He was right on the first two accounts. Despite the fact the house had been standing for a decade, many of the walls were bare, unadorned, some of the ceilings half-painted. Draperies covered some windows but not others, and furniture that had been accumulated had the look of that which was to have bided time until new furniture was procured.
That day had obviously not yet come.
They passed through the foyer and then into a long chamber that Rebecca guessed was to be a ballroom. It was currently empty except for two long tables, upon which sat a curious collection of objects.
She was so busy looking at their contents that she walked right into her father, who had stopped to stare at everything in front of him.
“What in the…”
“Father,” Rebecca warned, cutting him off. Just then a jar of green liquid on the table began to bubble, and Rebecca took a step backward, pulling her father with her.
Just as it exploded with white foam shooting out the top of the jar, a tall, slim woman dressed in green raced into the room.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, clearly flustered as she attempted to push back some of the strands of blonde hair that floated around her face, though she refrained from touching her skin with her gloved hands. “I didn’t know we were having company and I should have had this in another room. That being said, I think I am close to—”
“Jemima!”
“Oh, Mother!” the woman whirled around as an elegantly dressed white-haired woman sailed into the room — Rebecca didn’t think walked was an adequate description. A strong floral scent wafted around her like a cloud.
“Hello there,” she said, waving a hand in front of her demurely, giving Rebecca the idea that the woman hailed herself near to royal status — which, Rebecca supposed, she now was, as the immediate family of a duke. “You must be the architect. Please, do wait in the parlor. We look forward to our discussion. Dexter, please show them in. And next time, perhaps walk them the other way, through the drawing room?”
“Very well, Mrs. St. Vincent,” he said with the slightest of bows and he waved a hand in the air, biding them to continue to follow him.
Rebecca and her father exchanged a look, but Rebecca shrugged and urged her father to continue, though they both jumped at the bang that exploded from the table behind them.
“Sorry,” the younger woman — Miss St. Vincent— said with a cringe and a bit of a wave before she returned to her work.
“How very curious,” Rebecca’s father murmured as they finally entered the parlor.
While this room, too, was not yet complete, Rebecca was drawn to the large Venetian window on the far wall, which overlooked the back court. A huge green expanse flourished beyond, though there was much potential to expand the gardens. This should be the focal point of the room, Rebecca thought. The furniture should look out beyond the window, the remainder of the room simple and unornamented.
The door opened behind them, and Rebecca turned, hoping to see the duke so they could be on with it, but instead it was the woman she assumed to be his mother.
“Wonderful to meet you, Mr. Lambert,” she said with a wide, practiced smile on her face, as though they had not just encountered one another in the ballroom. She took a seat in one of the mismatched chairs, this one a royal-blue upholstered mahogany one that had been home to many bottoms, artfully arranging her expansive, clearly expensive, skirts over the chair so they fanned out evenly. “I am Mrs. St. Vincent and my son is the Duke of Wyndham.”
“A pleasure to meet you,” Rebecca’s father said, his practiced charm emerging as he bent to kiss the woman’s hand, though she pulled it away before he was able to do so.
“Yes, well. My son was supposed to be here to meet you, but unfortunately, he was called away on very urgent matters. As you may know, we have only recently arrived at this home in London, and as you can see, there is much to complete. I know my son has more particulars in mind and will review them once he arrives, but obviously the house has the potential to be quite opulent.”
“Actually, Mrs. St. Vincent, we haven’t seen much of it,” Rebecca said, growing rather impatient. They hadn’t much time to waste waiting. “Perhaps while we wait, we could tour the house?”
“And you are…?” she asked, fixing her pointed stare on Rebecca.
“Miss Lambert. I assist my father as his secretary.”
“Oh. How unusual. Well. I suppose Dexter can show you around, if you must see it now.”
They rose and Rebecca followed her father out. He began chattering away in Dexter’s ear, and Rebecca followed behind, pulling out her sketchbook and making notes as well as drawing sketches and designs as she went.
The style was Palladian with a hint of neoclassical, she realized as they wandered through, and she wished she was able to better question the duke as to what had happened over the past decade. At least the current duke was willing to pay for additional work. While her father may have blamed shoddy design, the truth was evident. The previous duke had run out of money.
She poked her head into one room and then the other. It was a travesty, really, and Rebecca wondered what the country estate looked like. Stripped of all its finery, perhaps, in order to attempt to pay to keep up appearances? No wonder this place remained a mystery.
She stopped for a moment, attempting a quick drawing, when suddenly she realized how quiet the hall had become. Rebecca looked up to find that her father and Dexter were nowhere in sight. Drat. She had become too caught up.
She quickly ascended the staircase in an attempt to catch them, but the upstairs corridor was empty as well. Rebecca put her ear against one door and then the next, but there was no sign of them. There was, however, a door slightly ajar at the end of the hall. She continued toward it, pushing it fully open to reveal a long, wide bedchamber. The windows were covered in heavy navy draperies, the bed itself taking up a large portion of the room. Goodness, how large was the duke that he needed such space?
Curious, Rebecca walked further into the room, though she was aware that this was likely not one of the rooms Dexter would have included in his tour. But she couldn’t help herself. She loved studying how people lived. And, unlike many rooms in the house, this chamber was obviously occupied.
There was a small dressing room and another door that Rebecca assumed connected to another bedroom. She pushed it open, finding the bedroom entirely bare. So there was clearly no her grace. Rebecca was about to retreat when she heard a heavy tread in the hallway, the steps coming closer and finally entering the room.
Not the wandering, unhurried steps of her father. Not the quick steps of Dexter.
It must be the duke.
Her heart began to race at the thought of being caught in the bedchamber of one of the highest peers in all of England. How would she ever explain herself? Rebecca did the first thing that came into her mind.
She hid.
2
Valentine St. Vincent, the sixth Duke of Wyndham, was tired.
He was tired of balls. He was tired of operas. He was tired of pretending to be the Duke of Wyndham when all he had ever aspired to be was a man making a name for himself in his chosen profession, which was the only thing he truly excelled at. One who would be perfectly happy spending his life without any pressure or great responsibility placed upon him.