“I am not sure what you mean,” Mrs. St. Vincent said with icy politeness.
“The baroque is beautiful, and the south domed front is one of the most captivating I have ever seen,” he explained. “But this building is the work of such a variety of men and styles that it will be difficult to ever meld it into one grand estate. Pieces of it are beautiful, but together…” He shook his head with such melancholy one would have thought a loved one had been declared too ill to continue on. “I am unsure as to whether or not I can work on such a building.”
Rebecca held her breath, waiting to see if the duke would be insulted. Thankfully, he gave a low chuckle instead.
“I understand, Mr. Lambert,” he said. “Why do we not walk around the house, and you can provide any expertise? If you decide it is out of your depth then… so be it.”
They began the long walk around the house, missing most of the bedchambers as there would be no work required of them there, at least at this time. The duke led the tour, though Mrs. St. Vincent had many grand ideas — most, she admitted to having seen in the homes of others within the nobility, and she had no grasp of style or continuity. Rebecca chose not to comment. Though her father had just as many suggestions as Mrs. St. Vincent, all of those Rebecca recognized as elements he had included in his previous work.
“The estate is beautiful, to be sure,” Rebecca commented. “The gardens, the courtyard, the impressive staircase. But it is so… empty.”
“Yes,” the duke agreed. “Many of the paintings and sculptures were sold by the previous duke. Some remain — the family portraits, of course — but it is quite unfortunate.”
“We will purchase them back,” Mrs. St. Vincent said determinately, though Rebecca didn’t miss the pained expression on the duke’s face and she could tell that Mrs. St. Vincent would not appreciate Rebecca’s questions.
“What is needed,” Rebecca’s father finally said, “is an addition. Something which will allow you to leave a legacy and tie in the remainder of the styles throughout the house.”
“An addition?” the duke’s lips strained and his brow furrowed. “That would be costly, would it not?”
“Nothing is too costly,” his mother said, sweeping her hand about. “For now that you are duke, my dear, we will soon have everything set to rights, will we not?”
The duke didn’t reply, though his expression said he clearly didn’t completely agree with his mother.
“Why do we not reconvene this evening at dinner?” the duke asked as they returned to the foyer. “We can discuss much more then.”
“Very well,” Mrs. St. Vincent said with a sigh. “I, for one, am exhausted.”
Fanning herself, she swooped away, while Rebecca’s father had already left, muttering to himself about Elizabethan and baroque, of degrading it and dispensing with beauty.
“Would it be possible for my father and I to use a library or another room for a study of sorts while we are here?” she asked the duke now, somewhat awkward to find herself alone in his presence once more.
“Of course,” he agreed, standing and holding his arm out. “Perhaps the long gallery, I believe it has been called. I’ll have the butler fetch you all that you might need.”
“Thank you,” she said, smiling at him in return, wishing that she had the quick wit and social breeding to know how to make pleasant conversation with him, but alas, all that currently came to her mind was assessing this estate that had become his so very recently.
“Your grace…” she began, unsure exactly of how to put her thoughts into words without insulting him.
“Yes?”
“It seems to me that the dukedom is... well, it's impoverished.”
"You would be correct," he said with a crooked smile.
“I question, then, why hire my father? Why take up these renovations at this time?"
He nodded, but instead of answering her, he asked another question instead. “Why would you question me so, when this will be a significant commission for your father?”
It was a good question, and one that Rebecca asked herself. She supposed she simply didn’t have it within her to bring another to ruin in order to further their own finances. But as he chose not to answer her question, she evaded his as well.
“This is a beautiful estate,” she said, holding her hand up as she circled the grand hall they were now walking through. “It could use some restoration, but perhaps nothing too extravagant, though I do agree that your London home must be seen through to completion. You could, however, simply live in this for now, until the time comes when you find yourself more… able to continue forward.”
“Perhaps you are right,” he said with a shrug. “But a legacy must be made, Miss Lambert."
He said the words so sarcastically, she knew it was not him who desired such a thing.
"I understand this is important to your mother," she said slowly. "But you are the duke, are you not?”
"I am,” he agreed but then hesitated. “My mother and father... they never expected me to amount to much. Then my brother died, and suddenly it was up to me to look after the family, although it has not been easy. I have been nothing but a disappointment.” A wistful sigh slipped out, though Rebecca wondered if he was even aware of it. “I must change that.”
“Very well," she said as they came to the door of the gallery. She longed to ask him more questions, to better understand his story and who he was, but she sensed that if she pushed, she would lose any of his trust and would never learn more again. “I should begin my notes for my father, then."
“I’ll call the butler.”
Yet despite their words, they both stood there staring at one another for a moment, neither seeming to want to leave.
Finally the duke nodded, turned, and walked away.
8
Valentine’s head pounded something fierce as he stared at the ledgers in front of him.
It was difficult to concentrate with all of his swirling thoughts. Rebecca and her father were entrenched in the long gallery just down the corridor. He had heard their murmured voices when he walked by not long before. How nice it must be to have an assistant, someone to work with and lean on.
Rebecca’s melodic voice had wafted down the hall and into his head. Once it filled him, it was hard to forget it. He could picture as she had looked this afternoon, when he had found it difficult to keep from touching her as often as he could. She had been encased in a crimson dress that was quite becoming on her, suiting her dark features and accentuating her bold hazel eyes with the dark lashes that dipped so low when she looked to the ground, as she often seemed to do around him.
He had the impression that, for some reason, she wanted to be out of his presence, though why, he had no idea. Unless... unless she was fighting the same attraction as he? The idea both excited and terrified him.
Valentine pushed the thought aside and returned to the ledgers. He had never been particularly proficient in mathematics, nor many of the subjects he took in school as a young boy. Eventually, he and his father had decided to stop fighting about it all and he had left school and chased other pursuits which were not only lucrative but that he actually enjoyed — until they became a detriment to them all.