Chapter 17

Breathe, Ivy, breathe.

Cocky, arrogant, insufferable man! She paced her room, came up with several more epithets, and then threw herself on her bed. She'd left Ralph in the secret chamber, and she'd had half a mind to shut him in there. Who did he think he was, demanding that she leave her own home, just because he didn't approve of her friendship with Arthur? It was unbelievable that he thought he had the right to demand such a thing from her. Besides, he was wrong about Arthur's motives. Arthur had approached her before he knew who she was, and they'd struck up a conversation. He knew her background, and wasn't deterred by it. And wasn't this all beside the point? Arthur hadn't made any declarations or asked her any life-altering questions.

But for all her disbelief of what Ralph had told her, there was one thing that she kept coming back to like a scab that begged to be picked. He'd said something about how she would soon forget. There was something familiar about his warning, and again the strongest sense of déjà vu came over her. I don't want to frighten you. Well, Ivy was already frightened by the increasing gaps in her memory, the way she could no longer rely on herself to keep the strands of her life from fraying. Or did he think she was going to forget where she'd come from, turn into some autocratic mistress of the house? She winced as she remembered how she'd reprimanded Ralph for using her given name. Maybe he was right, in that one thing at least.

She let her gaze ramble out the window. After the last few weeks, the view was becoming familiar, ordinary, to the point that she hardly noticed the breathtaking beauty of the rugged moors and hidden valleys anymore. Ivy sent for tea and drew herself a bath. Already her conversation with Ralph was growing fuzzy and distant, like a strange dream. She would be fine. She had taken care of herself for this long, and it would take more than a disgruntled servant to make her leave her home.

When she had eaten her fill of biscuits and sandwiches and was finally able to breathe again without shaking with anger, Ivy ventured back downstairs where she was relieved to see no sign of Ralph. The secret door had been closed back up and the library books stared innocently back at her. Had he seen the manuscript? If he had, he probably wouldn't have been curious enough to try to read or take it since he was so disdainful of books. She would go back another day, take it out and really examine it. Something told her it could be an important find, monumental, even. After all, it wasn't every day that a medieval manuscript was discovered in a secret chamber, let alone one with such singular artwork and in a strange language. If the library's collection was as prolific as Arthur claimed, then it was probable that the manuscript could be quite old.

Satisfied that no one would be going into the secret room again now that the door was once more hidden, Ivy drifted to the parlor to listen to the news program on the wireless. Rumblings of food shortages and labor marches seemed far away and inconsequential here in the wild Yorkshire moors. Her entire life seemed far away and inconsequential. At least in London she had been part of the moving machine of the city, the throngs of people, the art and culture that grew like weeds out of cracks in the sidewalk. She had thought that becoming a lady would give her a better view of all the world had to offer, but instead she felt like a doll put on a shelf to collect dust.

She had hardly sat down when Hewitt appeared in the doorway, a pained look on his face. "My lady, Sir Arthur is here to see you."

Ivy didn't remember sending Arthur an invitation, but she was glad nonetheless that he was here. He, at least, made her feel important, like she was someone worth being remembered. A moment later Arthur strode in, self-assured, and achingly handsome in a dark tweed suit and driving coat. Ivy's worries instantly melted away as he crossed to her and kissed her cheeks, his clean, sharp scent of shaving soap cutting through the musty fug of the abbey.

"I've come to whisk you away, no arguments."

"Oh? To where?"

"Does it matter? I received a vision of you, bored and lonely and came straightaway to collect you."

As Ivy accepted his elbow and he led her out to his waiting auto—not the roofless sport coupe this time—Ralph's warning came back to her. She couldn't deny that Arthur's interest in the library was borderline obsessive, but then, that was part of what she liked about him. He made her feel safe, taken care of, and he shared her passion for the written word.

"Where are we going today?"

Arthur grinned at her as he shifted gears. "It's a surprise."

Ivy relaxed a little more into the seat and let her weary eyes drink in the earthy greens and browns of the passing landscape. She was tempted to tell Arthur about the hidden room and the strange manuscript she had discovered in it. But every time she started to, she stopped herself. As much as she was loath to admit it, some of Ralph's words about Arthur had found their mark. Besides, what was there really to tell? She hadn't gotten a good enough look at the manuscript to even accurately date it.

Swinging the car off the road, Arthur drove them under a grand iron archway and down a winding drive lined with privet hedges. Anticipating the question on her lips, he flashed her a grin. "Don't bother asking me again where we are—I won't tell you until we're there."

A sprawling Georgian house loomed into view, maybe not quite so large as Blackwood, but with well-maintained grounds and gurgling fountains. Pulling up in the front, Arthur hopped out and got Ivy's door for her. She was wearing a simple knit day dress, and while it had been fine for lounging about at the abbey, she was nowhere remotely close to being passably dressed to mix with the upper echelons of society that no doubt lived here.

Ivy gave him a quizzical look as he took her hand.

"Not yet," he told her, dark eyes glinting with merriment.

They made their way up the broad marble steps, and a tall, middle-aged man with peppered hair and wire-rimmed spectacles greeted them. "Sir Arthur," he said, his long face cracking into a smile. "How good to see you. And you've brought a friend!"

"Indeed I have, Martins. May the lady and I have a look inside?"

"Of course. You know you need not ask. Your family is always welcome."

The man gave a deep bow and stepped aside as Arthur led Ivy inside. Their footsteps echoed on the black-and-white tiles, chandeliers throwing shards of light on the airy walls. On every surface paintings hung, frames so ornate that they were works of art in their own right.

Ivy rubbed a crick out of her neck from staring up at the light pouring in from a glass atrium above them. "I think you really have to tell me where we are now."

"This," Arthur said, sweeping an arm to encompass the grand hall, "is Watson Castle. It was built in the last century by the 10th Duke of Montrose for his wife as a museum for their collection. He was viceroy of India, and they traveled extensively throughout the continent and Asia. It houses over ten thousand paintings, decorative pieces, and a fine collection of silver. But this is what I really brought you to see."

He took her hand and led her out of the airy atrium and into a cavernous, wood-paneled room. Books lined every wall, soaring up to a third-story gallery. Iron staircases spiraled up into the heavens, and brilliant glass lamps illuminated everything in soft, yellow hues. A handful of gentlemen sat at reading stations, heads buried in books. A reverent hush ran through the magnificent library, the only sounds the occasional cough or crisp turning of a page.

"It's beautiful," Ivy murmured as she craned her neck to get a better look at the gilded mosaics that sprawled across the ceiling.

Turning to face her, Arthur took both her hands in his, bringing her attention back to him. "This could be Blackwood. This could be a fraction of Blackwood."

"What do you mean?"

"Together, we could transform Blackwood's library into a place like this. A place of learning and research. You know how important the library is, it's a crime to keep it behind lock and key. Scholars would come from every corner of England, from the world, just for the chance to sit among the knowledge housed there."

The gilded allegories of the four winds winked down at Ivy from the ceiling. Everything was glittering, clean. "I don't know," she said.

The idea of sharing her treasure with the world was appealing, but this place wasn't a resource for the world; it was a resource for the few. The rich few. Would a place like Watson Castle ever have admitted a woman through its doors, and a poor woman at that? It was one thing to lend out books, but another entirely to invite the world into her home, and a feeling of protectiveness washed through her.

"It...it would be a great deal of work," Ivy said weakly. Already cataloging and trying to keep everything clean was taking its toll on her. How could she possibly bring the library up to this standard? It would be like turning her old boardinghouse into Buckingham Palace.

He drew her closer, his warmth and decadent scent wrapping around her. "We'll take it on together. There's no need for you to be struggling alone anymore. I want what's best for the library, but also for you. You must know that I care for you. Let me help you." His voice was smooth and comforting, a whisper so that they didn't disturb the other patrons. "Let me into your life, Ivy. I swear that you will not regret it."

Her eyes drifted closed, and she tipped into him, the movement involuntary but so good and right. "What are you suggesting, exactly?" she asked in a whisper.

Taking her chin, he gave her a knowing look, his dark eyes all velvet fire. "I think you know what I'm suggesting, darling."

The hush in the library intensified, and she became aware of the charged air between them, the way he was studying her.

"Are...are you proposing to me?" Ivy asked with a suddenly dry throat.

Dropping to one knee, Arthur produced a gold ring, holding it up between his fingers. "Marry me, Ivy. Together we could be unstoppable, and Blackwood could take its rightful place in England, in the world."

Her heart beat faster, the implications of his proposal racing through her head. But the memory of Ralph's pleading eyes and warnings came back to her. "Are you asking to marry me, or the library?"

Arthur stood, cupping her cheek in his hand and drawing her closer. The other patrons and silent stacks of books faded and dimmed, leaving only the two of them locked together. "You, only you. I know you, Ivy, and I know what books mean to you, because they mean the same thing to me. If I seem eager about the library, it's only because I know it's the way to your heart. And I very much want to be let inside that heart."

Ivy felt light and deliciously dizzy with Arthur's hands warm on her face, as if she might float up to the ceiling and join the trumpeting figures in the mosaic. She wouldn't be alone anymore; the hole that had only grown larger since her family's deaths could start to heal around the edges, maybe even shrink. Her dreams of having a family of her own were within reach. Arthur was a good, honorable man, and he valued the same things as her. Arthur knew this strange new world to which she had been elevated, could help her navigate it, find a home in it. But most of all, he would help her, with the library, with Blackwood, all of it. She didn't have to bear the headaches, the dreams, and the ghosts alone anymore.

"Ralph—that is, my chauffeur—told me something about you. About the club you're a member of."

Arthur raised a brow. "Your chauffeur? Do tell."

Forced to recount his warning out loud she realized how ridiculous it sounded. "He said that you're only interested in me because you want your club to be able to use the library."

Laughing, Arthur drew her closer into his embrace. "It's no secret that my father and Lord Hayworth had differing ideas when it came to the library and the dissemination of information. If the staff at Blackwood overheard one of their heated discussions, I could see how they might have thought that the old fellows might come to blows. Though in general, I would not trust the gossip of servants. Especially young male servants who may have a passing fancy for their mistress."

All of Arthur's explanations were so simple, so logical. It felt good to let him explain everything away and to forget all the unknowns and cling to something real.

"Yes," Ivy said against his chest. She hadn't realized that she had been drowning since she arrived, but now that the surface was near, she couldn't break through and get air fast enough. The niggling sense of wrongness that had haunted her since coming to Blackwood suddenly faded away. It was like falling into a soft, warm bed after miles of travel, her weary body finally given permission to rest.

"Yes, I'll marry you."

Breaking into a grin, Arthur lifted her up and swung her around, startling the men from their reading and drawing censorious looks. "Oh, my darling." He placed her back down, but not without a big, smacking kiss to the cheek. "You've made me so happy, happier than you can ever know."