She placed a hand on his knee and looked at him intently.
“Very well,” he said with an exaggerated sigh.
Rebecca’s father had long had a flair for the dramatic. It was part of what made him the renowned genius he was, but in the past, his bit of theatrics had lost him more than one commission.
The duke laid out the plans on the table before them.
“Everything is here,” he said. “The previous duke, well, he was quite ill. Before that, I believe he lost most of his fortune.”
“Valentine!” Mrs. St. Vincent admonished him, obviously not pleased he had shared such information with commoners.
“Well, it is true,” he said with a shrug. “Mr. Lambert should know what will be ahead of him here.”
“Do you, your grace, have the funds to pay for my services?” Rebecca’s father asked. Rebecca stilled for a moment. Her father was sometimes too direct, although she understood his question. If the duke couldn’t afford to pay them, there was no reason for them to be there. They no longer primarily worked for fame or for renown. They worked to stay financially afloat.
“I do,” the duke said, though Rebecca caught his hesitation. “For a time, anyway.”
“Valentine will be married soon!” Mrs. St. Vincent said, clapping her hands together in glee. “His new wife will bring with her a dowry that will pay for the rest of your work while the duke puts all of his holdings in order. Isn’t that right, Valentine?”
Rebecca’s eyes flew to the duke. She should have known a man like him — a good-looking young duke — would not be a single man for long. Why it mattered, she had no idea. Yes, she was attracted to him, but that meant nothing. Likely every woman who became acquainted with him was attracted to him. He was a duke and a young, handsome one at that. She was the daughter of an architect and, besides, she had much more important issues to currently be concerned with.
Like that which was before her.
“Congratulations, your grace,” she murmured, but he was already shaking his head.
“Nothing has been decided and I do not currently have a betrothed,” he said with a pointed look at his mother. “My mother is a bit… excited.”
Mrs. St. Vincent looked slightly admonished, but she shrugged.
“You will very soon, I am sure.”
“So you would like us to finish the details of the mansion?" Rebecca asked.
“Yes,” he said before his mother cut in.
“In addition to the furnishings. And then there is the country estate.”
“Ah, Mother, I’m not sure…”
“It needs significant refurbishment,” she said, which the duke shrugged at as though he agreed, despite the somewhat pained expression that crossed his face.
“What I would like are some modernizations,” he said, and Rebecca felt her father stiffen beside her now.
“Modernizations?” her father asked. “Would that not ruin the character of the house?”
“Nothing extravagant,” the duke said, leaning forward. “I would be interested in perhaps a water closet with drainage.”
“There is the potential,” Rebecca said, forgetting herself for a moment as she tapped her pencil upon her lips. “Though it can be tricky within an existing building.”
“You must work quite closely with your father,” the duke said, eyeing her intently, and Rebecca placed her pencil back on the paper, attempting nonchalance.
“I do. Forgive me, Father, I became ahead of myself.”
“Why not this?” the duke suggested. “Perhaps we do a tour of the house — together this time — and I will review everything that we need. You can provide me with an idea of what the cost will be, and I will tell you what I am able to spend. We will do so here and then continue on to the country estate. But first, I need to know, are you interested? Will you take on the work?”
“You come very highly recommended, Mr. Lambert,” Mrs. St. Vincent said, folding her hands in her lap. “Lady Alberta told me of all you did for their family’s home, and I just knew that you would be the best one to help us.”
“Thank you,” Rebecca’s father said. Modesty was one quality he most certainly was not known for. “Rebecca and I greatly enjoyed our time with their family. We stayed at their estate to oversee the work.”
“Oh, I wasn’t aware that you did so.”
“Some do not,” he said, turning to her, his regality rivaling hers. “I, however, must ensure that everything I design is completed exactly as I imagine it. Isn’t that right, Rebecca?”
“Yes, Father,” she murmured.
“Well, we will ensure you have all you need,” Mrs. St. Vincent said. “Won’t we, Valentine?”
“Of course, Mother,” he said, though he hadn’t removed his gaze from Rebecca, which was causing tingles to run through her entire body. Oh, this wouldn’t do. This wouldn’t do at all.
“We should be going,” she said, jumping up quickly, despite the stares from the others in the room. Suddenly, however, she could hardly breathe with the duke’s proximity and she sensed the need to be out of this room and away from his as quickly as possible.
“So soon?” the duke asked, and his mother must have heard something in his tone, for she turned to him with a sharp look.
“I am sure Mr. Lambert is eager to get to work,” she said, looking to Rebecca’s father, who seemed somewhat perturbed.
“Well, I’m not entirely sure—”
“How long it will take, but we will be sure to send you a note,” Rebecca cut him off. He was a proud man, but at the moment there was far more at stake than his pride. If he wasn’t careful, he would lose his legacy entirely. “Thank you for your hospitality.”
They passed through the ballroom-turned-laboratory on their way out of the mansion, though the duke’s sister seemed too engrossed in what she was doing to pay any attention to them. She gave a brief wave as she measured something out in front of her, and the moment they passed through the room they heard her give a shout of glee.
Mrs. St. Vincent pretended nothing had occurred, while the duke chuckled under his breath, though loud enough that Rebecca could hear him. It did show strength of his character that he didn’t feel the need to hide his sister’s eccentrics. Rebecca wasn’t exactly the conventional lady herself, so she understood the importance of working without judgment.
Dexter fetched their cloaks and, for the briefest of moments, the duke brought his hand to the small of Rebecca’s back. The heat of his touch scorched through her gown, and a tremor ran through her. Then it was gone and she was left bereft.
“You will be in touch then?” he asked, and Rebecca was about to respond when she saw he was looking at her father — as he should be.
“I will,” her father said with a nod. “Farewell, your grace.”
And as they walked down the drive toward the massive gate holding all back from Wyndham House, it took everything within Rebecca not to turn around and search him out once more.
He was not the man for her. She had best remember it.
4
“Hurry, children, we are going to be late!”