Lord Barry's Dream House (10 page)

She did not wait for him, but led the way to the room she and Henry had taken to use during construction. Much had changed in the past week. With the walls painted and the floor about to come in, the clutter had disappeared and all that remained were the pattern books, the plans, and stacks of drawings that Juliana and her father had made for the interior decoration of the mansion.

“Oh”—Juliana paused in the hallway to half turn back with an added thought—“should you wish to see the carvings that are to grace your library? Mr. Maine is just down the hall and could show them to you.”

Edmund looked at the retreating and exceedingly pretty back belonging to Lady Juliana and glanced at Henry Scott to see how he was reacting to the total changeabout. He was rewarded with a noncommittal shrug as the gentleman in question followed him along the hall.

In the room down the hall Edmund found a neat table loaded with papers and pattern books, a smiling Juliana beside it. Did he distrust that smile? Perhaps not, but he would be on his guard. He had learned over the years to be wary of the leopard who changed his—or her—spots.

They spent over an hour debating the design of the exterior lamp standards until Edmund decided on the style he thought would go best with the front elevation on his house. From the expression on her face, it seemed Juliana concurred with him.

“Excellent choice, I believe,” she said, confirming his impression. “Do you not agree, Henry?” She smiled at her supervisor of works, who was far more than that if Edmund had any guess.

“Indeed.” He picked up a pad and pencil. “I shall make note of the selections.”

Edmund took notice of the pleased look on Juliana’s pert face and wondered what would come next.

“Now to the wall coverings,” she said with enthusiasm. “You seemed satisfied with the India paper for the breakfast room, and it
is
very pretty. I wondered if you would like to have a landscape paper for the drawing room? The Chinese ones with birds and flowers are quite nice for a bedchamber, particularly one for a lady,” she said, offering him a pattern book from Robson Hale.

Edmund accepted the book, confused and wondering if every gentleman who built a house was confronted with so many little decisions.

“Had you a wife, I expect she would have done this for you. However
...”
and she shrugged most eloquently. She had lovely shoulders, Edmund noted absently. In fact, as he must have observed a good many times by this point, it certainly was a pity that she would not do for a wife. Too managing by half, however. He turned his attention to the pattern book and put aside that image of Lady Juliana, her dark hair tumbling about her head while ensconced in the very large bed he intended to have in the master bedroom.

“Here is a panoramic view that might do well in the drawing room,” he said after turning a number of pages. “I noticed that it has not been painted as yet.” He held out the book for her inspection and was pleased at her reaction.

“Why, sir, I wish I’d had you at my side while designing all of the house,” she crowed with apparent delight. “I vow, you have excellent taste. Henry, after you take the measurements for each panel, send an express order for this paper, and I shall have the walls prepared for the hanging.” To Edmund she added, “The paper is not actually hung on the wall; it is affixed to a frame that is then attached to the wall. This way, you could make changes if you so pleased, with little problem. Oh, this is lovely,” she said, looking again at the selection in the book.

He had to believe she was sincere. He even found he wanted to believe that.

“You know,” she continued after a few moments, “you might even wish to have window blinds continue this look
—
they can be painted with the same sort of romantic landscape. Truly lovely,” she concluded with a wistful smile.

“I believe this will be quite enough,” Edmund said, thinking that it was all well and good to have wallpaper, but it was too much to go into window blinds that were painted to match!

“The chandelier you chose will look well with this paper,” Juliana declared. “Come, I believe we have accomplished a great deal for one day. It is time we head for Beechwood Hall and a well-earned rest. Tomorrow is the ball, and I have not even given a thought about a gown to wear.” Her laugh sounded a trifle false to his ears.

Lady Rosamund and Lady Barbara had talked of little else, and Edmund wondered if it was indeed the case that Juliana did not have a new gown for the occasion. He found the subject interested him more than might be expected.

“I would think you have ordered some pretty confection from the local mantuamaker,” Edmund ventured to say.

Henry muttered something that sounded very much like “A likely story,” but Edmund wasn’t sure.

“I shan’t disgrace my family, you may be certain,” was all the reply he received from Juliana.

They left the house and, after parting from Henry, rode home in a more amiable silence than in the past weeks.

“Your supervisor of works lives close by?” Edmund chanced to inquire, wondering for the first time what sort of life the chap lived.

“Yes,” Juliana replied with enthusiasm. “He inherited a
lovely small manor house from his grandfather. It is quite charming and cozy, just the sort of place a lady would like for raising a family.”

Edmund was suddenly sorry he had asked about Henry’s place of living.

Chapter
Nine

“W
hat are we to do about gowns for tomorrow evening, Kitty?” Juliana asked of her pretty little
sister.

“Mama’s pleasure with the idea of a ball did not extend to us, did it?” Kitty said with a rueful smile. “I do not mind, for who
ever
looks at me?”

“They ought to, for you are such a delightful thing—except when you have your nose in a book,” Juliana teased, looking directly at her sister and speaking quite clearly.

“Well, this does not solve our problem. I asked Mama’s maid to help us, but she turned her nose up in the air—as usual.” Kitty exchanged a knowing, amused look with her sister.

“And that puts paid to Barbara’s maid as well. Those two always stick together. Oh, I had hoped that the gowns I ordered from London would arrive in time. Unless they come in the morning, we shall present ourselves in our shifts or last year’s ball gown.”

“I vote for the shifts. I have no doubt but we would become the center of attention then,” Kitty said with an infectious giggle.

“What a shocking miss you are,” Juliana said, her eyes lighting up with fondness for her confidante. “Say a prayer tonight and perhaps it will be answered.” She rose from the window seat where Kitty spent all too much of her time and strolled to the door. “I shall go to bed early so tomorrow will come that much faster. Do remind Dalston that we await a package from London; make sure no one overhears you. I would dearly love to surprise Mama. And then, too, they may not fit or be a disappointment.”

“Well, anything would be better than my old gown,” Kitty declared with a nod of her head. “I wish
...
”

Juliana paused at the door, her hand resting on the knob. “What do you wish?”

“Peregrine will be there. I wish he might notice me and ignore Rosamund—just this once. Is that too much to ask? What do you wish, Juliana?” The hopeful look in Kitty’s eyes was almost Juliana’s undoing.

“I wish that for once we might both shine—modestly, of course. I would not like us to be thought
coming.
But I confess that as much as I like Barbara, she annoys me at times. I truly understand Mama’s reasoning.
But
I know that were Papa still alive things would be different.”

“I agree.” Kitty rose to stroll toward her bed.

“Well, let us comfort ourselves that we are good people and that is what counts, I imagine,” Juliana replied in light accents.

“It is
small
comfort, Juliana,” Kitty said as her sister left the room.

Juliana walked along the hall to her room, holding her lit night candle high. What Kitty had said was true. It was small and rather cold comfort that they were obedient daughters, proper young ladies, and did not cause an outcry with their pleas. No tantrums from them, ever. Juliana was forgiven for her inclination to building, for most—if not all—suspected she sought to complete her father’s work. That was showing respect for the dead and reverence for his creative genius
—
most commendable.

But once in her bed, she considered anew. She had not said anything to Kitty about one wish she had. After a surprisingly agreeable day spent with Lord Barry, she wished she might have a pretty gown to impress him. It was wicked of her, vain, as well, most likely. But there it was. He might be conventional and rooted in the past, but he seemed a little more open to change now. Certainly more so than when he had arrived, or so it seemed to her.

And she wished to have him think of her as other than a managing female, one who had perhaps hoaxed him just a trifle. He had as yet not given his final pronouncement on the
Etruscan room, but from what he’d said, she thought he would let it be. So she sighed with a small contentment and went to sleep with that modest comfort.

“Good morning, Teynham,” Lord Barry said upon entering the breakfast room. He made no comment on the previous day’s harmony, nor did he allude to the ball, in spite of the hustle and bustle of the servants as they went through the final preparations for the company that was to come.

“Off early, I see,” George observed from over his third cup of coffee.

“I would not wish to be in the way,” his lordship replied in a very soft voice, with a glance to the door, beyond which could be seen the redistribution of furniture. Chairs were being taken to the drawing room to be lined against the wall, and the drawing room sofa had been placed in the hallway where someone might find rest and retreat.

“Is Lady Juliana about?”

“I am here behind you—hiding, I fear, more’s the pity,” she whispered.

He grinned at her, and Juliana sank down on her chair, thinking it was vastly unfair of him to have such a beguiling grin. Just when she had discovered how to handle him, he had to show a nicer side of himself. It simply was not fair.

“What do we decide on today?” he said in a conspiratorial undertone.

“Goodness, let me think,” Juliana whispered back. “Flooring and carpeting, for one thing. Do you wish to have fitted carpets in any of the rooms? They are becoming more and more popular, you know.”

“Let me consider the matter. You are ready for the ball this evening?” He held his coffee cup in one hand, a slice of toast in the other, watching her with a narrow gaze that was a bit too penetrating for her comfort. She suspected he saw more than she would like.

“I suppose so.” Juliana glanced at her uncle and detected an angry glimmer in his eyes.

“Never say that my dear sister did not order new gowns for you and Kitty?” When all Juliana could do was toss an anguished glance at his lordship and give a tiny shrug, her uncle snorted in disgust.

“I trust you did something on your own?” George said, remembering to keep his irate voice low.

“I sent to London for two gowns made to our measurements, describing ones we had seen in Barbara’s copy of
Ackermann’s.
They have not come as yet,” she concluded in a resigned manner. It was fated to be; there was no use in be
w
ailing her lot. Her mother would never understand that Juliana yearned for a home and family just as much, perhaps more, than Barbara did. If Juliana did not help herself, she would remain on the shelf.

Henry entered the room and walked quietly to Juliana’s side. “Did they come?”

“Not yet,” she admitted.

“Best get out of here before your mother decides to put you to work at something Barbara does not wish to do.”

They all hastily left the table, taking pains to depart from the house with far more than customary care.

Edmund watched Henry Scott assist Lady Juliana onto her saddle with a twinge of resentment. There was no doubting that those two were close. What sort of closeness he still could not determine. But she had confided her predicament to him, and Edmund could easily see that Henry had symp
a
thized with her plight. Troubles were never shared by enemies and frequently not even by friends.

“You’ll be pleased to know I took those measurements and I have sent off the order to Robson Hale for the landscape paper,” Henry said.

He had addressed no one in particular, so Edmund took it upon himself to reply. “Good. The sooner the house is completed, the better.”

Juliana nudged her horse into a canter and set off ahead of them. Edmund wondered what was in his remark that made her take umbrage. Perhaps she felt he criticized her for the slowness of completion. Well, so be it. Her father’s death combined with the many delays could not be helped, but Edmund still believed she might have turned the project over to another.

“From fairest creatures we desire increase, that thereby beauty’s rose might never die,” George intoned in an absent manner, while gazing off into the distance. When he caught Edmund’s look, he said, “I do not always use Shakespeare for insulting another, you know. It only seems like that.”

“You think about your niece—her lack of a gown?” Edmund asked, moderating the sympathy he felt, lest it be considered intrusive.

“I intend to have a few words with my thoughtless sister, you may be sure. It is a pity you must be thrust into a household such as this—fatherless, like a ship without a rudder.”

“It does reveal the importance of a father as the backbone of a family. That is an apt analogy, the rudderless ship. I perceive a good father steers his family on a true and worthy course. Am I right?” Edmund glanced over at George, hopeful that he was making a favorable impression on the unusual man.

“Don’t ask me, I never married,” George said, then dashed off after his niece, leaving Edmund to ride along with Henry—an odder assorted pair he couldn’t imagine.

“Uncle George is in a mood,” Henry observed.

“You call him uncle?” Edmund wondered. That seemed rather familiar. Too familiar for Edmund’s liking.

“I hear the girls refer to him that way all the time,” Henry replied with a grimace. “He doesn’t appear to mind my usage. Distant family connection, and all that.”

Edmund would have liked to inquire just how distant this distant family connection might be, but they had arrived at his house and the conversation came to an end.

When they entered the house, it hit them—the most utterly foul smell one could imagine! Juliana came running to them, clearly upset. Or was she merely furious?

“Oh, I shall truly do something wicked to that man, I swear it.” She planted her fists on her hips and faced Henry, looking more angry than a wet hen.

Henry sniffed and made a face. “What on earth is it?”

“Some appalling cheese, I think. Someone—who shall remain nameless because we do not know for certain who he is—came early and put something into the furnace. When our man came to stoke the fire, this perfectly frightful smell came wafting throughout the house. The carpenters fled to the stables, to work there until the smell is gone.”

“Best open the windows to air out.” Edmund swiftly opened the closest window, then the next, and thought all the while that the smell reminded him very much of old socks much in need of a wash.

“I hope it will not linger long,” Juliana cried as she ran to the next room, opening the windows there, then hurried up the stairs.

Edmund left Henry to open the remaining ground-floor windows and followed Juliana up and into the Etruscan room.

“I am so angry I can scarce think,” she muttered while flinging open the first of three windows.

“ ’Tis the aroma of something evil, perhaps,” he misquoted slightly from the bard.

Juliana looked at him, an arrested expression on her face. “A very ancient and fishlike smell,” she also quoted, somewhat out of context.

He thought for a moment, then his eyes gleamed with his thoughts. “It smells far worse than weeds. It smells to heaven.”

“Gracious,” she said with a chuckle. Then she raised a finger in the air, as though she had thought of an apt conclusion. “I begin to smell a rat.”

“You indicated you thought you knew the perpetrator of this dastardly crime.” He sought to make light of the situation, for it wasn’t dangerous or permanent, just annoying.

“This is truly
not
the least bit funny,” Juliana said with a sniff. The effect of supposed ire was quite spoiled by a silly grin that crept over her face, a look she tried to suppress in vain.

“Indeed?” Edmund dared her to deny the humor of the situation, and the first thing they both knew they were laughing quite helplessly.

“Oh, dear,” she said at last, holding her sides and leaning against the wall. She gave him an adorable grin and shook her head, unable to speak anymore.

Edmund moved to use his handkerchief to wipe a lone tear of laughter from one of her lovely eyes. “The humor is there, even if it smells.”

“Odious creature,” she riposted, and they both began to laugh again.

“We shan’t be able to open a single window if we don’t cease this,” she said. Then she took a breath, wrinkling her pretty nose at the lingering odor.

“Come. I shall help.” Edmund held out a hand to her, and she looked at it for a long moment, then at him and slowly extended her hand until it was neatly tucked in his.

“There,” he said with quiet satisfaction, although why it should be so important to him, he couldn’t have said.

“Once we are able to breathe without fear of asphyxiation, I shall show you the materials from the carpet manufacturers. The widths are fairly standard. If you want to have peace and quiet in the house, a fitted carpet is a lovely thing to have.” They entered the next bedchamber. She tugged her hand from his, then went to work.

Edmund followed her about, opening windows, noticing all the while that the odor was diminishing.

By the time they had reached the last of the rooms, one could hardly detect that wretched odor much like unwashed socks.

“Well,” she declared, leaning against the wall once again, resting after her frantic rush through the rooms.

“Indeed.” Edmund put his hands behind him lest he do something he ought not.

She turned her head to look out of the window, then around at the room. “This is a pretty bedchamber. It needs a nice carpet, a figured one from Turkey.” She moved away from the wall, obviously warming to the decoration of the room. “And a lovely little four-poster bed with pretty draperies at each
corner
and with brass finials atop the posts. Something cozy a young girl would enjoy.”

“You would have liked something like that?” Edmund queried, coming to stand quite close to her.

She glanced at him, nodding. “Yes, I think I would.”

Edmund said, “And I should like something more like a grand state bed, with all the fringes and furbelows and embroideries that are customary.”

“Goodness,” she whispered.

He dared to place a finger under her chin, tilting that pretty face so he could see her eyes better. They flashed like a turbulent sea, a rich blue from the tropics. It proved his undoing. He lightly touched her lips, then found it was a heady experience, one he could not end immediately. It did not help matters that she melted against him, so sweet and dear in his arms, for he had quickly wrapped his arms around her.

Then his conscience prompted him, and he drew away. “Excuse me. I forgot myself.”