Free Love In The Library by Cheryl Bolen Page A

four—and the man never missed an opportunity to make sure everyone knew it.
    The lady sighed. "I would be most grateful. I declare, I do not think I have the strength to walk home."
    * * *
    At half past five the following morning, Melvin donned his oilskins and beneath still-dark skies went to the livery stable to hire a horse for the long ride to Cheddar. He dared not risk one of his family's beasts for so grueling a mission. As it was, he would have to change horses two or three times.
    He had asked that his servant deliver a note to Mrs. Bexley after nine o'clock. The note merely reminded her that he was headed to Cheddar to investigate Mrs. Higgins. I will apprise you of what I learn at the earliest opportunity , he had concluded, before signing himself Yours ever truly, M. Steffington . She had provided him with Mrs. Higgins' address at Pleasant View Cottage.
    It was a pity they had to race against the clock—and Coutts Bank—because Melvin would have liked the luxury of waiting until the rainy skies cleared. Instead, he mounted the gray filly and began to charge into the southeasterly winds and the steady drizzle, hoping like the devil the storm would not gather any more strength.
    The first half hour was the hardest. The piercing winds cut through him like frozen steel. His face stung from the harsh, cold wind, and his ears became numb. His fine leather gloves did little to protect his chilled fingers, and even his ribcage—like his teeth—quivered from the brutal cold. He could not remember the last time he had been this miserable.
    As the murky light of dawn stole over the distant horizon, the cold was less palpable. The second hour of the journey he grew accustomed to the misery. Accustomed, but not accepting. He kept asking himself why he was doing this, why he had encouraged the widow to put her trust in him.
    He was so out of his expertise, he wished to God he'd never responded to her initial note. Just a few days earlier, his life had been far less complicated. Far less exasperating.
    It was difficult to believe that just a few days previously they had been favored by blue skies and mild temperatures. Which reminded him that Mrs. Bexley had gone with Long mouth to Sydney Gardens that day while he stayed in her library searching yellowing newspapers for something that wasn't to be found.
    A gnawing feeling that they would never find the Chaucer manuscript kept eating away at him like hungry maggots. But I've given her my word .
    By the time his mount made its way through the mire to Radstock, it became abundantly clear that traveling to Cheddar and back on the same day would be difficult under ideal weather conditions. Under these conditions, it could take three or four days.
    Three or four days they didn’t have, especially this time of the year when the days were already so short.
    While he was waiting to change horses in Radstock, he consulted the folded map in his pocket. He suddenly realized why there were so few towns between Bath and Cheddar, and his stomach somersaulted. As the crow flies, the distance between the two cities was not great.
    But he had failed to notice on his map the vertical script that identified the Mendip Hills. He had never before felt more like a moron. He should have known better than go off half cocked to where he'd never tread before.
    He pitied the poor horse which would have to climb the muddy hills.
    But more than anything, he pitied himself.
    He had let down Mrs. Bexley. She would lose her home.
    * * *
    When Sir Elvin called upon Catherine that afternoon, she almost thought it was his brother who came strolling into her drawing room, even though Simpson had just announced the baronet. He was the image of Mr. Steffington.
    As she looked closer, the differences between the two became more apparent. Her Mr. Steffington was not nearly so careful in his dress. He had come to her in Hessians that were not freshly polished, and his cravat had not been precisely tied. He had