Oh.
Was that . . . was that not quite a fine compliment?
Granted, one she did not want, as it meant she could not have more of him. But it left her oddly flattered. Somewhat breathless.
He seemed to sense that she was flustered. He smiled kindly.
“In truth it is ill-advised of me to indulge myself in pleasures when I have so many other considerations, so you’ve saved me a great deal of self-reproach.” He paused, and his smile became rueful. “Most . . . regrettably.”
He shrugged, as if it was obvious that he could not help but do the sensible thing.
God, she sometimes wished she had that instinct.
He frowned. “You aren’t . . . cross with me?”
She was, actually, but the fact that he cared softened the blow. She smiled at him. “Adam, it’s quite all right.”
And perhaps it was. Last night, she’d been worried she would hurt him. Now, she wouldn’t have to.
“I’m disappointed, certainly. But I think you’re wise.”
He sighed. “I’d rather not be wise. I hope you know that.”
He really was the good sort. But she could not resist leaving him a little bruised.
“’Tis a pity, you know,” she said softly. “I rather liked you.”
His eyes flashed. “Aye?”
She reached out and swept away an eyelash that was resting on his cheekbone. “Aye.”
The words had the effect she’d hoped for.
He caught her hand and dragged it to his lips, pressing her knuckles to his nose like he was breathing in her skin.
Finally, he released her. “Be well, Sera.”
With one last sad expression, he bowed and walked past her, continuing on his way to Tregereth’s.
She stood still for quite some time, watching him go, and wishing he’d responded differently.
Wishing she did not feel so very low.
Wishing she could recapture, just for a moment, the sense of hope and peace she’d had when she’d first opened her eyes and thought of him.
Wishing, at the very least, that it was not much too early for wine.
Chapter Thirteen
It was a miracle that Adam did not walk straight off the path and into the sea on his way Tregereth’s, because he trudged along by instinct, in a blur, with four words ringing through his head.
I rather liked you.
Past tense.
Surely, if he had made the right decision, he would not now feel so frantic with regret.
She had liked him.
It was a rather bland sentiment to be so gutted by, but he could not shake the feeling that the words expressed more tenderness coming from her than they would from anyone else.
Perhaps she’d only said them because he’d demonstrated himself to be detached enough to sever their connection. But regardless, they still touched him.
He was so shaken by that exchange that he felt light-headed.
Which was unfortunate, given he was due at Alsonair within the hour. There was no time to pity himself. Ending things was for the better.
He walked more quickly and pushed Seraphina from his mind, forcing himself to think of architecture.
He stopped to borrow a horse from his construction crew at Tregereth’s and rode the several miles north along the coast to Pendrake’s, distracting himself from his low mood by rehearsing the salient parts of his pitch in his head.
He rode through impressive iron gates and up a wide path graveled in Cornish shale that twinkled pale blue and dusty pink in the sunlight. The drive was lined with elaborately manicured gardens bearing more resemblance to Paris than the English countryside. So Pendrake had a taste for Continental grandeur. Good to know.
Adam followed a servant up a footpath from the stables to the house, a grand, four-storied structure that sat perched atop the ocean.
“Wait here,” the footman said, pointing at a sofa in a sumptuous receiving room. “I’ll tell Mr. Lotham you’ve arrived.”
Adam walked over to the window as he waited. It faced the sea. In the distance, he could just make out Seraphina’s house on the promontory over the cove.
Don’t think of her.
“Mr. Anderson,” a voice said from behind.
He turned around.
“I’m Mr. Lotham,” said a man in spectacles. “And this is Lord Pendrake.”
“Of course,” Adam murmured, already falling into a low bow, for he had recognized Pendrake’s angular build, sharp jaw and jet black hair from illustrations in the papers. “His lordship needs no introduction. It’s an honor.”
Pendrake stalked over to a chair and lowered himself into it, kicking his legs out in front of him so that they spanned half the room. “Lotham mentioned he was meeting you and I recalled your name. Lord Howard was raving over the renovation you did for him in Kent.”
“Ah yes. A beautiful house. Lord Howard has exceedingly distinguished taste.”
Adam’s words sounded obsequious to his own ears, but the marquess only smiled. “Yes, quite,” he said, steepling his fingers.
“Have a seat, Mr. Anderson,” Lotham said, gesturing at a sofa.
Adam did, arranging his folio on his lap. “I brought a book of ornamental designs I’ve done in gardens. I think something of the French style would suit your grounds. I was admiring the elegant design as I drove in.”
Pendrake waved his hand dismissively. “Leave that here for Lotham to show my wife. It’s her idea. Wants a temple or some such folly. You know ladies. Tiresome.” He rolled his eyes.
Adam nodded as though he shared this low opinion of female taste. He felt the glares of Marianne, Catriona, and Seraphina in his mind’s eye as he did so.
“I thought I might solicit your interest on a larger project for the Royal Board of Works. Confidentially, we’ll soon be commissioning a new naval armory. A substantial project, highly complex.”
Adam’s heart beat faster. “I did hear mention of the possibility,” he said, trying not to seem too eager.
“Yes, my dear colleague Lord Falconer wants the commission to go to his nephew, Richard Folke, and thought giving Folke advance word would seal it. Folke, of course, cannot resist prattling around town about the fortune he stands to make, and now every architect in London is at my door begging for their chance. You know him? Folke?”
Richard Folke was the most prominent architect in London. That he was already being considered for the commission was not good news for Adam.
“Mr. Folke’s work is—”
“Bloody expensive,” Pendrake said drily. “He ran up a surfeit of eighty thousand guineas on the Bank of Manchester and the project took four years longer than expected. Scandalous. Thinks he’s the best so he can get away with it. But I have the treasurer breathing down my shirt and I need a man who can think in budgets rather than frilling every surface with cupids and cherubim to line his own pockets.”
Adam smiled, agreeing with Pendrake on this point. “My lord, it is my philosophy that efficiency of design is the test of an architect’s skill. An armory should be a handsome, dignified building, as befits the Royal Navy. And such a thing can be designed with great economy, particularly if one is attentive to the flow of labor.”
Pendrake smiled. “Exactly. Howard said you were the best he’s ever seen at managing costs and you finished the job ahead of schedule. Unofficially, I’d like to invite you to submit a proposal for the work. Lotham here can send you the specifics. We are publicly considering the other proposals, but between us, it’s Folke’s race to lose given his connections, and I’d like to have a man of my own in the game.”