Phyllida swung back to the bookshelf. After a moment, she shrugged and continued her cataloguing. Lucifer returned to his.
His campaign to win her, to woo her into marrying him, was progressing in a slow if not steady manner. He hadn't intended to state his decision to marry her so soon, but their interlude in the outbuilding had made it imperative she know-so she couldn't imagine he'd had any other motive in seducing her. Again. He was well aware that repeating the exercise had been easy only because she desired him with an uncomplicated directness that, at least while in his arms, she made no effort to deny.
He'd worried that after they'd left the warm stillness of the outbuilding, she'd grow skittish and even more difficult. Instead, she'd unsettled him with her continuing calm, as if she were coolly considering him and the question he hadn't yet asked. He wouldn't ask-not until he was sure of her answer; that was the strategic course. As long as she hadn't refused him, he could continue to press his suit, albeit carefully.
He wasn't fool enough to take gaining her agreement for granted; she had an entrenched belief that marriage was not for her. Her cool appraisal suggested he'd made her revisit that belief, but she hadn't yet changed her mind.
He needed to tread warily. Seducing a lady into matrimony was not a game he'd played before; he wasn't sure of the rules. But he'd never yet failed in a seduction-he wasn't going to start with Phyllida Tallent. How to seduce a lady of managing disposition? Thanks to her previous suitors, she had no appreciation of her womanly charms, much less their effect on him; the notion that her sweet self held the power to sway him was bound to be attractive. He'd need to make an effort to be more manageable than he was, but if that was her price, he'd pay it. He'd unblinker her vision, show her what might be, then leave her to convince herself how desirable that was.
Desire, in all its forms, was on his side. He only had to touch her to feel it flare-sometimes he only had to meet her dark eyes to be conscious of their mutual need. He could afford to give her time to decide that, despite her qualms, marrying him was an excellent idea.
For the past two days-yesterday and today-he'd pursued the strategy of propinquity, the notion that being constantly with him would help quell whatever qualms she possessed. On both mornings, he'd called at the Grange after breakfast; yesterday, after finishing her search of the outbuilding and storerooms, she'd joined him here. They'd spent the hours since making inroads into Horatio's book collection. Unexpectedly, they'd stumbled on a shared interest, stopping every now and then to exclaim over some plate in an old tome, to share some discovery. Her excitement yesterday over the illuminations in a prayer book had had him smiling-he'd caught a glimpse of his own youthful enthusiasm in her face. Thus must Horatio have seen him. They'd parted that evening when he'd walked her home before dinner, closer, more relaxed, the understanding between them broadening, deepening.
Propinquity was definitely working. It hadn't escaped him that, just now, she'd felt sufficiently comfortable to not bother looking at him when asking her question. A sign of growing ease. Little by little, even if she didn't know it, she was leaning his way.
They broke for lunch, a cold collation Mrs. Hemmings had laid out in the dining room. Afterward, returning to the library, they found Covey stacking books on the desk.
"I've finished one wall in the drawing room. These are the books with notes written in them-I forgot to give them to you the last couple of days."
"That's all right, Covey. We'll go through them now-it'll give us a break from the shelves." Lucifer lifted a brow at Phyllida.
She nodded and headed for the desk. They settled in, he behind the desk, she in a comfortable chair before it, and knuckled down to decipher the often illegible notations.
"Hmm." Phyllida sat up and scanned the desk, picked up a scrap of paper, placed it as a bookmark in the book on her lap, then set the book on the floor by her chair.
She glanced up; Lucifer looked his question.
"A recipe for plum sauce-I must take a copy."
Lucifer smiled. They returned to the books. Companionable silence wrapped around them. The clock on the mantelpiece ticked on.
Then Phyllida sat up. Lucifer glanced at her; she was frowning. "What?"
"This has another inscription to Letitia from Humphrey. 'To my dearest heart, my love, my life.' It's dated Feb
ruary 1781."
After a moment, Lucifer asked, "How old is Cedric?"
Phyllida looked at him. "In his late thirties."
Lucifer raised his brows and held out a hand for the book; when Phyllida gave it to him, he set it aside. "One to think about later."
Five minutes later, Phyllida humphed. "This is another one'to my dearest Letty.' The wording is quite… warm. It's signed 'Pinky.'"
"Date?"
"1783."
Lucifer added that book to the "later" pile.
Fifteen minutes later, the pile had grown by three more volumes. Handing over the last, a book of poetry sent to dearest Letty from a gentleman who'd signed himself "Your fated lover," also with a date of 1781, Phyllida viewed the pile with consternation. "This is really rather worrying."
Lucifer eyed the stack of books with notations they'd yet to check. "From what we have already, it would appear Cedric, certainly, has cause to be concerned over what might be found in Horatio's collection."
Phyllida stared at him. "You mean that Cedric might not be Sir Bentley Fortemain's legitimate son?"
Lucifer nodded. "If that could be proved, and if Sir Bentley's will is the usual simple affair, then Pommeroy could claim that Sir Bentley's estate should be his."