Page 15 of Lady Elinor’s Elf

This time, both Caleb and Elinor approached the strangely luminescent volume with extreme caution.

Since she’d been the one most affected by it last time, Elinor was quite happy to let Caleb take the lead now. Her goal was not to faint again, but to learn more about this odd phenomenon.

He grabbed a nearby quill and stretched his arm out toward the glow.

“Careful,” whispered Elinor, “please be careful.” She clung to the back of his coat.

“I’m trying.” He fidgeted. “If you could loosen your grip a bit, dearest girl, then I could move a bit more?”

“Oh, sorry.” She managed to unclench her fingertips and allow his jacket to move normally.

They both held their breaths as the very tip of the feather touched the cover…and there was a teeny little sparkle.

They both jumped back and waited…

Nothing else happened. The glow eased, and before they’d had chance to catch their breaths, the book had become like all the others…just a book.

“Oh.” Elinor was a little disappointed. “I wasn’t expecting that…”

“At least we’re both in one piece,” said Caleb practically. “I’m going to see if I can handle it.”

“Well, as I said before, just be careful? I cannot pick you up off the floor if you faint, and I’d hate to have to explain to Deryn why you were unconscious.”

He shot her a quick grin. “Ever the practical lady, eh?”

She managed a shrug. “I try.”

“All right…here we go…”

Elinor held her breath as Caleb reached out and carefully touched the book. Since nothing happened, he moved forward a little more and picked it up.

They both stared at it. Elinor reached around his arm and touched it as well.

Nothing. No glow, no strange behaviour, just an ordinary book.

“Well,” said Elinor, her hands on her hips. “That’s just…rude. I touch it, and I faint. You pick it up and absolutely nothing happens at all.”

Caleb grinned. “The author is, apparently, someone by the name of Eirlys …”

“Oh, how lovely.” She leant over Caleb’s shoulder. “That means snowdrop in Welsh, I believe.”

“I’ve been told I have a gift when it comes to flowers…”

Elinor shot him a frown and sniffed. “I’m sure you have, and I’d happily wager my best bonnet that those flowers had names like Rose, Lily, Daisy, or perhaps Violet?”

“All in the past, my sweet. All in the past.”

“Good.” She nodded. “Let’s see what this dratted book is all about then, shall we? I’m curious why it knocked me off my feet and yet you are unscathed. In addition, you’ve probably noticed there’s no more glow coming from it, either.”

He looked around. “I also notice that Carrádog isn’t here.”

“That’s right,” Elinor blinked at him. “It was when his nose touched the book as I held it that I fainted.”

“Interesting,” said Caleb. “Let’s do a bit of exploration.”

He tugged a low table in front of the sofa and gently laid the book down, opening the cover and revealing the first pages.

Elinor sat next to him, close enough to take comfort from the heat of his body. The room wasn’t cold, but she was, she admitted, somewhat nervous as to what this strange book might reveal. Or do next…

Leaning in, she took a breath as light fell on some incredibly lovely illustrations all over the first pages. “Oh my. How amazing.”

“Look at the colours,” breathed Caleb. “This is indeed an extraordinary and valuable work of art. Just these pages alone…”

She moved closer, spellbound by the intricacy and beauty of the work.

Turning a couple of pages, Caleb reached the text, and as he did so, a piece of paper fell to the floor. He frowned. “Drat, I hope we’re not destroying something valuable here. I didn’t hear or feel anything tear, so I’m not sure if that’s part of the book or not…”

Elinor had picked it up, and barely heard his comment. Her eyes grew wide as she read the words scrawled on the paper.

Among them was a word. And it was oddly familiar…

She gulped down a shocked gasp as she recognised the word Celata , the author of those shocking novels. Obeying an impulse, she tucked the paper into her pocket. “Looks like an odd poem or something. Probably used as a bookmark, I should think.”

At that precise moment, there was a loud woof, and Carrádog galloped into the room seeking Elinor, then resting his head against her legs, with all the confidence of a dog who knew she had been pining for his company.

Right behind him was Deryn.

“My apologies, sir, but Lady Molliney’s horse has been thoroughly examined and has been found to be unharmed. And given the hour…” he paused, looking at Caleb, who still had the book in his hand.

“Of course, Deryn, quite right. We must not keep Lady Elinor longer than necessary.” He turned to her. “Thank you for your company, my Lady. I’m glad we were able to locate this book once more.”

“It certainly has raised some interesting questions,” she murmured.

His mind spun. “I trust that I will be permitted to pay a call when I have fully deciphered the information in here.” He tapped the cover, then held his breath as he awaited her answer.

She dipped her head. “I will look forward to that visit, sir, and must thank you for your hospitality.” She walked away from him, refusing to look back in case he realised she’d still got the mysterious paper.

“Thank you again, Deryn. I trust this impromptu visit has not interrupted your day too badly.”

“Of course not, my Lady. Always a pleasure to welcome you to the Abbey.”

And with that, she followed him from the room, head high, conversation calm and unemotional—and a heart that was just about upside down and inside out with confusion.

Glad of the ride home, which gave her a chance to sort out her emotions, Elinor turned the matter over and over in her head as she and young Barnaby headed back to Molliney Park.

The surprising find in the library still plagued her, although there could be more than a few explanations… although most of them were improbable.

Perhaps Mrs Deryn was behind the presence of those books?

She dismissed that one with a sigh. There was absolutely no way that Mrs Deryn, sweet and lovely lady that she was, would ever even consider such reading material.

Could a guest of Caleb’s have jotted down the poem and tucked it away for future reference, but forgotten where?

Unlikely, to say the least.

To the best of her knowledge, there had been few, if any, women visitors to Tylwyth Teg Abbey, and the possibility of a gentleman doing that? Extremely low.

It was quite clear that Caleb treasured his privacy, and since the house itself was set up solely for the convenience of its owner, she couldn’t think of any scenario that would lead to that poem ending up where it was.

It had shocked her, she admitted. For no matter how she viewed it, an unanswered question stared right back at her.

Had Sir Caleb Howell read Lady Celata’s books?

Stories that were meant for women, erotic stories, filled with passion and detailing intimate moments, from a woman’s perspective, that had stunned Elinor, and set most of London ablaze with shock, horror, and an overwhelming desire to read the entire series.

Then lie about having read it, of course.

“Read that disgustingly unpleasant book? Certainly not. I wouldn’t dream of it.” The irate dowager, who had Volume One tucked beneath her cushion on the couch.

“Horrid. From what I hear, it’s guaranteed to corrupt the mind of any young woman even handling the volume.” The upright and snobbish Mama, desperately shoving her daughter at any potentially wealthy matrimonial catch. Of course, this mother had several of Lady Celata’s novels on her bedside table.

Elinor spurred her horse into a canter, letting the mare stretch her legs before retiring to the stables. Barnaby kept pace just behind her, and it wasn’t too long before the chimneys of Molliney Park appeared above the treetops, and the driveway welcomed them home.

Elinor gasped as they rounded the curve to the front of the house. There was a large travelling coach resting by the steps, with several footmen ferrying boxes and packages into the house.

“Oh,” cried Elinor, as she recognised the man directing them. “Oh, Papa !”

She tumbled from her saddle and into her father’s arms.

*~~*~~*

The crisis in his library seemed to have been the fuse that ignited several more in Caleb’s life.

To start with, the rain returned in full force, showing no signs of letting up until at least the autumn. Or at least that’s what it felt like.

Then Deryn came down with a nasty cold. Since his was the iron hand that ran the household, and he had been banished to his bed, much of the organisation quickly devolved into who could make tea, who could lay the table, and so on.

Mrs Deryn performed admirably, but it had been necessary to recruit a couple of girls from the local area. They were willing and helpful. But, sighed Caleb, not really much use.

Then, because of the aforementioned rain, one of the cellars flooded, requiring the assistance of several men from the estate.

That took a long, dreary day, spent diverting the incoming rainwater and cleaning out what was already there.

Luckily, Caleb had nothing of value down in that area of the Abbey, so there was no threat of serious loss, just a rotten mess.

That was the last thing he needed, since he had at least a hundred things on his mind, and didn’t need another distraction.

At last he had an evening that looked as if it would remain quiet, thank God. A brandy glass sat on the table next to him, and a grubby gnawed bone lay on Carrádog’s other side.

Certainly, discussing one’s problems with a dog led to a rather one-sided conversation, but sometimes, just saying things aloud helped straighten them out in one’s mind.

That’s what Caleb thought, anyway, as he sighed and looked at the lump of black curls sprawled on the rug beside him.

“I don’t know what to do, or how to handle this, you know.”

Carrádog gave a sympathetic woof.

“It’s gnawing at me, pup. The fact that she doesn’t know the truth about my work. It’s my own fault, of course. I should have told her from the beginning. But in my own defence, I had no idea how entangled we would become, or how I’d feel…”

The dog, to Caleb’s surprise, nodded his head.

“Hmm. Easy for you to agree, my lad. You’re not the one who has to tell the only woman he wants in his life that he’s the man who wrote the most dreadfully shocking series of books to be published in London in years.”

“Woof.” Carrádog grunted and rose up, to sit on his hindquarters next to Caleb, looking for all the world as if he was ready to hear his master’s next declaration.

“I suppose I should start taking a look at this book, since it seems to play an important role in our lives, making Elinor faint, dropping scraps of paper…” he paused.

Then got up and walked to the library.

The damned paper wasn’t there. Come to think of it, he’d not seen it at all since it had fallen out of the book in front of…Elinor.

He blew out an angry breath. She’d taken it with her. He would check with Mrs Deryn and the maids, but he knew, deep inside, that she’d taken it. Why, he had no idea, but he’d certainly find out the next time he saw her.

Until then…it was time to take a good hard look at this irritating book, and find out what was so important about it.