She sighed, waved her hand. “A few bookshop owners and a couple of antiquities dealers know I’m always in the market for the unusual but this . . . it’s worth a fortune.”

“You could sell it to finance your lessons.”

She glared at him as though he’d sprouted horns and a tail. “It’s not the sort of thing one sells. If anything, I should donate it to a museum. But it seems rather at home here, and I’m reluctant to part with it.”

“Especially as you already had a way to display it.”

“Oh no. I designed what I wanted, and then took it to Mr. Bennett before going to church yesterday. He was kind enough to put it together for me using leftover bits from all the construction Mick is doing and brought it to me this morning. I just wish I knew who sent it.”

“Someone who wanted you to have it, I should think.”

“But why?”

“I wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth, Miss Trewlove. I doubt any other person alive would give it as much care.”

She smiled softly. “You may have the right of it there. Of all the people I know, I thought you would appreciate it the most.”

What he appreciated was that he’d accurately judged the joy it would bring her. Looking up at him, she held his gaze for the longest moment, as though she were waiting for something, for something more than words about a book. He was incredibly tempted to take her face between his hands and tell her that she was as rare a find as the original version of Shakespeare’s plays. “I should be off.”

The forced words sounded almost strangled. He wondered how she would react if he leaned in and kissed her. Would she stop him? Was she saving those lips for her lord—or would she be willing to experience a taste of passion and pleasure?

“You’re welcome to take a book with you. Not to borrow, but to keep. It’s how I thank those who assist me in my endeavors to educate.”

“It’s a wonder, Miss Trewlove, that you make any profit at all with your penchant for giving people books without taking coins in return.”

“I wouldn’t object to your calling me Fancy.”