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A n early morning spent reading in the Castle Pendleton library was, to Lady Townsend, the ultimate in pleasure.

Alas, living alone, but for the servants, she did not often have company with whom to discuss her latest chosen reading material.

What better way of spending a few hours was there than losing herself in a tragic, heartfelt romance?

Sadly, neither her somewhat dour companion, Russell—who’d remained at home—nor Digby, the butler with whom she enjoyed a lively bit of banter on occasion, were readers. Not of romances, at any rate.

So, as she settled herself in a deep wingback chair, partially screened by a towering bookshelf, she hoped that luck would favor her and some unsuspecting fellow romance-lover would be waylaid by the offerings of the magnificent Pendleton library and Eugenia could while away an enjoyable few minutes exchanging book recommendations.

She’d chosen a vantage point that afforded her an excellent view of the room while remaining largely unobserved herself.

A useful vantage point for one who had spent decades watching the human comedy play out in drawing rooms and ballrooms across London.

But despite her enjoyment of company, she was also discerning.

For example, if garrulous Mrs. Gravey stumbled through those doors, Eugenia knew she’d not get away for days.

She had just settled in with a volume of poetry—though her thoughts kept straying to Lord Thornton’s sardonic smile at breakfast—when the library door burst open with rather more vigor than the usual sedate entrance of a houseguest seeking reading material.

Mr. Greene stood in the doorway, glancing furtively about before striding to the shelves. His usual languid grace was absent as he began pulling out books, scanning their contents, and shoving them back with growing frustration.

Surprised, then curious, Lady Townsend remained very still. Really, it was most instructive how a man’s true nature revealed itself when he thought himself unobserved.

The sound of feminine laughter in the corridor made Mr. Greene freeze. Quick as a snake, he snatched up a random volume and arranged himself in an attitude of scholarly absorption just as Caroline appeared in the doorway.

“Mr. Greene!” The girl’s face lit up in a way that made Lady Townsend’s heart sink. “I didn’t expect to find you here.”

“Ah, Miss Caroline.” His voice resumed its usual smooth charm. “I confess, you’ve caught me indulging my particular passion.”

“Poetry?” Caroline asked, noting the book in his hands.

“Family histories, actually.” He replaced the volume—which Lady Townsend noted was actually a treatise on good behavior—and moved closer to the girl. “I find myself fascinated by the great houses of England, their histories, their…stories of hopes and opportunities.”

The way he lingered over that last word caught Lady Townsend’s attention. As did the calculating gleam in his eye that Caroline, poor dear, completely missed. What was the man hinting at?

“Oh! Then you must let me show you some of Lady Pendleton’s family records.” Caroline’s enthusiasm was palpable. “I am her god-daughter, you know, and am considered quite family. We have the most romantic stories.”

“Including, of course, ghosts, perhaps?”

“But of course! The ghost of Lady Pendleton’s great-great aunt Pernilla being one.”

“Indeed, poor woman! Yes, I still know little about her. Apparently, all the clues were quite made up.” A frown appeared between his eyes. “Perhaps you could tell me more.”

“Poor great-great aunt Pernilla.” Caroline lowered her voice dramatically. “She died tragically young, as you know, after falling in love with someone her father forbade her to marry.”

“So I learned during the treasure hunt.” Mr. Greene moved closer still, his voice dropping to match Caroline’s conspiratorial tone.

“And…forgive me if this seems forward…but I fancy I see something of her in you. I know you’re Lady Pendleton’s god-daughter, but is there more of a family connection? ”

“In me?” Caroline’s hand flew to her throat.

“The same spirit, perhaps. The same…yearning for romance?” His fingers brushed her wrist. “They say history often repeats itself. Though hopefully with happier endings.”

Eugenia’s fingers tightened on her book. The man was good, she had to give him that, she thought, as her protective instincts rose to the fore. Every word, every gesture, perfectly calculated to appeal to a romantic young girl’s sensibilities.

“I could help you research, if you’d like,” Caroline offered shyly. “I know where all the old family papers are kept.”

“My dear Miss Caroline, nothing would give me greater pleasure.”

The way the girl preened under his attention reminded Eugenia painfully of herself at that age, desperate to be seen as interesting rather than merely decorative.

Though in her case, the gentleman in question had been considerably more worthy.

Her gaze drifted to the window where she could just see Lord Thornton crossing the lawn with Sir Frederick.

Speaking of worthy gentlemen… she was certain this scene could be turned to some advantage. Sir Frederick’s protective instincts towards his sister, combined with Miss Fairchild’s clear-sighted intelligence, were sure to create just the sort of shared purpose that could draw them closer together.

And if that happened to help Eugenia win her wager with Lord Thornton…well, that would simply be an added pleasure.

But Mr. Greene’s peculiar interest in Pernilla’s story struck her as worthy of note. Though exactly why, she couldn’t yet say.

Rising silently from her chair, Eugenia slipped out through the library’s side door, leaving Caroline still hanging on Mr. Greene’s every word as he expounded on his deep appreciation for family traditions.

The girl would learn soon enough that not every smooth-tongued gentleman’s interests were what they seemed.

Though perhaps, Eugenia mused as she made her way toward the drawing room, that was a lesson better learned through observation than experience.

And if the observation happened to involve Caroline’s brother and a certain clear-sighted young lady working together to protect Caroline’s interests… well, that would be quite ideal.