“In the future, include them with the letters that arrive in the post that you have brought to me every few days.” If something appeared urgent, it was brought to him immediately. Otherwise, he saw no point in constantly sending a footman out.

“As you wish, sir.”

Then he could toss them in the fire and save Jenkins the worry over them.

“Another matter I need you to take care of for me. When I find the book, I’ll leave it here on the desk with a note.” He took a piece of foolscap out of a drawer, dipped his pen in the inkwell, and scrawled Fancy Trewlove’s name and the address of the bookshop across the paper. “I want you to wrap up the book with the note and have it sent to this address. Don’t use the post.” The postmark would indicate the post office from which it had begun its journey, and he didn’t want her to know it came from Mayfair. “It is to have no markings on it to indicate from whom or from where it originated. Have a footman deliver it, but he is not to be dressed in livery and is not to use one of my marked carriages. It is a gift, but it is to be an anonymous one.”

“It will be delivered with the utmost discretion. Shall I help you search for the book, my lord?”

“No. I’ve disturbed your slumber long enough as it is. Good night, Jenkins.”

“I’ll have the servants put matters back to rights in the morning, sir.” He glanced over at the one exposed bookcase before once again meeting Matthew’s gaze. “Good night, my lord.”

After his butler silently shuffled out, Matthew returned to the shelves where he thought he’d last seen the book. The tome was taller than most, which should have made it easier to find but his relations had collected a goodly number of tall books. The one for which he searched should probably be stored under glass. He had little doubt Miss Trewlove would give it the care it needed.

It was an expensive gift he was going to bestow upon her, but knew of no one who would appreciate it more.

Three hours later, he found the tome exactly where Jenkins had predicted it would be: on the upper floor. With a great deal of care, he set it on the desk, pulled out another bit of foolscap, and considered the message that should accompany it. Finally, with his expert penmanship, he scrawled out the words.

It is in want of someone who will appreciate, love, and cherish it.

As he strode from the room, he had the uncomfortable sensation that he’d been referring to himself more than the book.

Chapter 8