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D idn’t he have any maps at all?

Since breakfast, Fiona had searched all of the lower shelves in the library. Time to employ the ladder and see what she could find up high.

Pushing the ladder to the end of one long shelf, she began her methodical investigation. Perhaps there was a book of maps. Or a book with at least one map.

She pulled a large tome from the shelf and balanced it on her hand as she opened the cover and read the title, The British Isles . That looked promising. Carefully turning pages, exultation bloomed within her as she finally came upon a map.

“What are you doing up there?”

Startled, Fiona lost her grip on the heavy book and watched in horror as it tumbled to the floor. She scrambled down the ladder and, in her haste, slipped.

It was an absolute miracle that the earl managed to reach her in time, catching her in his arms before she landed on the floor. And it was an absolute shock to find herself in his embrace. The rich scent of sandalwood washed over her along with a surprising heat.

Embarrassment. It had to be embarrassment, of course. What else would it be?

Overton set her on her feet. “All right?”

She nodded. “Yes, thank you. You surprised me is all.”

He bent to retrieve the book and studied it for a moment.

“Did I damage it?” She’d feel just awful if she had.

“Not that I can tell.” He flipped open the cover. “ The British Isles. ” He looked over at her. “You’re interested in learning more about your homeland?”

“I was looking for maps, actually.”

“Maps?”

“I like them. Very much.”

He smiled as he set the book on a table. “Well, then let me delight you.”

Something about the way he said those words sent a shiver along her spine. She didn’t want to be delighted by him or any other gentleman.

He’s your guardian. Think of him like a father or an older brother. It’s perfectly natural to be delighted by a family member and not at all dangerous.

Dangerous? Is that how she thought of gentlemen? No. But maybe this gentleman was different.

The earl went to a bookcase with drawers beneath the shelves. He opened the lowest one and pulled out several oversized pieces of parchment. “It’s not a large collection, but it’s better than none.” He set the maps on the table next to the book and opened one, laying it flat.

Fiona rushed to join him, any hesitation she might have possessed forgotten. “This is the Empire of Russia.” She paused in reaching for the map, her fingers hovering above the paper.

“Unfortunately, it’s from before Catherine the Great, so it’s no longer accurate.”

“That’s all right. I like maps of all kinds, even if they are out of date.”

“You can touch it,” he said softly, eyeing her hand.

“I’ll be careful. Not like I was with the book.” She winced. “I’m terribly sorry about that.”

“Don’t be. I startled you with my arrival. I’m glad I was able to catch you before you sustained an injury. How would you dance if you’d twisted your ankle?”

He made a good point. “I am grateful for your quick action. I would like to be able to dance.”

“Of course you would.” He said it as if every young woman wanted nothing more than to dance. While it was true about her, she hoped he hadn’t made other assumptions. “Have you always been fond of maps?”

“Yes, but we didn’t have very many. When I see how you live here, I confess that I wonder how our fathers were friends.”

He pivoted, resting his hip against the table as he crossed his arms. “Why is that?”

She found his gray eyes rather distracting.

They seemed to possess the ability to see straight inside her, which was ridiculous.

He would observe only what she wanted him to.

“My father was not wealthy. He was an academic, and we lived on the support of his older brother. After my father died, my uncle took his library in exchange for a settlement for my mother. He permitted me to choose a handful of things to keep—they were all maps.”

The earl frowned. “That sounds rather unfair.”

She lifted a shoulder. “My uncle wasn’t a very caring man. I believe he saw my mother and me as a nuisance. He thought he was being kind enough by allowing us to continue to inhabit our house, which was on his estate.”

“He died recently?”

“Just before my mother passed. Thankfully, when my mother died, his son allowed me—and Mrs. Tucket, of course—to continue living there.” He’d also strongly suggested she marry, but she wouldn’t mention that for fear it would invite discussion on a topic that didn’t remotely interest her.

“I was quite relieved when your father’s kind invitation for the Season arrived.

” He’d apparently sent it just before he’d died, giving his son no choice but to shepherd her through a debut.

Well, she supposed the current earl could have refused and left her to rot in Bitterley. She was glad he hadn’t.

Overton uncrossed his arms. “My father didn’t tell me a thing about you until he was dying.

I have no idea why our fathers were friends.

He only told me they’d met at Oxford, and that, as your godfather, he’d agreed to look after you and your mother when your father died.

They must have formed their friendship at Oxford.

I can’t even imagine it because I can’t see my father in that way. ”

“What way is that?”

It took the earl a moment to respond. When he did, he seemed uncertain. “Friendly, I suppose?”

It seemed the relationship between father and son was not close, but before she could ask about it, the butler announced the arrival of Lady Pickering.

Overton pushed away from the table. “Excellent. Please show her to the drawing room and make sure Miss Lancaster joins us.”

“And Mrs. Tucket,” Fiona said. She would not leave the beloved woman out, even if she was to have a limited role.

“Of course, yes, Mrs. Tucket.” The earl sent her a look of apology, which she appreciated.

The butler departed, and the earl offered Fiona his arm. “Shall we go upstairs?”

Fiona cast a longing look at the map.

The earl chuckled. “You may have access to the library—and the maps—whenever you choose. I’ll also have all the atlases and books with maps moved to a more accessible location. That way, you’ll be safe.” He winked at her, and once again, the warmth of embarrassment flushed through her.

She clutched his sleeve more tightly. “You have atlases? As in, several of them?”

“Yes, I believe so. I’ll dig them out later.”

She’d never felt so delighted to be anywhere in her entire life. “Thank you. Sincerely.”

He blinked, then gave her a lopsided smile. “It’s my pleasure.”

A few moments later, they entered the elegant drawing room on the first floor.

Overlooking Brook Street, the rectangular room had tall windows cloaked with pale gold draperies.

Several seating areas occupied the space with comfortable chaises, tables for games or refreshments, and chairs and settees for conversation.

She’d first seen the room yesterday when the housekeeper had given her a tour of the house.

Then and now, Fiona easily envisioned a proper London family enjoying their evenings in this room just as she saw more formal entertainments.

At least, she assumed those would be commonplace.

What did she really know about any of this?

“Lady Pickering, how wonderful of you to come,” Overton said as Fiona withdrew her fingertips from his arm. He strode forward to take the woman’s hand and bowed. Then he pivoted to look toward Fiona. “Allow me to present Miss Fiona Wingate.”

Lady Pickering, between fifty and sixty years with a regal bearing, stood in front of a settee.

She was of average height, but the sophisticated style of her still-brown hair and the quality of her clothes made her seem imposing.

Or perhaps that impression was due to the manner in which she assessed Fiona with her green-blue eyes, as if she’d seen a great many things and possessed both the experience and character to pass judgment on anyone.

“Miss Wingate, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance and to sponsor you for the Season.”

Fiona dropped into a deep curtsey. “I am honored by your attention and support, Lady Pickering.”

“You’ve started without me?” Mrs. Tucket ambled into the room, and Fiona wondered if she really wouldn’t benefit from a walking stick. She’d broach the subject later and hope the suggestion would not be greeted with disdain.

“Not at all,” Overton said brightly. “We were just making our introductions. And here is Miss Lancaster too.” He looked to Lady Pickering. “This is Mrs. Tucket, Miss Wingate’s, er, chaperone from Bitterley, and this is Miss Prudence Lancaster, her new chaperone for London.”

“How lovely to meet you both,” Lady Pickering said.

“Shall we become acquainted?” She lowered herself to the settee, and the skirt of her blue and gray gown draped perfectly about her lower legs and feet without any effort whatsoever.

Patting the place beside her, she looked up at Fiona. “Come and sit with me, Miss Wingate.”

Fiona attempted to sit as elegantly as Lady Pickering had but still had to adjust her skirts.

“Keep your legs pressed tight, dear, from waist to foot. Angle your knees a bit.” She surveyed Fiona’s movements and smiled softly. “There you are.”

“She knows how to sit,” Mrs. Tucket said with a touch of defensiveness.

Lady Pickering’s expression remained benign. “Yes, of course. Do you like to play cards, Mrs. Tucket? There is a wonderful game every Sunday afternoon. I’ll ensure you’re invited.”

Mrs. Tucket’s lids fluttered in surprise as she sat in a chair near Fiona’s end of the settee.

“Thank you. I do like cards. I played every Saturday at the vicarage.” While Fiona scoured the vicar’s library.

By the time she’d left Shropshire, she’d read everything in it—well, everything that interested her—at least twice.

Sadly, the library had possessed only one map encompassing western England and Wales.