Rebecca worried her bottom lip as she watched out the window. Her father insisted that he would ride alongside the carriage like a proper gentleman. She had tried to convince him that it would be perfectly acceptable for him to ride inside the carriage with the women, but he had refused.
As it was, Rebecca thought it was rather strange that the family had offered the architect to accompany them for the journey, but then, the St. Vincents did not seem to be the typical noble family.
Which was evidenced by the overly cheerful greeting she received less than an hour later, when she entered the carriage.
“Miss Lambert!” Miss St. Vincent exclaimed, holding her hand out. “How wonderful that you are joining us.”
“Yes, it is lovely to see you, Miss Lambert,” Mrs. St. Vincent said from beside her daughter with a slight sniff. “I didn’t know that we were to expect you to accompany us.”
“My father is more efficient in his work when I am with him,” Rebecca said, telling the truth. “I hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all,” Miss St. Vincent said with a smile of welcome. “It’s only a few hours’ journey to Stonehall Estate — just the perfect amount of time for us to come to know one another better. Please, call me Jemima. Everyone does.”
Rebecca could sense the sincerity in her words and settled in across from her.
“Then I am Rebecca.”
Despite spending the journey continually looking out the window to ensure that her father still followed the carriage and concerning herself about just what he was saying to the Duke of Wyndham, Rebecca enjoyed herself. Jemima was lovely company and asked one question after another about Rebecca’s father’s work until finally, Rebecca had the opportunity to ask her a question of her own.
“Before the duke became… the duke, where did you live?” she asked, always curious to learn more of previous residences of clients to gain insight.
She sensed Mrs. St. Vincent stiffen, but Jemima softly smiled.
“In a pleasant middle-class home in Hungerford,” she said, “far from London and our Mayfair mansion, though quite close to our estate. We were from the same area, as distant family of the previous duke.”
“Truly?” Rebecca said.
“Yes,” Jemima said with a nod. “Valentine’s inheritance of the dukedom was rather… unexpected, you could say.”
“Are not all of these lineages quite detailed?” Rebecca couldn’t help but ask, intrigued.
“Typically,” Jemima agreed. “However, in this case, we had always thought that our cousin was to inherit. Then he was deemed illegitimate and the College of Arms had to discover who was next in line. It came down to Valentine or another cousin, and eventually, Val was declared the duke.”
“He must have been pleased,” Rebecca said politely, but Jemima laughed.
“Hardly.”
“Jemima!” Mrs. St. Vincent finally spoke, but Jemima shrugged one of her delicate shoulders.
“It’s the truth, Mama,” she said. “And I hardly think that Rebecca will judge us as many of the ton would.”
“Of course not,” Rebecca said demurely. “Did the duke have a profession?” she asked, but before Jemima could say anything, Mrs. St. Vincent leaned forward and placed a hand on her daughter’s knee.
“I must call for the coach to stop,” she said. “I am feeling a trifle ill.”
“Very well, Mama,” Jemima said, calling to the driver to stop for a moment.
Rebecca was no simpleton. Mrs. St. Vincent clearly wasn’t pleased with her daughter sharing the family secrets, as evidenced by the fact that she took Jemima aside once they stopped and was obviously firmly chastising her.
Rebecca took the moment to check on her father.
“How is your ride?” she asked when he reined in next to her.
“Just fine,” he said. “I am, in fact, inspired by the views.”
“Good,” she said, relieved.
“Now, when will we arrive at the viscount’s manor?”
“The duke’s, Father.”
“The Viscount of Alberta,” he said, frowning. “We have had this commission for months now, Becca. Are you not looking forward to seeing his children again?”
Rebecca’s heart sank. Her father had designed and overseen the building of Lord Alberta’s estate over a decade ago.
“Father,” she said gently, placing a hand on his knee so that he would look at her. “We are going to the Duke of Wyndham’s, do you not remember?”
“Of course,” he said brusquely. “Now, when we get there, bring me the plans for the London development, will you?”
As he clicked at his horse and rode over to the duke, Rebecca rubbed her shoulder where the tension had begun again. She could only hope that her father would speak of things that wouldn’t capture the duke’s attention.
“I’m sorry.”
Rebecca turned swiftly to find Jemima at her shoulder. “My mother is not entirely comfortable with speaking of our past. We come from a much different place, and others do judge us for it.”
“I understand,” Rebecca said softly so that Mrs. St. Vincent couldn’t hear their conversation. “Our lives have been interesting as well, being commoners and yet spending so much time among the nobility. I apologize for my questions.”
“My mother… she has known loss as well,” Jemima said, her smile faltering for a moment, but she didn’t further elaborate. “Now all she can think of is holding on to what, to her, was a miracle.”
“The dukedom.”
“Yes.” Jemima nodded sagely, her expression indecipherable, as she gazed off into the distance. “It seems she is prepared to continue on. We are not far now.”
Rebecca nodded, seeking out her father once more as they returned. Instead of capturing his attention, however, her gaze arrested on the duke. He made a fine figure on his mount, that was for certain. The sun cast a bronze light on his chiseled jaw, a gust of the wind that marred the otherwise fine day pushing back a sandy lock of hair from his forehead — a lock that Rebecca would very much like to be teasing with her fingers herself.
Ridiculous, she told herself as his eyes caught hers, and one side of his lips curled in recognition of her study of him. Her breath caught, but she mercifully managed a brief nod, hoping that he would suppose she was simply admiring the scenery when he had entered her vision.
Not likely, but one could hope.
She turned quickly and re-entered the carriage, where Rebecca thought it prudent to change the topic of conversation, judging by the way Mrs. St. Vincent was avoiding her gaze, her hands in her lap gripping one another tightly as she stared out the window as though the scenery proved far more interesting.
“Tell me of Stonehall Estate,” Rebecca said imploringly. “Have you been before? What is it like?”
“It’s finished, at least,” Mrs. St. Vincent said, and Rebecca nodded, waiting for more. When the elder St. Vincent woman said nothing, Jemima took up the conversation.
“It is most impressive,” she said, “though it was built some time ago — in the 1500s, I believe. It is built of fine materials and structurally, it is sound.”
Apparently, Jemima was not particularly keen on aesthetics.