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Page 44 of A Wife for the Beast (Scandals and Second Chances #6)

Six months later – Ravenshollow Manor, Yorkshire

The morning light filtering through the tall windows of the Rose Chamber cast golden patterns across the floor where Evangeline sat reading, her dark hair gleaming in the sunshine as she turned the pages of a volume that had arrived in yesterday's post from London.

The sight of her there, so perfectly at home in their Yorkshire sanctuary, never failed to fill Lucian with a satisfaction so profound it bordered on the mystical—as though some essential piece of the universe had finally settled into its proper place.

She had taken to spending her mornings in this particular chamber since their return from London, claiming that the eastern light was ideal for correspondence and that the view of the restored rose gardens provided inspiration for the improvements she was planning throughout the estate.

Yet Lucian suspected her true motivation lay in the chamber's association with their early days of marriage, when tentative friendship had begun the slow transformation into something far more precious.

"You appear remarkably pleased with yourself this morning," she observed without looking up from her book, though he could detect the smile that played about her lips. "Rather like Wellington when he has successfully purloined something from the kitchen that was not intended for his consumption."

"An apt comparison," he agreed with the sort of comfortable humor that had accompanied their interactions since they had finally abandoned the careful formality that once characterized their discourse.

"Though I believe my current satisfaction stems from rather more legitimate acquisitions than our canine companion typically manages. "

"Acquisitions?" Her attention shifted from the printed page to his face with the sort of sharp interest that had first attracted him to her remarkable mind. "What manner of acquisitions could prompt such obvious self-congratulation?"

"The sort that require careful timing and considerable discretion to achieve properly," he replied with deliberate evasiveness, moving to settle in the chair beside her reading nook.

"Though I confess myself curious about whether you might be amenable to a brief interruption of your literary pursuits? "

She set aside her book with the sort of graceful efficiency that marked all her movements, her dark eyes sparkling with curiosity and something deeper—the sort of intimate affection that still struck him as miraculous despite the months they had spent learning to trust in its permanence.

"For you, Your Grace, I believe I could spare a few moments from my demanding schedule of correspondence and estate management," she said with mock formality that could not disguise the genuine warmth beneath. "What manner of interruption did you have in mind?"

"The sort that requires your presence in the library," he said, rising and offering his arm with ceremonial precision. "I have arranged something that I hope may prove of interest."

The walk to the library provided opportunity for reflection upon the curious transformation that six months of genuine marriage had wrought upon his understanding of happiness and its possibilities.

Gone were the days of careful distance and formal courtesy.

It was all replaced by the sort of easy intimacy that allowed for comfortable silences as well as passionate discourse.

Evangeline had proven herself not merely a suitable duchess but a true partner whose intelligence and strength complemented his own in ways that continued to surprise and delight him.

Their return to Yorkshire had marked the beginning of what felt like an entirely new existence, as they worked together to restore both the estate and their relationship to something approaching its full potential.

The tenants, once wary of their scarred duke, had come to appreciate the genuine care that both he and his duchess displayed for their welfare, while the house itself seemed to have awakened from years of slumber as Evangeline's influence brought warmth and life back to rooms that had stood empty too long.

"You have been remarkably secretive these past weeks," she observed as they approached the library doors.

"Mysterious correspondence, whispered conferences with Morrison, packages arriving at odd hours and disappearing before I could inquire about their contents.

I was beginning to suspect you of conducting some sort of clandestine romance with a London milliner. "

"Nothing so scandalous, I fear," he replied with amusement at her teasing accusation. "Though I confess the project has required considerably more intrigue than I initially anticipated."

The library doors stood slightly ajar, revealing nothing of what lay beyond except the familiar scent of leather and old paper.

Yet today, it would serve a different purpose.

It will be the stage for what he hoped would prove a worthy expression of feelings that words alone seemed inadequate to convey.

"Close your eyes," he instructed as they reached the threshold, his voice carrying a note of nervous anticipation that betrayed how much her reaction meant to him.

"Lucian," she protested with laughing resistance, "what on earth are you planning?"

"Trust me," he said simply, the words carrying weight that extended far beyond their immediate circumstances. "Please."

She complied with graceful surrender allowing him to guide her into the library with careful steps that ensured she encountered no obstacles on their way to the surprise he had labored so many weeks to arrange.

The sight that awaited her when she opened her eyes sent such a complex array of emotions across her expressive features that for a moment, he feared he had miscalculated entirely.

Before them, arranged with careful precision along shelves that had been specially constructed for this purpose, stood a collection of books that represented months of patient searching through London's most exclusive dealers in rare and antiquarian volumes.

"My father's library," she whispered with such wonder that it took his breath away. "Lucian, how did you do this? Where did you find them?"

"Not all of them," he admitted with regret that such a complete restoration had proven impossible.

"Many were purchased by collectors who proved unwilling to part with their acquisitions at any price.

But these..." He gestured toward the carefully arranged volumes with satisfaction that bordered on pride.

"These I was able to trace and recover through patient negotiation and occasionally shameless bribery. "

She moved toward the shelves with the sort of reverent care one might display when approaching religious relics, her fingers trailing along familiar spines with the sort of gentle recognition that spoke of deep emotional connection.

The leather bindings bore the marks of age and careful use, while the gilt lettering caught the morning light in ways that seemed to bring the very words to life.

"The Aristotle that Papa used for my lessons in logic," she murmured with growing amazement, drawing forth a slim volume whose margins undoubtedly bore Captain Hartwell's careful annotations. "And the complete Shakespeare that we read together during his last winter at home. How is this possible?"

"Considerable persistence and the sort of resources that ducal rank occasionally makes available," he replied with deliberate understatement of the effort that had been required to locate and acquire volumes that had been dispersed throughout London's antiquarian trade.

"Though I confess the project proved more challenging than anticipated—your father apparently possessed impeccable taste in literature, which made his books rather sought after among collectors. "

"This must have cost a fortune," she said with growing comprehension of the magnitude of what he had accomplished on her behalf.

"A worthwhile investment in my wife's happiness," he replied with simple honesty that revealed how little he valued money compared to her obvious joy.

"Though I should mention that the collection remains incomplete—several volumes proved impossible to trace, while others were in such poor condition that replacement seemed preferable to restoration. "

She turned from her examination of the books to face him directly, her dark eyes bright with unshed tears that spoke of emotions too powerful for mere words to express.

"Lucian, this is the most thoughtful gift anyone has ever given me.

To have Papa's books back, to be able to read his notes and remember his voice. .."

"Your father was a remarkable man whose influence shaped the woman I was fortunate enough to marry," he said with growing conviction that this gesture had achieved exactly what he had hoped.

"These books represent not merely his literary taste but his dedication to your education and development.

They belong with you, as part of the foundation upon which our life together continues to build. "

"But how did you even know which volumes comprised his collection?" she asked with curiosity.

"Mrs. Darnel," he admitted with slight embarrassment at having conducted such investigation without her knowledge.

"Your former cook proved remarkably helpful when I wrote to inquire about your father's scholarly interests.

She maintained correspondence with several dealers regarding the sale, and was able to provide detailed information about specific volumes and their destinations. "

"You wrote to Mrs. Darnel?" Evangeline's voice carried such surprised delight that he realized his choice to involve someone from her past had provided an unexpected additional layer of meaning to his gift.