~LAYLA~
"This is he library," the Duke said as Pennyworth wheeled him through double oak doors. "Three hundred years of accumulated knowledge. Or as Isabelle calls it, 'dusty old books.'"
I stepped inside and stopped.
The room was breathtaking. Floor-to-ceiling shelves lined the walls, filled with leather-bound volumes. A large fireplace took up one end, and tall windows let in plenty of afternoon light.
"It's beautiful," I breathed.
"It's impractical," the Duke countered. "Half these books are in Latin. The other half are about sheep farming. But it photographs well, so Isabelle uses it for her charity luncheons."
I walked to a shelf, running my fingers along the spines. "Did my mother spend time here?"
"Victoria lived in here," the Duke said softly. "She'd curl up in that window seat for hours, reading poetry. Drove Isabelle mad."
I smiled, imagining it.
