“Are you going to Hatchards today,” Theo asked.
“Probably.” There was not very much else to do in the mornings.
“Oh, good.” She smiled. “Will you pick me up a book on sheep? The kind whose wool is used for carpet making?”
Why in God’s name would she be interested in . . . “Sheep?”
“Yes.” Theo nodded. “For making rugs. From the wool. They are very useful animals.”
Alice had not thought she meant the animal itself. “I will take a look.”
“Thank you.” Her sister flashed her a smile. “I am starving.”
“I am peckish as well,” Mary said, and they both dashed down the stairs.
Alice followed at a much more sedate pace. It would take her some time to find the right tome for her sister. Still, there really was nothing else to do this morning. Well, that sounded like moping. It was time to find something to occupy her time. It occurred to her that she had still not found her purpose. Perhaps this was opportunity to do just that.
She took her place at the table and was glad to see it had been shortened, making it feel not so empty. Alice heaved a sigh. She really was feeling sorry for herself. It had to stop.
By ten o’clock the rain had ceased and the sun, although not fully shining, was peeping out from the remaining clouds. She went to Grace’s office, found it empty, and strolled to the hall. “Thorton, do you know where her ladyship is?”
“She is visiting Lady Evesham.”
Alice remembered hearing that Phoebe Evesham was finally in Town. “I am going to Hatchards.”
“I shall call for Williams.”
Drat. Alice had forgotten to inform her footman. Fortunately, he came immediately. “Are we walking, my lady.”
“Yes.” A good stroll was the best way to shake herself out of this mood. “I will attempt to limit the number of books I purchase.”
Williams’s lips twitched, but he did not respond. They strode out of the square and turned toward Piccadilly. She arrived shortly before ten-thirty. By now she was thoroughly familiar with where the books she wanted were located and went directly to the section dealing with land and animal husbandry.
Seated at the table was St. Albans. “Good morning.”
He raised his head and gave her a distracted smile. “Good morn to you.”
Alice scanned the shelves for volumes on sheep. “Do you happen to know which sheep are used for making carpets?”
“Scottish Black-face, Welsh Mountain Sheep, and Piebald. Which breed you want depends on where you are.”
She almost dropped her jaw. Just a day ago, he said he knew almost nothing about them. “How did you learn so much in such a short time?”
He tapped the book. “Reading. I have a great deal of opportunity for it.” He’d risen when she entered the space. “What brought on your interest?”
“My sister Theo wanted me to bring her some information on sheep for rug making.”
He frowned. Did he not like ladies involving themselves in the subject? But that did not make any sense. He had asked Alice for help. “How old is she?”
Laughter burbled up inside. “Fourteen. Mary is eleven. They surprise me as well. Sometimes they remind me of older people in young bodies.”
“I understand what you mean.” He took two books down from the shelves and placed them on the table. “This will get you started.”
Alice took the chair opposite St. Albans. “Thank you.”
His green eyes danced with mirth. “It is my pleasure. After all, where would we be without sheep?”
She chuckled lightly. He really was fun to be with. “A most erudite topic of conversation. I wonder how it would be received during morning visits.”
“You would no doubt have the other ladies wishing they had thought of the subject. Gentlemen would hang on your lips waiting for pearls of wisdom to drop.”
The burble of laughter threatened to become a peal, and she covered her mouth to hide the sound. Tears blurred her vision by the time she got herself under control. “Oh, dear. You should not make me laugh so hard.”
His eyes widened as he assumed an innocent look. “I? Why, my lady. I would never do such a thing. I of all people know one is only supposed to laugh with closed lips.”
That set her off again. He handed her his handkerchief to dab her eyes. “Stop. Show me the sheep.”
For some reason, that caused him to start laughing. If anyone came by they would think they were ready for Bedlam. Alice handed St. Albans her lace-trimmed handkerchief. Accepting it, he bowed. “As you wish. Sheep it is.”
They spent the next hour comparing not only sheep, but the crop differences between the Highlands and England.
Was he preparing to take over Whippoorwill Manor? Had he a lady in mind to wed? Could she ask him? If they were truly friends the answer was yes. She had rejected him after all. “I take it you have found a lady you are thinking of marrying.”
“I have.” He gazed into her eyes, and her awareness of him grew. Alice did not understand what was happening. “Although, it is early days.”
“I see.” Yet, for some reason, it did not make her happy. She should want him to gain the estate he should have already been given. “I suppose having inherited your uncle’s estate has obviated the need you felt before.”
St. Albans leaned back in his chair and seemed to consider her. “Yes. I still want it, but I now have an estate of my own to see to. In effect, I no longer feel as if I have a sword hanging over my head. Or that my life has little meaning.”
