“Well, we look forward to touring it — both of us.”
“We can hardly wait for you to see it,” Mrs. St. Vincent said dryly.
When Jemima turned to her with a secret smile, Rebecca knew the two of them would be fast friends.
7
Valentine’s saving grace was that he hadn’t had to spend the entirety of the six-hour ride to Stonehall Estate ensconced in a carriage with Rebecca Lambert.
He would hardly have been able to contain himself.
As it was, he was tempted to rush over and escort her down from the carriage as though he was courting the woman. Thankfully, his mother was sure to provide her arm for him to assist her.
Had he remained simply Valentine St. Vincent and not become the Duke of Wyndham, Rebecca would have made a suitable bride for him. In fact, she likely would have been above him on the social ladder, as it were.
How quickly things could change.
He watched her now as she surveyed the exterior of the estate. His estate. How the man who had hardly a house to call his own was now holding an extravagant mansion in London and a countryside estate that could fit his family ten times over, not to mention the various other holdings he now owned, was still beyond him.
Not just beyond him… but overwhelming him. He was drowning in these estates, which he could barely find his way around much less find his way out the other side of the debt that had latched onto his coattails and was dragging it off of him.
Valentine heard some mutterings coming from behind him, and he turned to see that Mr. Lambert had also dismounted and was speaking to himself as he climbed the front steps. The man had actually proven to be an entertaining companion throughout the ride here. He spoke of various works he had completed in the past and was quite candid in describing many of the families he had worked with and for. Val had learned quite a few lessons in architecture in the short few hours — everything from how to blend styles when adding onto a structure, as he had designed an additional wing at Remingford Hall, to how Mr. Lambert had added a staircase outside of a house leading up to an earl’s bedroom so that his mistresses could easily enter and exit without his wife being aware of their presence.
Now, however, the architect did not seem pleased.
“This is not at all how I remember it,” he was saying, waving his hands in the air as he looked up at Stonehall. “Not at all.”
“Have you been here before, Mr. Lambert?” Val asked, surprised. Surely Mr. Lambert would have mentioned knowing the old duke.
“I think he means how he had pictured it before arriving.” Miss Lambert’s voice from behind him was like a cool, clear river washing over him. Her words were practiced, unhurried, though he sensed some kind of apprehension in her eyes as she lifted her skirts and climbed the stairs.
“I see,” Valentine said, though he didn’t, really. But who was he to argue with the methods and opinions of one of the most highly regarded architects in all of England? “I shall have the housekeeper and butler show you to your rooms,” he said, “then we can begin a tour.”
“Very well,” Rebecca said, smiling politely at him. “We look forward to it.”
He would have looked forward to a moment alone with her, but then, one never received all he wished for.
Just the things he didn’t — like a dukedom.
Jemima’s description of Stonehall Estate had been practical, measured, and factual.
She had left out many of the pieces that made it so intriguing.
Such as the way the gold leaf and pale yellow stone glistened in the afternoon sun. The intricate detailing, the Belvedere turrets, the wide expanse of lush yet slightly overgrown and tangled garden. Rebecca had heard of Stonehall Estate before, of course, but she couldn’t have been prepared for just how beautiful it was to behold.
Then there was its current owner.
“Miss Lambert.”
Of course, the duke would be the only one present in the foyer when she arrived for the beginning of the tour after settling in their rooms. Wasn’t that just the way of it?
“What do you think of Stonehall Estate so far?”
“It’s magnificent,” she said truthfully, and he laughed.
“I was overwhelmed by it when we first visited,” he said, clasping his hands behind his back as he looked down at her, his arms straining his jacket. He cut a fine figure in his navy waistcoat, fawn trousers, and starch cravat, but Rebecca had the impression that he was not particularly comfortable in such attire. “The great hall alone is larger than the house I was born in. I needed a map to find my bedchamber.”
“How many estates did you inherit?” she asked.
“Six in all,” he said, looking around him, and Rebecca sensed some desperation on his part. “The others seem to be in much better shape, however, though they are all fairly stripped of their finer decor, as you will soon see here.”
“I’m sorry to hear it,” Rebecca murmured. He was in quite the conundrum, it seemed, but she wasn’t quite sure how to help him. It wasn’t as though she was a wealthy heiress, and they certainly couldn’t work without compensation.
“Valentine, Miss Lambert.” Mrs. St. Vincent practically sailed into the room once more. “My apologies on my tardiness. I had forgotten how exhausting it can be to climb the stairs to the second floor. This is why I typically remain in London.”
“You did not need to accompany us, Mother.”
“Oh, but I did. This drafty ruin needs much work, and I have many ideas that I am quite keen on sharing with Mr. Lambert. Where is Mr. Lambert?”
Rebecca had been wondering that herself.
“Perhaps I best go check on him.”
“He could be wandering the place himself again,” the duke said, and Rebecca stilled.
“As I found him in the London house,” he explained, and Rebecca nodded slowly. Thank heaven the duke seemed to be under the impression that her father simply had creative tendencies. They must keep this stay as short as possible so that he did not realize anything further. Not only would they lose this project, but if others assumed her father to have gone mad…
“Where is Jemima?” she asked Mrs. St. Vincent, who waved a hand in the air.
“Oh, she has already holed herself up somewhere. She said she would see us for dinner. Really,” she huffed, “I don’t understand the girl, but so be it.”
“We should save this tour for later,” the duke said, but Rebecca was eager to begin working on the plans. The sooner she could finish the work, the sooner they could leave and none would be the wiser of how they managed.
She could also then escape the duke and her inexplicable longings for him. She was usually much more reasonable than this. The duke was terribly striking, that was certain — but she knew better than to let a handsome face turn her head.
It was more than that, however. It was the fact that he didn’t act like a nobleman, that she could sense a vulnerability lurking in the depths of his tough exterior. And that she thought — she hoped — he had some desire for her in return.
“This estate is a beautiful monstrosity.”
They turned in unison as Rebecca’s father strode into the room. She cringed at his forwardness — but then, this was the same man who had become famed through England for his work and was not humble about it. He was just being himself.