Edenbrooke by Julianne Donaldson

face him with a weapon in his hand? Wasn’t dining with him dangerous enough?”
    I bit back a laugh as I recalled the moment of alarm when Mr. Clumpett had launched his fork into the air while demonstrating the flight pattern of a certain species of bird.
    “You may be right,” I said in an unsteady voice, my lips twitching.
    Philip grinned. “I have a better idea,” he said, reaching behind me for the door handle.
    I did not move, trapped as I was between Philip and the door. Tipping my head back, I looked into his friendly eyes, my pride draining from me along with my embarrassment. I had a feeling that no matter what his idea was, I would want to say yes to it.
    “What?” I asked, smiling without reservation.
    “Why don’t you join me for a game of chess? It’s not as exciting as fencing, but it can’t possibly be as boring as embroidery.”
    I had been right. I did want to say yes to him. I was surprised at myself, for holding a grudge was one of my greatest strengths, or weaknesses, depending on how one looked at it. But a game of chess with Philip sounded like the most pleasant way to pass the afternoon.
    “I would like that,” I said. “Where are we to play?” I asked as we left the fencing room.
    “You will see,” he said, smiling at his aunt as she joined us at the top of the stairs. “I have saved the best of the tour for last.”
    The library was tucked away on the main floor, down a short hall across from the drawing room. We had to turn a corner from the hall to find the door to the library, and when Philip opened it for me, I felt as if I had been granted entry into a hidden sanctuary.
    It was definitely a man’s room—the furniture was rich brown leather in straight lines, and a stone fireplace dominated one wall. Bookshelves embraced the room on every side. At the end of the room, farthest from the door, was an alcove with two leather chairs and a small table between them, which faced a large window that stretched from the floor to the high ceiling. The window filled the room with light and framed a view of the southeast side of the estate.
    I walked slowly into the serene, sunlit space, hardly noticing that Mrs. Clumpett had excused herself and barely registering the maid who stood in a far corner, removing books, dusting covers and spines, and then quietly returning them to their places. I stroked the back of a chair, gazed out the window, and turned in a slow circle, trying to take it all in. I was so captivated I did not even feel the least desire to twirl. To do so would have been irreverent, somehow.
    “You like it,” Philip said, smiling.
    I shook my head. “No, I love it.” I gestured to the bookshelves. “Do you mind?”
    “Help yourself,” he said, settling gracefully into one of the chairs by the window. He looked pleased.
    I looked at the titles on the nearest bookshelf and found a book on Greek mythology next to a book of poetry, which was flanked by a book on German philosophy. “How are these organized?”
    “They’re not.”
    I turned to him. “How do you find anything? There must be thousands of books here.”
    “I like the search. It’s like visiting old friends.”
    I studied him for a moment, intrigued by what he had just revealed about himself. Philip fit in this room as if it were a set of well-worn, comfortable clothes. I noticed with a twinge of admiration that he looked elegant even lounging in his chair, with his long legs stretched out before him. Catching a look of amusement on his face, I realized that I had been staring at him—again.
    “You look surprised, Marianne.”
    “I am,” I said frankly.
    He smiled as if he liked my answer.
    I returned to my perusal of his books and lost myself in the task. Unorganized like this, every step led to a surprise. I saw several books I wanted to look at more closely later, including a history of French politics and a book on gothic architecture. I was so absorbed in my reverie that I jumped a little when