Elizabeth Mansfield by Matched Pairs Page B

when he woke later that afternoon, the first thing he thought of was Julie’s revelation. Never before had he heard her speak about a man in just that way, as if she were truly enamored of the fellow. If Tris could accomplish what he’d promised—actually get her wedded to this paragon who’d caught her eye!—all his troubles would be over. But perhaps he shouldn’t have sworn he could do it. After all, he didn’t know the man. Perhaps he would have been wiser to wait and see just what sort of person he’d be up against. He’d made a too hasty promise.
    There was, therefore, only one thing to do: he had to get a glimpse of the fellow—and at once!
    He dressed quickly, mounted his favorite horse, cantered through Amberford and over the two hills that separated the town from Wycklands and, in less than an hour from the moment he’d made the decision, was presenting himself at the viscount’s door. “I’m Tris Enders of Enders Hall,” he said to the butler, “here to welcome Lord Canfield to the neighborhood.”
    The butler kept him cooling his heels in the entry hall for what seemed a long while. When he returned, he led the visitor down a long corridor, past a portrait gallery and a series of impressively dignified rooms, until they reached what was obviously a library. But the condition of the room differed markedly from the other rooms Tris had glimpsed along the way. Those others had all been models of shining, well-kept elegance, but this room was a shambles. The long table and chairs which normally would have been placed at the center of the room had been pushed back against the window wall, and the rugs had been rolled up and also shoved aside, all to make room for a great number of wooden boxes which were scattered round the room. Some of them were open, their contents—a great multitude of books—spilling out and piled round them on the floor. And in addition to the disarray of the furnishings and the boxes, there was a general atmosphere of must and dust. A cloud of dust motes danced in the golden rays of the sun that shone in from the huge windows. The entire scene seemed to Tris to be incongruous in this well-appointed mansion.
    The glare of the light from those tall, uncurtained windows blinded Tris for a moment. Not until his eyes accustomed themselves to the light did he see, standing among the wooden boxes, a tall, broad-shouldered fellow in his shirtsleeves. His hands were filthy, and his face streaked with dust. He’d evidently been caught in the act of shelving books. “Oh! I’m dreadfully sorry,” Tris said awkwardly, trying to back out of the room. But the butler had already withdrawn and shut the door. “I seem to be intruding,” he mumbled in embarrassment.
    “Not all all,” said the viscount, smiling and coming toward him, “not if you don’t mind meeting me in all my dirt.” He put out his hand. “I’m Canfield,” he said.
    Tris, noting that beneath the dirt the fellow was as imposing and handsome as Julie had led him to expect, grasped the extended hand. “I’ve never been afraid of a little dirt,” he grinned. “Or a lot of it, for that matter.”
    Lord Canfield grinned back, his white teeth gleaming in his streaked face. “There’s a lot of it here, I admit. It’s these blasted books. They do seem to bring an amazing amount of dust with them. I’m trying to organize them, you see, but it’s taking long hours of labor.”
    “I’m surprised you aren’t leaving this labor to your servants,” Tris remarked frankly.
    Some might have found the remark rude, but the viscount did not take offense. “If I did, I’d only have to rearrange them later,” he explained. “But let me not keep you standing. Come over here, where the dust is not so thick. I think that chair near the hearth is fairly clean. Shall I send for some tea? Or would you prefer a glass of port?”
    Tris sat down. “Nothing, thanks. My mother expects me back for tea in a little