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Monday Puzzler
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Puzzler: 4 June 2018
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I didn’t recognize it this morning but if just came to me. A very sweet book although I think the author still doesn’t quite get the social mores of the time.
Great choice! I like almost everything this prolific author writes, and I think she excels at including small, intimate details that bring her characters to life.


I really enjoyed this book and loved the hero and heroine. Enjoy!
xxxx
The Hero maids had apparently been too busy to open the windows in the library. The smell from last night’s gathering thus nearly overpowered Heroine. The gentlemen would have waited until the ladies had retired to get out the port and cigars, but she had a theory that cigar smoke was no better for books than coal smoke.
She opened the French doors, then started on the windows, letting both morning sun and fresh air into the room. This being a newer part of the castle, the windowsills were merely a foot and a half deep, though the hinges were still stubborn.
One gave a great squeak—were the footmen too busy to oil hinges in this castle?—and from the depths of the sofa near the fireplace came a snort. Or a snore? Heroine could not recall seeing any hounds in the castle.
She crossed the library to investigate and came upon His Grace of Hero fast asleep, a ledger book on his chest. He put her in mind of the deceased at a wake, with a Bible placed over his heart, though no deceased had ever sprawled in such casual splendor. His tall boots were neatly positioned at the foot of the sofa, and a pair of gold-rimmed glasses sat upon his nose.
Those two items—the boots and the glasses—spoke volumes about the man and his station. Though gracious saints, what if some scheming debutante should come upon the duke? She’d take down her hair, curl up near him in a wanton pose, and wait to be discovered in a compromising situation.
“Your Grace.” Another snore. He wasn’t a loud snorer, but he was far gone in slumber.
“Hero. Wake up.”
“Not at the moment, thank you.” He shifted to his side, and the ledger book slid to the carpet. Heroine picked up the ledger. This had to be a book for tallying the expenses, for every entry was a deduction.
“Sir, you must rouse yourself.”
He scooted around, scratched his chest, and sighed. The poor man was exhausted. Shaking his shoulder was like trying to shake one of the marble lions couchant atop the castle’s gateposts.
“You must wake up, Your Grace. The castle’s on fire.”
Two sets of dark lashes swept up. “Hero Castle is made of good Welsh stone. It cannot burn.”
“No,” Heroine said, removing his glasses. “But your reputation can go up in flames along with mine if you don’t bestir yourself. How can you see anything with all these smudges?” She used a handkerchief to polish the duke’s spectacles.
He sat up and reached for his boots. “Miss Surname. Good morning. I should beg your pardon.”
His hair stood up on one side. Heroine combed her fingers through it enough to set it to rights. The texture was silky, despite its thickness, like a healthy cat in winter plumage.
“You’re a bit disarranged.” She positioned his glasses back on his nose, then gave his hair an extra smoothing. “I should be begging your pardon. This is the famous St. XYZ library, and you haven’t given me permission to borrow from it.”
He sat through her fussing, tugged on his boots, and stood. New boots were the devil to put on, because they were made to allow for the leather stretching to the wearer’s exact conformation. Hero’s boots hadn’t been new for some time, though they’d been lovingly maintained.
“You come upon me, dead asleep in the middle of my own house party, and your objective is to become better acquainted with my books.”
He was amused, or appalled. Heroine wasn’t sure which.