She shrugged that off. “They didn’t disagree, either. The viscount said it would have to be a very good disguise, and I will make sure it is.”
“Very well, then,” Matthew relented with suspicious speed, walking right over to the wardrobe cabinet to pull out a hat. “Let me know when it’s time to leave.”
He wasn’t arguing? He wasn’t criticizing? He was just looking forward to their walk?
She took that as a very good sign, indeed.
Now it was time to get to decorating, just as soon as she got one of her staff to locate the Cartwright boy.
When her bedchamber yielded no trace of Mary, Chrystabel groaned. She didn’t have time for this. With a sigh, she went back downstairs. Hat in hand, she began to wander in and out of rooms, in search of one of the Trevor servants. Any of the Trevor servants. Anyone who knew the Cartwrights, so she could task someone else with finding the younger brother.
In the fourth room she tried, she came across Creath, seated with a book. The chamber was lined floor to ceiling with dark-stained wood shelves. Tremayne’s library.
Since she did need to speak with Creath, she approached the young woman, who didn’t seem to notice anyone was there, so involved was she in her book. “What are you reading?” she asked, put in mind of Arabel.
“Oh!” Creath startled a little and looked up, then turned to the book’s first page. “‘Artemenes, or the Grand Cyrus,’” she read aloud.
Chrystabel saw that the book was written by someone named Madeleine de Scudery, and underneath the title it said, That Excellent Romance. “Goodness, that sounds interesting.” She didn’t often read books, but then again, the Grange’s library included nothing that could be called romance. “What is the book about?
The girl’s eyes lit up. “So far Cyrus Artemenes is searching for his love, Mandana. She was abducted by the king of Assyria, and then again by a man named Mazare.” Up until now, Chrystabel hadn’t seen Creath so enthusiastic about anything. She was obviously enjoying this book. “Mazare was found dying on a shore after a shipwreck, and Mandana was believed dead, too. But she hadn’t perished—she was actually taken by the king of Pontus, who is now holding her captive.”
“How many times can one woman be kidnapped?” Chrystabel wondered.
“Apparently at least three,” Creath replied with a little smile.
Chrystabel was glad to see the story was taking Creath’s mind off her troubles. Having troubles of her own, she thought a distraction like this might do her good, too. “May I borrow that book when you’re done with it?”
“You can read the first volume now. This is the second one. But I don’t know if you’ll have time to finish the whole story before you leave.”
Creath didn’t know that Chrystabel wasn’t leaving, of course. Once Joseph fell in love with her, she’d have plenty of time to finish reading this book and many more. “How many volumes are there?”
“Ten. The whole book is over thirteen thousand pages.”
“Thirteen thousand pages? Oh, my. I shall have to think about that.” Actually, she would have to forget the whole idea. Chrystabel doubted she’d read thirteen thousand pages in her entire lifetime, let alone in just one book. And she certainly had more important things to do right now.
And so would Creath, soon enough.
“I’ve borrowed this to disguise you as a boy,” Chrystabel said, holding up Matthew’s wide-brimmed Cavalier hat. “So you can come out walking.”
“Out of doors?” Creath bit her lip, looking torn between guilt and longing. “I don’t think I’m allowed.”
“You’re allowed if you’re disguised,” Chrystabel said blithely. “I obtained permission from the viscount.”
“He said that?”
“He did. And we would so enjoy having you along.”
“We?”
“My brother and I.” Chrystabel watched closely for a reaction.
She needn’t have feared missing it.
“Oh!” Creath turned pale, then pink, then managed to drop her book and lose her place. “I, um, I’d be delighted to accompany you and your brother.” Her words came out muffled as she was doubled over, feeling for the book.
“Wonderful.” Chrystabel had to resist shoving her whole fist in her mouth to stifle a laugh. “I shall borrow a boy’s breeches for you, too.” She eyed the girl dubiously. “Have you a suitable cloak?” At breakfast she’d noticed Creath was wearing the same tawny dress she’d worn the day before. And she still had yet to change clothes.
Straightening, Creath shook her head. “I ran away from Sir Leonard with nothing but this gown I had on.”
Chrystabel had guessed as much. “Oh, but Arabel and I have plenty of clothes! Some in our rooms and much more in our luggage.” Luckily, Creath looked to be a similar size. “After our walk, we’ll find you an elegant gown to wear for Christmas Eve.”
“Would you? Lady Trentingham’s gowns are too small and short for me. You’re so very kind, Lady Chrystabel.”
“Oh, pish, it’s nothing.” She waved the hat. “Breeches and a warm cloak, then. I’m off in search of that slippery Cartwright boy.”
Surely she’d find him soon. Or find someone else who could find him. And then she’d start decorating.
TEN
“WHERE’S CREATH?” Joseph asked when he entered his father’s linenfold-paneled study and closed the door behind him. Glancing about, he frowned. “And where’s Father?”
“Your father will be along any moment, dear.” His mother waved him into the overstuffed leather chair beside hers. “As usual, Creath is in the library. The poor thing still seems shaken up from her narrow escape. I thought it best not to disturb her without reason.”
“Without reason?” Joseph’s frown deepened as he lowered himself to sit. “Then are we not discussing—”
“We are discussing, you and I. Your father will join when he arrives, and Creath will surely go along with whatever decision we make. Such an obliging girl, that one,” Mother added in a different tone.
A tone that made Joseph rather suspect she hadn’t meant it as a compliment.
Which made no sense.
