not be more to your liking?" He laughed out loud at that, and Elizabeth was reminded anew how very enjoyable that sound was. She regretted she was not a more amusing person, for listening to his laughter would surely be a pleasure. "It is to your right. One shelf up."
Northam's index finger swept the gold-embossed bindings, guiding his eyes. He stopped suddenly and raised his candle. The yellow light burnished the dark leather spines, deepening and enriching their color. "Ho," he said, his interest arrested by one particular book. "What's this?" He picked out the book carefully, grinning as he examined the cover. "Castle Rackrent," he read aloud. "'A Gothic novel.'" He checked the spine for the author's name. "By Maria Edgeworth. A pseudonym, no doubt, for who would willingly give over their name to the penning of a Gothic novel?"
"That is very small of you. It is highly entertaining."
Still grinning, Northam somehow managed to arch one brow. His bright crosshatch of yellow hair gleamed in the candlelight. "Is it?" he asked, his tone signifying great cynicism. "Is it yours?"
"It is her ladyship's," Elizabeth said coolly. "But yes, I have read it. That is how I know it is entertaining. You, on the other hand, have no experience by which to judge its content."
"Well said, my lady." He slipped the book under his arm and continued to search out the Malthus essay. "Aaah. Here it is." Northam put the candle down in order to take the collection of essays from the shelf. He fanned through the pages, making certain it contained what he was looking for, then folded it under his arm with the Edgeworth Gothic tome.
Amused that he intended to take Castle Rackrent with him, Elizabeth nevertheless did not comment. He did it for show, no doubt, because she had managed to sting him a bit with her comment. The Earl of Northam probably considered himself to be of a liberal bent. It was the fashion among the younger set. The baroness said he was two and thirty, which clearly placed him on the outer edge of that wave of thinking.
Elizabeth leaned back in her chair, finding
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