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the extremely interesting and rather shocking conversation she was about to overhear; nor did she know that before she returned to the house in Henrietta Street, she would have come face to face again with the subject of that conversation, Sir Maxim Talgarth.
     

Chapter Four
     
    Wyman’s Circulating Library of Wigmore Street was second in size only to Hatchard’s of Piccadilly, but in quality it considered itself London’s foremost such establishment.
    When Charlotte arrived, there were already a number of ladies and gentlemen browsing at leisure through the cluttered shelves, the low, discreet drone of their conversation almost muffled by the countless books. There were books everywhere, even piled on the floor, and the shelves rose so high toward the ceiling that those near the top could be reached only by using one of the tall ladders provided.
    Assistance was given to all by a coterie of personable young men who ruled their domain from behind a grand circular counter in the center of the floor. These young men were helpful and polite, if a little haughty with those whose circumstances were not as fortunate as might be, when they were also inclined to be officious. Charlotte had to endure this latter treatment, but her determination to make full use of the library’s facilities made her immune to their superior airs and graces; besides, she could now comfort herself with the thought of committing their sins to paper if and when she wrote her version of Glenarvon .
    The book set aside for her took some time to find, at least that was what the particular young man who served her would have had her believe. He made a great fuss about searching, taking the opportunity to wipe his forehead with an elegant handkerchief, and fluff out the very intricate neckcloth burgeoning at his throat. He evidently thought himself very much the swell, and Charlotte was sure she could even smell cologne; it was as if he aspired to be Beau Brummell himself, not merely an assistant in a circulating library. At last he produced Glenarvon, which proved to consist of not one large but three very slender volumes beautifully bound in rich gilt and leather. She signed for them and tucked them carefully under her arm, feeling slightly disappointed as she prepared to leave, for the book promised to be shorter than she had anticipated. She hesitated, thinking that maybe she should select something else to take home as well, for Lady Caroline’s publication, while very shocking, did not promise to occupy a great deal of time.
    She went to the rear of the library, where in the past she had discovered several excellent volumes. It was a quiet corner, perhaps because it was dark and shadowy, and she was quite alone as she began to look along the shelves. If she hadn’t knelt down on the little mat provided in order to inspect the bottom shelf, and if the reading table hadn’t been positioned quite where it was, the two ladies would have seen her immediately and their conversation would never have taken place within her hearing. As it was, they had no idea she was there and consequently thought themselves at liberty to speak as indiscreetly as they pleased; and by the time Charlotte realized who they were and what they were talking about, she did not dare move or draw attention to herself in any way whatsoever. She knelt motionless where she was, unwillingly eavesdropping upon every word that passed between Lady Judith Taynton and a certain Miss Sylvia Parkstone, who proved to be Max Talgarth’s former sister-in-law and who liked him rather less than she would an insect.
    Charlotte couldn’t see their faces; she saw only their silk-stockinged feet clad in the latest patent-leather shoes, and the hems of their elegant walking gowns, richly adorned with the heavy embroidery and rouleaux, which were all the rage this year and which made everything Charlotte wore so very out-of-date. Judith was, as usual, wearing yellow, and equally as usual she was