A man of my own. Oh Christ. To be Pendrake’s man. The opportunities.
“My lord, thank you. It would be an honor to propose a design for such a project. I’m immensely flattered to be considered.”
“Fine. Lotham, send Mr. Anderson what he needs promptly, as I’ll need the proposal in six weeks.”
Adam tried not to flinch. Six weeks would barely be enough time to complete the drawings if he devoted his every working hour to it at his studio in London. But he was needed here to oversee this phase of Tregereth’s renovation for at least another three, which would mean—it would mean he wouldn’t sleep.
He simply would not sleep.
“Of course, my lord.”
Pendrake nodded. His purpose here settled, the marquess leaned back. “Lotham tells me you’re doing fine work at Tregereth’s. How are you getting on?”
“Very well. It’s a beautiful part of the country.”
“Tregereth obsesses over trifles. Always has, his father was the same. Don’t let him bog you down in this and that. More important work to be done.”
Pendrake gave Adam a stern look, making sure Adam took his meaning. I am to be your priority.
“Not at all, my lord,” he said, hoping his words conveyed cooperativeness without necessarily agreement. He did not wish to seem dismissive of his existing customer any more than he wished to offend his potential benefactor.
Pendrake reminded him so much of his father—asserting his opinions on anything and everything with no consideration for tact and every expectation he would be agreed with. The arrogance of it made Adam ill at ease.
“And mind his neighbor, the Arden girl,” Pendrake said. “Beastly woman. Radical. Can’t fathom what’s brought her back here.”
Adam was startled by the fact that Pendrake was aware of Seraphina’s temporary presence here.
He thought of her, not an hour before, her hair blowing in the wind. I rather liked you.
His mouth went dry. What could he say? He couldn’t openly defy a man like Pendrake, who was offering him everything he’d worked for. Fortunately, Pendrake was already rising, clearly not inviting a response.
Adam rose, too, and bowed, feeling more like a coward with every inch his torso moved closer to the floor.
After a brief conferral with Lotham over the garden folly, he was back on his way south. He should be elated that this opportunity had fallen in his lap, but he wasn’t. He felt queasy.
Was this who he’d become?
Some head-bobbing, eager-to-please sycophant who ignored insults to his friends to curry favor and made decisions out of fear?
He looked out at the ocean. Wild and roiling in the aftermath of last night’s storm and utterly contemptuous of the rocks it crashed against. He wished he could be one of those swells, hurtling toward a mightier edifice with no thought to the risk of impact.
He wanted to build an armory. He wanted to pay his debt to Mayhew. He wanted to provide a secure future for his children.
But not at the cost of his self-respect.
He thought of Pendrake’s words—beastly woman—and recalled Seraphina’s expression when he’d declined her invitation. For just a moment, her face had collapsed, like Adam had called her a cruel name.
She was not remotely beastly. She was a person, who could be hurt, like any other.
And he was an architect. He knew enough about terrain to understand that when waves crashed into rocks, it was the rocks that suffered, not the waves. Cliffs were formed by the slow, persistent wearing down of stone by tidal swells.
Perhaps that was the meaning of his dreams of water: that he should cast his lot with the churning of the ocean, rather than trust the deceptive solidity of rock.
Seraphina was in a rotten mood.
After her deflating conversation with Adam Anderson this morning, the day had gone on interminably, sad and dull, with nothing to look forward to, nothing to break the dread of the blank pages that awaited her, and no word from her friends.
She had written eight times to Thaïs and Cornelia since she’d received Cornelia’s letter about Elinor, and received nothing back. Even accounting for the distance between Cornwall and London, something should have reached her by now.
Did they not know she would be in agony, worrying?
The sparing correspondence was not so unusual in Thaïs, who had not learned to write more than her name until Elinor had taught her at the age of twenty-two. But Cornelia was a famously prompt and prolific correspondent.
Sera poured herself a glass of wine—her third—and paced about her parlor, imagining dreadful things.
A knock sounded at the terrace door.
She froze. Who would be visiting at this time of night, and why would they come to her back door?
She held herself still, conscious she was alone. Tompkins had already gone upstairs to sleep, and Maria and the cook were in the kitchen. Whoever was outside would see her in the candlelit room, but she could not see out.
She thought of the kingfisher. Had it been a warning of some greater violence?
“Sera,” a low, Scottish voice called through the glass.
It was Adam.
She clutched her hand to her chest and threw open the door.
“What are you doing sneaking around like a thief? I thought you were a prowler.” Her voice was shrill.
Adam darted inside, rain dripping from his hat, and looked stricken when he saw her clutching her heart. “I beg your pardon. I’m so sorry. I didn’t consider I might scare you. It’s just the terrace doors are closer to the path, and it’s raining again.”
She tried to calm her breathing because she disliked the idea he would see her as some silly, easily spooked woman. But this did nothing to chasten her temper.
“What are you doing here?” she snapped. She did not need a man who’d already severed their ties scaring her half to death at ten o’clock.
He rummaged in his coat pocket and held up the note she’d given him this morning.
“I was hoping it was not too late to accept your invitation.”
She huffed and gave him a sour look. She had spent all day mourning him. And now he’d changed his mind?
Certainly, she wanted him back in her bed. But if she allowed him there, would he have another flare of conscience in the morning, keeping her in a state of endless agitation as to whether she was an undue risk?
She did not appreciate being toyed with.
“I thought you’d deemed me hazardous to your well-being,” she said, not bothering to keep her frustration out of her voice. “What changed your mind?”
He looked at her intently. “I realized I was being cowardly.”
“In what way?” she pressed.
“Denying I want you. I do.”
A fortifying thought. But a bit too late.
“Are you going to be one of those men who want me when the sun goes down and remembers I’m a liability in the morning? Because I have had those types, Adam, and they are tedious.”
His jaw twitched. She’d hit a nerve.
“I don’t do things like this,” he said finally. “I lost my nerve. But it seems I’ve found it. If you’ll still have me.”
She sank down on the sofa, feeling weary. “Oh, very well,” she grumbled. “Stay if you wish.”
His eyes scanned over her face, narrowing with concern.