Page 8 of Lady Elinor’s Elf

“Good Lord.” Caleb came running into the hall as Deryn bent down to offer a hand to Elinor.

“Are you hurt, my Lady?” The butler’s voice shook a little as he helped her rise to her feet, and Priscilla backed away, eyes wide.

“Lady Elinor, I am so very sorry,” Caleb glared at Carrádog. “What is the matter with you? I should put you outside right now.”

“Oh no, please don’t…” Elinor returned to the floor, this time on purpose, crouching down beside the panting pup, and rubbing his head and ears energetically. In response to which, his amber eyes closed, and the distinct sound of a moan of pleasure echoed around the hall.

“What a good boy,” she said, still fussing with him. “Such a good guard dog. And I’m happy to see you looking so well and so happy.”

Her praise received a hearty lick of her hand in return.

“Umm…” she bit her lip against a laugh. “Well thank you, but don’t do that again. You’ll ruin my gloves if you do.”

Caleb could have sworn the dog chuckled at her. But he obviously caught the drift of her words, since he merely dropped his hindquarters to the hall floor and gazed at her.

“I do apologise for his manners, but I suppose one must allow a little leeway. He seems very young yet.”

Elinor rose, shaking out her skirts and handing her shawl and gloves to Priscilla. “No need, Sir Caleb. I’m so pleased that our rescue here turned into such a delightful fellow.”

Carrádog stood and leant against her.

“He certainly likes you, my Lady,” Deryn commented. “Perhaps if Sir Caleb showed you to the parlour, this fellow might find other things to do?”

The dog’s look upon hearing that remark was quite pointed.

“Then again,” sighed Deryn.

“Come along, Ma’am,” Caleb extended his arm. “Let’s relieve poor Deryn of his concerns as to your safety.”

“Delighted, sir.” She rested her fingers correctly on his sleeve and looked around. “What a pleasant welcome this hall offers guests.” Her head turned as they strolled across the marble floor. “And the decorative carvings on the staircase are quite magnificent.”

Caleb managed to repress a snort. “Why, thank you. I finished them only yesterday.”

Elinor choked down a laugh. “You aren’t exactly following the rules of a gracious host.”

They walked into the parlour, a spacious room with lots of windows, a big fireplace, and chairs that beckoned one to curl up in them and read for hours.

“I’m not a gracious host. I’m just a man happy to have company for tea.” He smiled at her. “I’m glad you came, Ma’am.”

“As am I, Sir Caleb, but I won’t be if you continue to address me as ‘Ma’am’, since that makes me feel just like my great-aunt Dorothea. And she’s an ancient martinet.” She caught herself up. “Although I love her dearly, of course.”

“I would never imagine otherwise,” said Caleb smoothly, pulling out one of the chairs around the small table, where a very tasty-looking tea was laid out.

Carrádog, in the meantime, settled himself with a muted groan on the rug in front of the fire, clearly satisfied that his people weren’t going anywhere for a while.

“Mrs Deryn thought the teacakes might be the best for today. There is still a bit of a chill in the air after all the rain, so they’re warm.” Deryn removed the cover of a dish, and the scent of the freshly baked treat filled the room.

“Deryn, once again I must declare your wife a mistress of the magic arts.” He glanced at Elinor. “It’s a wonder I’m not too fat to ride a horse, with all her delicious dishes.”

“These look wonderful, Deryn. I know I’m going to enjoy them…if his Lordship leaves me any.”

She grinned at the butler, who unbent enough to grin back.

“I shall pass on the compliments, sir, Lady Elinor. My wife will be most gratified.” He bowed. “Please ring if you need anything, sir. And your maid will be downstairs with us, my Lady, should you require her services during your visit.”

“Of course. Thank you. Be off with you now. We have everything we need, and I’ll wager any sum you name that Mrs Deryn has the kettle on for your tea, as well.” Caleb waved him away.

With another elegant and appropriate bow, the butler left, closing the door behind him.

And they were alone.

*~~*~~*

Elinor’s heart beat a little faster as silence fell, broken only by the crackle of the fire. She cleared her throat. “This is very kind of you, Sir Caleb. I was quite surprised to receive your invitation, to tell the truth.” She reached for the pot and poured herself a cup of tea.

“Why?”

She took a moment to consider her words. “Our meeting was certainly nothing like a formal introduction, was it?”

“I’m not much of a one for formality, in case you hadn’t guessed.”

“Well, your dog certainly isn’t, but I’ve yet to make up my mind about you.”

The words slipped from her mouth without thought, and she felt the colour rise as she realised what she’d said. It would have brought gasps had others been present, she knew.

But far from being shocked, Caleb was chuckling. “Fair enough. I believe that it takes time, observation, and exposure to determine one’s character. Would you agree?” He reached for a teacake, hesitated, and then took a second as well.

“Just in case you eat the rest,” he added.

“I don’t think I will, but there’s probably someone else here who would be happy to finish them off.” She shot a grin at the fireplace, where soft snores were emanating with regularity.

“He’s a handful,” agreed Caleb ruefully. “But very intelligent, I think. Sometimes I look into those eyes, and I could swear he knows my very thoughts…”

Elinor watched him curiously. “You have an affinity for animals, sir? And yet, other than Carrádog, you have none?”

“I used to,” he answered. “But of late? Well, I do travel now and again, so it seemed unfair to leave a pet alone for an extended period.” He sighed. “There’s also the fact that Mrs Deryn would spoil one quite dreadfully.”

“I see.” She nodded. “When you say travel, I assume you mean London…do you go regularly?”

“Not if I can help it,” he shot back. “Smelly, crowded, and filled with too many people convinced of their own importance.”

Elinor, who was about to take another sip of tea, nearly snorted into her cup. “That’s quite a harsh assessment.”

“Really?” He raised an eyebrow. “You’ve been there, I’m sure. Wouldn’t you agree?”

She considered the question. “Yes, I suppose so. Although there are nice people there as well.”

“I’m sure there are. Sadly, I haven’t run into too many of ‘em.”

“Well, come to think of it, neither have I, if truth be told. My brother and his wife reside in town. I love them dearly, but they have become quite a bit more…um…”

“ Tonnish ?”

“Yes.” She nodded firmly. “That’s just the word I was looking for.”

Caleb leant back in his chair. “You don’t care for London, do you?

Which, given your present status as a titled young lady of good breeding, and possessing an attractive manner, what seems to be an educated mind, and the obvious—appealing beauty—would lead one to assume you should be in town, making gentlemen swoon, and becoming an Incomparable with a reputation as a heart breaker. ”

Elinor blinked. “Well. I hardly know what to say to that. I’m not sure whether to thank you or smack you.”

He laughed, a rich sound that echoed around the room.“Well, let me know when you decide. Until then, have another teacake.”

“All right. I will.”

She was enjoying herself, she realised, as his clever teasing had aroused her wit, something that had remained dormant of late. But with Caleb, she felt as if she could say anything she wanted, and he’d respond in kind.

Since their conversation ranged over a variety of topics, from the rains and the possibility of flooding to Shakespeare and on to current literature and poetry, the time flew by.

Before she knew it, they were on a first-name basis and involved in an argument over the second canto of Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage by the notorious Lord Byron.

“You are so wrong, Elinor. I’m sorry, but there is no doubt about it.” Caleb leant forward and pushed his empty teacup aside, leaning his forearms on the table and glaring at her.

She lifted her chin and gave him back look for look “I don’t wish to be so impolite as to disagree with my host, but you, Caleb, are fair and far out. I’m right.”

“Hah.” He rose. “Let us go to the library and put this matter to rest. That way, you will clearly see how vast and impeccable my knowledge is, and that you, Elinor, are wrong.”

Still sparring, they rose from the table, disturbing Carrádog, who stretched, yawned, shook himself, and then waited patiently to see where his humans were going, following along as Caleb led Elinor across the hall to another door which opened onto a large room he clearly used a lot.

“Er, it’s not very tidy,” he whisked an empty brandy bottle onto a nearby shelf, and made an effort to tidy the large pile of papers on top of the desk.

“Libraries are to be lived in, I believe. To be used, to offer an escape into other worlds, for anyone fortunate enough to have one as lovely as this.”

She strolled along the bookshelves, reverently touching one here and there, pausing and smiling as she discovered one she’d read and enjoyed, and also wrinkling her nose at one or two that hadn’t pleased her.

“Here’s my Byron,” he said, putting a large tome down on his desk. “Let me find that dratted canto…”

Elinor barely heard him. She was lost in the wonder of such an extraordinary collection of books, many of which she’d read and loved, and read again.

Her impression of Caleb took quite a turn with this revelation.

Especially since it was quite obvious that this wasn’t a room simply to exhibit his ability to collect literature, but a room he used frequently.

The shelves were spotless, the spines of the volumes indicated they’d been read—some many times—and there were several comfortable chairs, and a couple of large couches boasting pillows and thick woollen blankets.

She could envision him lying there, firelight flickering, lost in a favourite tale, or devouring classic poetry.

“I think I have it,” he said, turning a couple of pages in the book he studied.

About to turn back toward him, something out of the ordinary caught her eye. At the very end of one of the bookshelves, she caught the light glistening from four lovely, pale leather-bound books, with gold printing on their spines.

She simply had to find out what they were, since they looked somewhat out of place amidst the deep and weathered shades of leather on the volumes standing around them.

Pulling one down quietly, she read the title. The Life of an Improper Duchess . Blinking, she put it back and took the next one down. Her Ladyship’s Servant .

There were two more, but by now she’d seen the name of the author on the frontispiece of the first book.

“Lady Celata.”

She whispered the words softly, shocked down to the soles of her shoes at what she held in her hands. They were, without a doubt, the most scandalous and erotic love stories to have been published since the Earl of Rochester shocked London in the late 1600s.

Their publication had caused an uproar, but the identity of Lady Celata remained a secret.

Elinor blushed. She knew these books and had read them all, secretly stealing them from her sister-in-law’s bookshelf and devouring them when she was alone. A fast reader, she’d finished all the ones Louise had hidden away, and wished there were more.

They were enthralling, vivid, and to say colourful would be almost an insult. They were a paean to women and their sensuality, with characters that leapt from the page and descriptions of…well, Elinore’s education had widened considerably when it came to physical matters between a man and a woman.

And Caleb had them in his library.