The Librarian's Spell by Patricia Rice (reading eggs books TXT) 📕

Twenty-five

“My word, all of Edinburgh must have been invited,” Max’s bride-to-be marveled, watching the latest arrivals from the parlor window of their tower suite.

“And half the empire,” he added, draping his wedding clothes over his arm and kissing Lydia’s rosy cheek. His goddess looked even more delicious when the sun rose and highlighted her glorious hair. He battled the need to kiss her all over one more time. . . “I invited my old schoolmates, remember. And I daresay my mother extended an invitation to every Malcolm or Ives in existence.”

“Well, she only had two weeks to prepare, so maybe not quite all,” Lydia said in amusement. “This lot is too early to have arrived by the Edinburgh train. Perhaps the one from Glasgow?”

“Possibly. Or they rode up yesterday and stayed the night in the village. I need to sneak down to the guest room and pretend I slept there before Lloyd shows up.” He leaned over her shoulder to admire the procession of carts and horses on the rough drive. “They won’t all want to stay the night, will they?”

“If they mean to attend the reception, they might. The ceremony was scheduled late to allow time for the city guests to arrive. Do you recognize those two officious gentlemen wearing suits?”

Max muttered an obscenity as he located the pair.

Lydia glanced at him in curiosity. “Not invited guests?”

He groaned. “My step-uncle and his son. Mother may have invited them, if only to rub their noses in fate. And they probably came from the baron’s place. Isn’t that his carriage following?”

“Crowley has people with him. I don’t recognize them,” Lydia whispered. “Surely the trustees wouldn’t send someone to test me today, of all days?”

“They’re probably old friends of Mother’s,” he said reassuringly. “I’ll clear the rest of the evidence of my existence from the suite. You can invite your family and your nosy Malcolm friends up, and you can hide until this afternoon. The bride needn’t play hostess. Mother will be in her element, greeting guests.”

Max wouldn’t have her fretting on their wedding day. Basking in Lydia’s grateful smile, he gathered up his possessions, then slipped down the hidden stairs to the guest room. He didn’t have to put on starched linen and tails just yet.

While his Ives cousins slept off last night’s excesses, Max went in search of his sons. He found them in the breakfast room—alone. Even the ladies hadn’t come down yet.

“We have a responsibility to entertain our guests,” he informed them, slapping together toast and ham and anything else that would go on toast.

His sons looked interested, if rightfully wary.

“Mr. Lloyd said we were to stay out of the way until the wedding,” Richard said. “But I’m old enough to help.”

“Excellent. We need to keep the ladies and the gentlemen apart, just the way we did last night.” Max thought that would work out as nicely for him as it did for Lydia, if the new arrivals meant her harm. “The ladies will want to gossip and the men will want to do things, like hunt or explore or play cards.” Max was making this up on the fly. It wasn’t as if he had much experience at civilized entertainments. He just knew his gender.

“We can take them to the library to read,” Bakari suggested.

The boys had never seen the journal library, only the reference one in the guest wing and the one passing itself off as a billiard room. “You may ask if they’d like to see the guest libraries if you wish. We do not want them expecting to see Miss Lydia’s private one.”

“But most of them will want to drink and play games, won’t they?” Richard said.

“And eat,” Max agreed. “I believe the ladies have already ordered al fresco dining for early guests. Laddie will direct the gentlemen to the outdoor buffet. Mrs. Folkston will lead the lady newcomers inside to refresh themselves. That’s where you come in.”

Praying to all the omnipotent spirits who had kept him alive this long, Max ate his breakfast and outlined his hasty plan to separate out his uncle and the baron and anyone who might cause Lydia grief. Giving the boys free rein to enlist any of the current guests who might drag themselves out of bed early, he left them bolting down food and making impossible plans.

He’d far rather be digging a sewer than playing host to financiers and aristocrats. He figured he’d make a royal ass of himself before the day grew warm. But Lydia didn’t mind if he was an uncivil ass, he reminded himself. And if she didn’t, no one else mattered.

He wasn’t a man who wasted time on fear, but he was having a hard time convincing himself that conversing with stuffed shirts was necessary. Yanking on a ratty country tweed coat over an old waistcoat and leather breeches, Max set out to act as host for the wedding breakfast and bodyguard for his bride. If he meant to steer this lot to the courtroom to identify him, he needed to play nice.

“Schoolmates,” he muttered as he left by the garden door. “Courts. Judges. No murdering of uncles,” he reminded himself as he walked toward the gathering guests.

“Or barons,” he added, noting the man Lydia had identified as Lord Crowley studying the sloping field at the back of the castle. Max headed for the stable, where a number of gentlemen were admiring each other’s horseflesh.

Out of pure spite, Max stood there, waiting for his elegantly attired guests to either recognize him or mistake him for a servant.

A less stylish gentleman standing to one side studied Max surreptitiously. Max returned the favor. There was something familiar about the slouching shoulders and skinny frame—

When the visitor pulled out thick spectacles, Max grinned. “Percy! I didn’t think you’d come.”

His old classmate pushed his wide-framed spectacles up his nose just as he used to twenty years before. Stepping up now that he was recognized, he held out his