Valentine noted Rebecca’s deep sigh as her father began to lecture them on Greek architectural history. His mother was not at all impressed and had plenty of rebuttals to his points.
Valentine leaned in toward Rebecca.
“Shall we continue on?” he murmured.
She looked back at her father, hesitation on her face.
“I’m not sure…”
“I promise, we will not even be out of hearing. You can shout if we find ourselves undressed in close circumstances once more.”
Her cheeks turned crimson.
“Your grace, I—”
“I’m teasing,” he said with a laugh, realizing it had been some time since he had found such humor in anything. “But I am quite curious as to what your father has planned for the library. Perhaps you can explain it to me.”
“I can,” she agreed and he held out his arm to her as the two of them continued down the corridor.
“You know, it took me weeks to determine where I was going through this monstrosity of a maze that is supposedly a house,” he said, turning to look at her. “You seemed to have no problem whatsoever.”
“It is one of my few skills,” she said with a demure smile. “I’ve spent my life following my father from one commission to the next. It has been rare when we found ourselves residing in our own home, as a matter of fact. Learning a new design comes fairly naturally.”
“You also seem to have a great understanding of his work,” Valentine remarked, and when her step faltered slightly he turned to see if there was something she had tripped on.
“I enjoy helping him,” she said as they walked into the room that rose two stories, stretching out far to each side, filled with near-empty, mismatched bookshelves. “Do you enjoy reading?” she asked him, stepping away from his arm and looking up at him.
He cringed. “I am not exactly one for scholarly pursuits.”
“No? Then what do you enjoy?”
He paused for a moment, considering what exactly to tell her.
“I enjoy athletic endeavors,” he finally settled upon. “I, ah, didn’t come by my title following a conventional path so my time as a youth was occupied by other pursuits.”
“I see,” she murmured, her curiosity evident, but she was polite enough not to ask questions. He supposed years among the residences of the nobility had taught her that.
“Well, if there are certain sports you enjoy, I’m sure my father would be interested in knowing more about them. He could perhaps incorporate them into the building plans or the green.”
“The green?” His stomach dropped. He hadn’t planned for any landscaping.
“Yes,” she said, her brow furrowing. “Unless you wouldn’t like us to include it? I just thought it would be a pity, what with your land encompassing most of the neighborhood’s greenery.”
Of course his mother would want all to see their greens as some of the finest in London.
He sighed.
“Very well, include the green.”
“Right. Well, if there is anything you would like changed, do let us know.”
He nodded.
“Now,” he said, looking around him, “about this library.”
“Yes,” she said, her smile widening. “Close your eyes for a moment and I’ll describe it for you.”
She closed her own and began speaking. Valentine chose not to do as she said, but instead watched her.
Light from the tall library windows filtered in and highlighted her prominent cheekbones as she tilted her head back and begin to describe the large French windows that her father had designed to lead out of the library and onto a balcony that would overlook the gardens beyond.
“We cannot always be out in nature, but we can bring nature into us,” she said, opening her eyes, looking at him now with rapture. “Across from the windows will be a mirror so that the outdoors shines throughout the room. Everywhere you walk you will have a view of the trees beyond. With the doors open, the fresh scents will waft through the air. The columns around the library, which are not yet completed, as well as the bookshelves will be created out of rough-hewn wood that will capture the essence of the trees beyond it, bringing them indoors. Oh, your grace,” she said, opening her eyes, “it will be utterly beautiful.”
Valentine was speechless. He was entranced — not by her words, nor her father’s designs.
But by her.
6
Rebecca stared at her wardrobe, unsure of what to pack.
After their meeting with the Duke of Wyndham, he had been hesitant about embarking upon their renovations until he knew what would be required at his country estate. His mother encouraged them to go ahead and begin in London, but Rebecca admired his foresight.
She admired a great many other things about him as well, but that was neither here nor there.
So now they were all about to take a six-hour carriage ride to visit Stonehall Estate, where they would view the manor and provide plans for it as well. This would be a bit more difficult, however, for as expansive as the estate was, they would be staying and dining with the family. It would be much more difficult to cover her father’s absent-mindedness there. At least she could blame most of it on the eccentricities of an artist.
One never knew, however, when he would say something that would prove to be their undoing.
What she did pack in her valise was the ledger book as well as the current finances for the development, the Atticus Project, that her father had built and subsequently failed to sell. What should have been one of his greatest legacies was ruining them.
She reached behind her to try to massage her shoulders. She carried tightness in the muscles when she became tense — as she was right now and would be at least until they returned home once more.
Perhaps the duke and his family would leave them be, relegating them to more servant status. While it was somewhat insulting and her father would grow incensed if he was ever treated in such a way, at the same time it would keep the St. Vincents from learning the truth.
This had better be a quick visit.
Rebecca also didn’t want to admit how much she was looking forward to spending time with the duke. After being among noblemen for so much of her life, she had thought she had known what to expect when she met him. She had been mistaken.
He was frank and forthright. He spoke with directness and a tone that was not common among the noble set.
Rebecca consulted old issues of the gossip columns — a page she had typically overlooked, until quite recently when every morning she ran to the paper and eagerly flipped through until she found it, to learn more of who the Duke of W— had been seen with. She had learned that he had not come from noble beginnings at all. It was all quite a mystery, but as far as the newspaper reported, he was a commoner who had learned he was named heir to the previous Duke of Wyndham. It noted his brother had died and his cousin had been deemed illegitimate, but nothing further. He had gone from a middle-class man with a profession — though what profession, the paper didn’t say — to duke in less time than one could open a door.
As she had to right now. The Duke of Wyndham and his family would be here at any moment, and she didn’t want her father greeting them. He was liable to tell them that he didn’t want any salesmen at his door and they should go away.