Lord Barry's Dream House (5 page)

Edmund had been thinking that it had been some time since he broke his fast and welcomed the thought of food. He offered his arm to his hostess and strolled along at her side in perfect amiability to the breakfast room.

He had to admit that the young Hamilton girls were well
-
bred and quite charming. If he found Lady Katherine’s intent regard a trifle disconcerting, it was also flattering.

Following the light repast, he explained his desire to return to the construction site.

“We quite understand, dear sir,” Lady Hamilton said. “We shall expect you later.”

Rather than take a carriage, Edmund strode to the stables and ordered his horse saddled. While he waited, he inspected the stables and surrounding area. It was well laid out and maintained in top condition. There could not be a shortage of funds here, for no reduction in staff or horses had occurred as far as he could see.

So why, he wondered as he swung on his horse, did Lady Juliana persist with her efforts at his house? Were he a vain man, he might be tempted to think she wished to entrap him, catch him as a husband. Considering the looks she sent his way, she would be more inclined to dump a basin of water over his head, should he come too close to her. He cantered along the lane, negotiating the twists and turns of the road with absentminded skill.

Approaching the building site, he entered the partially completed avenue to catch sight of Lady Juliana and Henry, heads together over a set of plans. As he neared, he could see the crude table also held a stack of what appeared to be drawings. The detailed working drawings he had wondered about earlier, perhaps?

He swung himself down, tied the reins to a tree, then walked over to join them. Their start of surprise amused him. Why would they
not
expect his return?

“I have a number of questions that perhaps you could answer for me—providing you have the time, of course.” He suspected his bow was a trifle mocking, but it had seemed to him that Henry had been gazing at Lady Juliana with more than a businesslike eye.

“I shall tend to the matter we discussed at once,” Henry said, then absented himself with a polite bow.

“You wished to discuss the stairway, as I recall,” Juliana said, promptly attacking Edmund’s concern. Her troubled gaze followed Henry until he disappeared. Then she focused her full attention on her patron. Willing herself not to chatter or annoy him with unnecessary explanations, she waited for his questions to begin.

He strolled to the house, studying everything in sight. Once inside, he paused, looking closely at the interior.

Juliana walked past her patron with a roll of plans in her hand. At the foot of the central part of the stairs she came to a stop, unrolled the paper, and glanced at him. She was more than a little nervous. There was something about him that fascinated her even as she was disturbed by the feelings he aroused in her. Henry did not have this effect on her at all.

She cleared her throat, then turned to the far safer view of the staircase as it winged upward. “As you may know, this is the very latest in design for a staircase. The handrail is to be mahogany—some of the very wood you sent from your plantation. The balusters will be made in cast iron, simple uprights alternating with delicately carved panels. See, here is
my ... e
r, the design.” Holding out the paper for his inspection, she hoped he would concentrate on the lovely curving lines of the delicate S-shaped baluster and not what she had said.

Wordlessly, he went over to examine the central portion of the stairs, then to study the two wings that soared on either side. “It does not seem sufficiently substantial,” he said at last.

“They are in accordance with the finest principles of staircase design. My father consulted the works of Batty Langley and Abraham Swan, as well as the geometrical calculations by Blondel. I assure you, Lord Barry, you and your future wife will find the stairs pleasant to use as well as to look upon. Note there are only twelve steps until the landing, and that each step is carefully calculated to be an easy ascent.”

Juliana repressed the smile that longed to surface when he gave her a look that expressed his frustration. It seemed he was not quite satisfied, but did not know how to counter her explanation. She clearly knew of what she spoke; she had studied and was well informed. He was not.

“We shall see,” he muttered in an ominous way.

Pleased by her success, she gained confidence and walked with him, her sheaf of plans in hand, to the next point of contention—one of the many water-closets she had ordered installed.

“Now this seems the height of nonsense,” he said after inspecting the simple room with its utilitarian purpose.

“I think you will find it of interest that every home of any size and pretense is now being fitted with such conveniences. Why, I recently read of a London home that has such for the servants.” With a wry expression she added, “I fear that it is not helpful here, for the country girls are terrified of such contrivances.”

“The drains?” he said with the air of one who is pouncing on a vulnerable topic.

“As before, the best manuals have been consulted, the experts in the field. While there is a deal of controversy in this matter, common sense prevailed and the drains go away from the house, down a slope, and empty into a bed of gravel. I believe they will do nicely.”

The look he bestowed on her was unfathomable, but Juliana was glad that she clutched the roll of plans in her hand as a sort of protection, little as it might be. She swallowed carefully, then said, “Perhaps you would wish to see the kitchen area and other estate offices?” Not waiting for an answer, she led the way.

“The butler’s pantry has a small bedroom behind it and a plate room next to it, as customary. And here”—she gestured at a long, narrow room with several small windows—“is the servant’s hall.” She quickly walked along a passage down several steps to a connecting building not a part of the main house, yet adjoined to it by a short passage. “The kitchen. I consulted with our cook and butler to improve past designs.”

The wait was agonizing while he strolled about the room in total silence. Not a word about her careful design, done after lengthy consultations with the servants.

“What is this?” he asked in a seemingly bland voice that didn’t fool Juliana in the least, now that she had a better idea of his reasoning.

“The latest in stoves, my lord. Cook and I went over the newest design and selected this one, the Rumford range.” Juliana pointed out how the water would always be hot in the boiler off to one side, then said, “The fire will keep the oven at an even temperature as well, yet enable the cook to use a hot plate on top. You certainly desire to have good meals, my lord,” Juliana concluded in what she hoped would be a telling point. It had been her observation that a man might forgive much if he were well fed.

“And what did the butler say?”

“He advised on the best way to improve service and make the various jobs easier. Happy servants are better servants, he says.”

“Pity he will not be here,” Lord Barry murmured as he strolled along the hall, pausing to inquire what each room might be with merely a lift of his brow.

Juliana decided that she was coming to detest this lordly man, and that feeling was heightened by the peculiar stirrings within her whenever he drew close to her. The scent of his linens and shaving lotion was alien to her. Certainly Henry never smelled of anything but soap or sweat.

Somewhat nervous at the direction of her thoughts, she fluttered into speech. “The scullery is there with a pantry and larder close by,” she pointed out. “The washhouse, laundry, and brew house are located along in this area as well, just beyond the house, but low enough so that they do not interfere with the views from the principal rooms.”

“Practical and most likely as done in most homes in England and probably abroad.”

Juliana felt the blush creeping over her cheeks and prayed he would not take note of it. She had been presumptuous and a little condescending, quite forgetting he was her patron and a world traveler, to boot.

“The water for the baths is heated down here so it may be piped up whenever you desire. And, since your wife will have a fixed bath in her dressing room, I wondered if you might enjoy a shower bath in yours?” Juliana said with great daring. Bathing was not a topic of conversation between a gentleman and a lady. However, she was not a lady, she was an architect, and as such she had jolly well forget the vapors. The plumbing was in place, so she was quite safe in making the suggestion. She had planned ahead for such.

“A shower bath? Novel idea,” he said with arched brows and a touch of sarcasm. “Cleanliness appears to have become of great interest while I have been gone. I suppose it would be nice—if not too costly—although what my father would have said would singe the ears.”

She turned back to the central house, not waiting to see if he followed her. Even if she had not heard his boots on the stone floor, she could sense him directly behind her.

“And now to the upper regions,” he said with an anticipatory air.

Juliana half expected to see him rubbing his hands together in expectation of a good battle. Instead, he held his roll of plans like a weapon.

“You carry a roll of papers with you, too. The plans, of course,” he said in a deceptively smooth manner.

“Plans and detailed drawings,” she replied, pleased he had asked what she had wished.

“Lighting,” he murmured as he inspected his set of plans after they had reached the entry hall once again.

“Do you wish a staircase standard with an oil lamp at the base of each staircase?” Juliana asked, backing away from him to stand by the bottom of the steps. “I believe they would offer excellent light and a finishing touch to the staircase as well.”

He rolled up his set of plans and crossed to tower above her, making her realize how powerful he was—how vulnerable she felt facing him. Why had the carpenters disappeared? Not even the Italian plasterers were around. She was utterly alone with her patron, who was a very handsome gentleman, to be sure.

“How much of this house is your design? And just where did you receive any training? Precisely why did you not turn to a competent architect after your father died?” He reached out with his free hand to clasp her upper arm, drawing her closer to him.

Juliana sought the words even as she gazed into those eyes of deepest blue, darker than she had seen before. Her lips trembled, and she wanted to say something that would please him, but what would give him peace of mind? “Your lordship
...”
she began.

His eyes had assumed a hungry, yearning look that set off an alarm in her mind.

“Indeed.” He bent his head, seeming intent upon kissing her, and she found it impossible to move, or speak, or deny him anything he wished. She took a tiny step forward, to her dismay.

“Hello, is anyone about?”

Chapter
Four

“R
osamund!” Juliana whispered. How vexing, yet how providential, to be interrupted at such a point! Juliana had the presence of mind to step away swiftly from the intimidating figure who had hovered over her in such a threatening manner. Surely it was an overactive imagination that made her think he was about to kiss her. Gentlemen simply did not do that sort of thing—particularly her patron. Quite impossible. It was more likely that he intended to berate her.

She walked toward the entry with every evidence of pleasure on her face as she greeted the most unwelcome Lady Rosamund Purcell, the local reigning beauty. She was only a trifle prettier than Barbara, but as the daughter of a marquess, she took precedence over the daughter of an earl, and in addition was reputed to have considerable wealth. The slender and most elegant blonde, whose hazel eyes seemed a trifle predatory at the moment, smiled in return.

“We were just studying the staircase. Lord Barry wished to see the detailed sketches of the balusters and railing.” Juliana noted that Uncle George had come along with the beauty, so she must have found her quarry—for word of the eligible peer would have spread like fire—absent when she called at Beechwood Hall and decided to hunt him down. Bless Uncle George for insisting he escort her, for Juliana had no doubt that was the way it happened. Uncle George was far better company than Lady Rosamund’s plump and somewhat overbearing mother.

“My, you constantly amaze me, dear Lady Juliana. I would never be able to read a set of house plans, much less draw objects as you do. It seems such a
masculine
thing to do,” Lady Rosamund purred. She twirled her furled, tulip-shaped parasol around, knowing full well how feminine she looked in her rosebud-sprigged muslin and a bonnet with roses arranged artfully beneath the brim.

The latest word in style, she made Juliana feel the veriest dowd. Although, she reminded herself, it would never do to come to the building site attired in delicate muslins and fragile bonnets. Still, she’d had little time for such things, nor had her mother lavished the interest on Juliana that had fallen on the more rewarding and obedient Barbara.

George wandered across the entry hall, glancing at Juliana, then at Lord Barry. When he drew close to his lordship he darted a glance at Lady Rosamund and muttered, “She speaks, yet she says nothing.”

Edmund looked at George Teynham, then back at the newcomer. She was most likely a featherbrain, as so many beautiful women seemed to be in England. It was as though someone had decreed that no woman should reveal any sign of intelligence. Why did every woman he met persist in giving him the impression that she lived only to reflect his words back to him? He was certain there must be intelligent women who also looked charming. He had yet to find one—other than his architect, and she did not count.

He turned away to study the drawing he held in his hand, ostensibly trying to visualize the final results. But inwardly he berated himself for almost losing his head. What had happened to him? For a few moments his wits had gone begging, and he had actually been tempted to kiss that female architect! What was there about her that enticed him so? She was attractive, but so was Lady Barbara, and he had scarcely paid her more than polite attention. No more than he would give to Lady Rosamund Purcell. Yet Lady Juliana—

“You find the design acceptable?” George inquired at Edmund’s elbow, peering over his arm at the sheaf of drawings, the one for the baluster being topmost.

“What? Oh, indeed. Quite so.” Edmund collected himself and put the peculiar sensation he’d felt toward Lady Juliana in the back of his mind to be examined later.

“Juliana spent hours over that particular drawing, trying to achieve the right touch that would complement the rest of the entry. Her father died before he reached the minor details, you see. She has attempted to fulfill his vision for the finished house.” George smiled fondly at his niece with undisguised pride.

“It must have been difficult for her,” Edmund said with another look at Lady Juliana while she coaxed her guest across the entry, then off toward the first of the public rooms. The murmur of feminine chatter mingled with the distant hammering of the carpenters. Not far away could be heard the impact of something heavy being moved about.

“She is not one to shirk her duty, nor would she wish another to step in, changing everything her father had conceived,” George cautioned. “I think this house must be the highlight of her father’s achievements. It will be magnificent when it is completed, you know,” George concluded with a gesture. “Why do we not join the young women?”

Edmund willingly walked along with his host—at least he supposed Mr. Teynham served as host if his sister was the hostess.

“Have you gone over the plans for your private rooms yet?” Mr. Teynham inquired. “Juliana made a few changes there, as she may have explained. Personally, I like the notion of a shower bath rather than a fixed tub. Let the women soak if they please. I like the idea of brisk flow of water over me come morning. I know a few old-fashioned folks would balk at the notion—think a fellow ought to bathe once a season, if then. Not very progressive, those. Do you not think it clever how she designed the water system? All the best families have hot and cold running water now, you know. Quite the latest novelty. Juliana is very much the new-fashioned woman.”

“Hot and cold running water? I have not heard of such a thing—nor has Lady Juliana informed me of it. It must be costly,” Edmund muttered. He wondered what else his lady architect had not told him and how the bills might escalate. This house was costing more than he expected.

“Well, if you have an engine to pump the water to the cistern on top of that pretty little water house out there”—George gestured vaguely off to the distance—“you might as well have it heated for the baths, not to mention the kitchen, once it comes to the house. Dashed practical, I say,” he concluded. Then with a glance out of the window, he added, “There’s to be a fountain out in front of the house that promises to be right pretty, and I believe she planned a buffet in the dining room where running water could be used to rinse hands, faces, or glasses. Dashed clever girl, my niece. Has thought of everything.” George put his hands behind him and strolled ahead, leaving Edmund in deep thought.

Not only was Lady Juliana clever, she had providentially neglected to inform him of these novelties she’d added to his house. Hot and cold running water, a buffet, a shower bath, not to mention a fountain in front of the house—like some blasted monument? What would be next? He fairly steamed with annoyance.

All he had wished for was a solid English house on his own English land in which he might install a suitable English wife to raise his English children. He desired a conformable wife with traditional taste. It seemed he’d acquired a lady architect determined to give him every folderol and fancy whether he wanted it or not! Novelties! Well, he would see about that. And he would not allow this pretty miss to wind him around her finger.

He slowly followed George Teynham into the dining room to come to a halt at the sight of a vast piece of marble being eased into place by means of several stout workmen. When finished, they picked up a wooden platform with rollers on the underside, then quickly left the room after darting anxious looks at Lady Juliana and himself.

“La, my lord,” Lady Rosamund simpered as they stood before the newly installed buffet. “I vow you will be the envy of everyone around. I saw one not unlike this in a recent issue of
Ackermann's Reposito
ry
,”
she said, referring to that arbiter of Regency taste.

Edmund surveyed the monstrosity with hostile eyes. It was huge, of white marble veined with pink and gray. Above it a shell design in the same marble was set into the wall over a series of shelves—for glassware, he supposed. The large basin in the center of the buffet was flanked by small niches to either side—separate pieces of the identical marble. He presumed the hot and cold water would spout from the mouths of the fancy and quite unidentifiable animal heads of shining brass. He hated the thing on sight.

“Indeed? I was unaware that the buffet as you call this, would be so desirable.” He produced his quizzing glass so to inspect it more closely.

Juliana looked at her patron with dismay. His voice fairly froze one. She had not expected him to balk at something so mundane as a mere buffet. How would he accept the marble shower bath she had planned for his dressing room? She hoped to expand on the subject and prepare him for the results. This discouraging inspection of the buffet did not bode well for the next innovation she intended to introduce. Or the others to follow, for that matter.

“My lady,” said an anxious workman who had hesitantly entered from the side hall. His face was bland, but his hat was being twisted into even worse shape than it had appeared before. Something was obviously wrong, and Lord Barry
would
have to be present when it arose.

“Excuse me. Lady Rosamund, perhaps you might be so kind as to entertain Lord Barry while I see to this matter?”

It was really unnecessary to ask such a silly question. Lady Rosamund eagerly grasped the chance to have the eligible peer at her disposal without the slightest competition—not that
she
considered Juliana in that light.

Juliana hurried along with the workman until they reached the rear entrance of the mansion. She did not have to ask what the problem was. There before her was what would have been the magnificent slab of marble that she intended for Lord Barry’s shower bath. It was in pieces, totally fractured. Drat and blast!

“We was real careful, milady. Real careful. I s’pect the marble busted on the way here. Someone had dumped a load of rocks at the turn of the road coming here, and we didn’t notice it in time to avoid ’em.”

“There is nothing for it but to order another piece from the quarry. Thank goodness it is not too distant. Take the order
over at once and demand they cushion the new slab better than they did this one,” Juliana said with a faint snap in her voice. “Make certain they send along the other two sections I ordered as well. May as well have them all at once.”

“Trouble?” Uncle George said quietly at her shoulder.

“As you can see, the marble shattered. I had hoped to have it installed right away. I need it to finish off the plumbing. The pipes are in, but the marble must come next. How can I demonstrate how wonderful it will be when all I have to show him are metal pipes sticking out of the wall,” she wailed.

“Steady on, girl,” her uncle said, patting her on the shoulder.

“I wish
...
” Juliana began, then stopped. Of course she wished her father was still alive. But wishing did no good. She had to cope the best she could, and she’d not admit to failure. She squared her shoulders and turned to face the house again. “Best to say nothing about this if you can avoid it.”

“Upon my honor as a Teynham,” her uncle said quietly as he guided her along the hallway and back to where they could hear voices. Rosamund’s laughter trilled through the empty rooms with a hint of forced gaiety.

“Shall we return to Beechwood, my lord?” Juliana inquired of Lord Barry, ignoring Lady Rosamund for the moment. She had come unbidden and could jolly well fall in with whatever plans were made for the patron’s benefit.

“I do not wish to leave here just now. Although,” he said with a melting smile at Lady Rosamund, “it is a great temptation to forgo my inspection and turn my attention to pleasure. Forgive me, my lady, my house awaits me.” Edmund took Lady Rosamund’s exquisitely gloved hand and placed the most delicate of kisses somewhere above it.

“I shall look forward to your company, Lord Barry. Until then.” Lady Rosamund swept a lovely curtsy, then accepted Uncle George’s arm for her return to the carriage. The scent of lavender lingered in the air after she had left.

Juliana awaited Lord Barry’s attention with no little trepidation. She suspected she would soon learn what manner of temper the man possessed.

“The buffet,” he began.

“I do hope you like it,” she said with enthusiasm. “It was the last piece my father designed and has so many clever innovations in it. I vow it will become quite a point of interest for your guests. As Lady Rosamund said, it is quite the latest design—an improvement on the old.”

Edmund looked down at her innocently beaming face and found he simply could not tell her that he hated the dratted thing and that he wished it was in any house but his own. Now, if the architect had been a man, he could have expressed himself forcefully, and the blasted buffet would have been sent on its way to buffet heaven.

“I see,” he replied lamely. The buffet stayed. He was defeated. He could admit it, but not without a sigh. “Well, regarding this shower bath you mentioned earlier. I was under the impression
I
was to choose if I wished one.” That rankled him, and how he longed to berate her with a tongue blistering. But she was a lady, more’s the pity.

“Come with me, and I will attempt to give you an idea as to how it will be,” Juliana said with eagerness. “I think that once I explain it to you, it will seem most excellent.” She omitted the news of the fractured piece of marble. With any luck at all the replacement ought to be here in a couple of weeks—perhaps sooner.

Lord Barry followed her up the stairs, avoiding the chunks of wood and piles of sawdust in his path. When they reached his dressing room, she walked over to where pipes emerged from the plaster wall at slightly above his height. She had not pointed them out when they were here before, hoping to see the marble in place first. Now there was no reprieve.

“Now stand right here,” she commanded nicely, positioning him where he would stand beneath the flow of water. Never mind that she found the touch of his arm beneath her fingers to be shocking, yet enticing. “See, the water will come out from this pipe, and below it will be cocks with which you may regulate the flow.” She touched one of the two smaller pipes that protruded slightly from the wall. “Think of it—no more footmen carting buckets of water up and down the stairs whenever you wish to cleanse yourself. It is far more practical and agreeable. Believe me, one day every house in England will have such convenience.”

They were alone again, and Edmund found he had to concentrate on the matter at hand to avoid having his thoughts regarding his lady architect stray into dangerous paths. “I had not intended anything of the sort. It was not in the original plans that I approved,” he chided.

“I realize that, and had you been closer to hand I would have consulted you regarding it. But I did feel that as a progressive
younger
man, you would wish the very latest in improvements.” She gave him a wide-eyed look, continuing, “You have no idea how difficult it has been to design things for the house when you have been so far away. I have longed to talk with you about ever so many matters. A discussion on paper is not the most satisfactory sort.” She clasped her hands before her in an almost supplicating way.

“True.” It almost undid Edmund to see her so humble. Though he suspected she was anything but when away from him. Was he being outwitted by a woman?

“My father was an excellent architect, but I fear he did not welcome the latest in innovations for the home. I felt certain that you appreciate the value of these progressive features, how they will enhance your home and add to your greater comfort,” she said with such persuasion that she nearly convinced him. “I could not imagine that one such as yourself, who has traveled widely and met such a vast number of interesting people, would be provincial in taste.”

“However,” he said when he remembered a few things, “that is the very reason I hired your father to design my house. You see—in case you do not realize it—I
wanted
a traditional house, one steeped in the very essence of England.”

“Oh.” It was clear that she had not considered such a possibility. “You mean a house without running water, or an efficient kitchen range, or shower baths, or the latest in buffets?” She looked so very small and vulnerable that all of a sudden Edmund felt like a monster for telling her what it was that he as the patron and bill-payer wanted. He knew a desire to brush the sad frown from her forehead and see those rosy lips curve in a smile.