The library had an air of peace and repose, precisely the sort of refuge Dunfallon sought. Not as dark and sniffy as a gentlemen’s club, not as elegant as the ducal town house. Just right for a bachelor seeking respite from marital doom.

A woman emerged from between two bookcases. She held a large bound tome and was attired from head to foot in gray, save for a sprig of prickly holly pinned to her lapel. No cap, dark hair tidily bunned at her nape, and only the slightest of welcoming smiles.

The very best sort of woman, one who looked to have no use for tiaras or dukes. Pretty green eyes, though, and a direct gaze.

“Good morning. I am Miss Emerald Armstrong. Welcome to West Bartholomew Street Lending Library.”

“Miss Armstrong.” Dunfallon’s bow would have been the envy of Bellefonte’s adoring throng. “A pleasant day to ye.”

“Are you Mrs. MacInnes’s nephew? If so, Mr. Dunn, you are somewhat overdressed for the occasion. You can start on the sweeping and make up in vigor what you lack in punctuality. The children will be here at nine of the clock, and you’ll want to haul up several buckets of coal before they arrive. They offer to help, you see, and then the job takes four times as long because a deal of handwashing becomes necessary. Dirty hands and library books are a bad combination.”

Her voice was precise and laced with a brisk hint of humor. She apparently looked forward to the arrival of the children, and for that alone, Dunfallon decided to do a bit of sweeping. That and the certain knowledge that Miss Peasegill would tarry on the walkway with Lord Bellefonte until spring, given half a chance.

“And where would the broom be, Miss Armstrong?”

“Come,” she said, setting the book on a table. “I’ll show you around, and if you have questions, you must ask. A library is a temple to the curious mind, according to my late father, and we cannot find answers if we don’t ask questions.”

She might have been quoting old MacAlpin. Dunfallon hung his cloak on a peg and followed the lady down a curving set of steps into a whitewashed half basement serving as a sort of parlor. The hearth along the back wall crackled with a merry blaze, and sunken windows added more light.