Lord Barry's Dream House (6 page)

“Well, we shall see,” was all he could offer at first, then he continued with words that seemed to come from elsewhere. “You may proceed with the shower bath. I would not want to be considered provincial.” It seemed to cheer her, for her face lit from within and she marched over to the window, beckoning him to follow her.

“There is the water house.” She pointed to a small, rather pretty little building on the side of the hill beyond. “The water tower is some distance above and beyond it. The Savery engine will bring up the water, which will be stored in the cistern over the water house, then brought here on demand, to be heated if necessary. Once the marble is installed for the shower bath, the rest of the marble will be put down on the floor and walls. This will be a very elegant, yet practical room. I feel sure you will find it most pleasurable.”

He glanced about him, observing that the ceiling, which he had not noticed before, was of an elegant ornamental design that would be gilded. Another expense. “It seems that I will have any number of devices installed in this house,” he said wryly. “The new stove, the shower bath and, oh, yes, the fixed bathing tub in my future wife’s dressing room. I had better take another look at that as well.”

Juliana hurried after him as he strode from his dressing room, through the main bedchamber, and into the other dressing room. Someone had uncovered the marble bath that had been installed some time before. It gleamed in all its white and pink splendor, creating a focal point of the room.

He came to an abrupt halt, and Juliana nearly ran into him. “Excuse me, my lord,” she murmured.

“And well you might,” he quietly replied. “I suppose,” he added in a voice rife with sarcasm, “that all I need to do is to show a prospective bride through this room and she will fall at my feet in raptures.”

Juliana suspected that, given his handsome face and wealth, he would scarcely need to do anything of the kind, but she dare not voice such an outrageous thought.

“Well, it is not so very unusual. Marble floor and walls
—
like yours. The tub is fine marble as well, and I do think that
white with rose veining is especially nice for a lady. She will have every facility at her fingertips.”

“Indeed,” he murmured. “The lap of luxury.”

Somehow, Juliana felt that was not a compliment nor even a desirable reaction. “The niches on the wall will hold pretty sculptures or perhaps some flowers if she desires.”

All Edmund could think when he looked about him was the cost of all the extras. He would have to exhort the overseers on his plantations to greater production, he could see that.

“The floor will be cold in winter,” he said, hoping to make some sort of point with his architect.

“Rugs exist, my lord,” she replied with a sage nod.

“You seem to think of everything.” What would be the next thing she had thought of? he wondered. What radical device would be foisted upon him by this scheming woman?

Yet, when he looked at her, he saw a guileless young woman, eager to please. It seemed that all she desired was to enhance her father’s design and create the most comfortable house possible. Comfort? Well, he supposed that hot and cold running water would do that.

“And, as to the winter cold, perhaps it will not be so very bad. I have designed a heating system,” she revealed eagerly. “There is a steam engine. It will heat the air...” She faltered and words ceased, no doubt at the expression on his face.

“I believe I enjoy comfort as much as the next Englishman, but is this not a trifle bizarre?” he demanded, hands on hips and visibly controlling his temper to a slow simmer. “What nonsense is this—a heating system. I never heard of such a thing.”

“The Romans first designed them, the hypocaust, you know. And the Earl of Shelburne has steam heating in his library at Bowood, my lord. Put it in back in the 1790s,” Juliana demurely answered. “It is not precisely new, you see. Hot-air heating has been used much in Ireland, particularly at Packenham Hall. We would not wish to be thought behind the Irish, would we?” A twinkling smile peeped at him, her lips curving slightly in amusement.

“Heaven forbid!” Edmund gave her a dark look, then strode from the room. If he remained with her in the privacy and
quiet of the dressing room, he could not be responsible for his actions. Far from wishing to kiss the chit, he knew a desire to strangle her. Or at the very least, he amended, to shake some sense into her. Shower baths, hot and cold running water, and now hot-air heating! He doubted if there could be any more shocks in store for him, then reconsidered. He suddenly suspected that this was only the beginning and shuddered at the thought of what was to come. Radical! Revolutionary!

Yet, he admitted, he did like his comfort. Any man would appreciate a soothing shower of warm water. He did not hold with the current trend in cold bathing. Too great of a shock to the system besides being dashed uncomfortable.

Comfort. Hmm. Perhaps he might try to look at all these novelties from a different angle?

“Lord Barry, is anything amiss? Do you wish to return to Beechwood Hall? It is growing late, and you must long for refreshment.”

Edmund slowly turned around to face the woman who had rapidly become his nemesis. She stood not far away, a worried expression on her face. Good. He had her concerned and intended to keep her that way—on her toes. He had to gain the upper hand somehow.

“We shall return to the hall for now. But I warn you, I take a dim view of all these radical novelties you have introduced into the original plans. Tomorrow I want you to show me the details of the so-called heating system. I suspect it is not only complicated and difficult to operate, but dashed expensive.”

With that pithy comment, Lord Barry marched from the room and down the stairs, kicking the blocks of wood out of his way as he went.

Juliana clutched her shawl about her as she quietly slipped down the stairs behind him. It seemed her worst fears had been realized—her patron was a provincial who was opposed to progress. Although he
did
seem attracted to comfort. Then another thought burst upon Juliana that brought a pleased grin. If Lord Barry hated progress and change from the traditional, he would utterly loathe the Gothic that Sir Phineas wished to foist upon him. Pity that, she concluded, feeling rather smug that Sir Phineas would scheme for naught.

The ride home was completed in total silence. Juliana worried that if she said anything, it might irritate him even more than he was already.

Edmund fumed in his
corner
of the carriage while wondering how best to extricate himself from this mess. If only he could walk away from the house and all its commitments, but he had advanced a great deal of money. He would have been better off to return to England and buy something standing, then modify if necessary. He must not lose his investment. Somehow he would have to reach some sort of understanding with the woman who sat in blessed silence at his side.

The carriage drew up before the house, and Edmund stepped down, then offered his hand to assist Lady Juliana. She gazed at him with a most puzzled expression, one that almost amused him.

“You find me a conundrum, Lady Juliana?”

“Indeed, sir, I do.” She gathered her skirts and began to walk up the steps to the front door. Before entering the huge entry door, she paused and turned to study him. “I would have wagered any amount that you would be sharp and progressive, eager for innovations, anxious for the very latest in design. Instead, I find you like an old woman, loath to so much as consider change and clinging to the past.” She forgot for the moment that he had capitulated on the shower bath. “One never knows about people, does one?”

With that she-marched into the house and up the stairs without hesitation nor a glance to see how her words might have hit him.

I
will
strangle her, Edmund thought, ignoring how the butler might interpret the fierce expression on his face.

“Ah, Lord Barry,” Lady Hamilton cried as she came into the entry room, obviously from the regions of the kitchen and on her way to her own rooms above. “I trust your visit to the construction site was edifying?”

“Indeed, my lady. Highly edifying. Illuminating, in fact,” he added with wry understatement. He joined her in the walk up the stairs.

“Oh, good, for I know how much this all means to Juliana. Although, mind you, I cannot understand why she will not
allow Sir Phineas to assume direction. Do you know he does the most fascinating designs in the Gothic style? Although I cannot appreciate the gargoyles he likes so much. Repulsive creatures, do you not think?”

Without awaiting an answer, she waved at him, then disappeared down the hall in the direction of her rooms.

Gothic style? Gargoyles? Perhaps his plight could be worse, he mused as he entered the room assigned to him.

The party on the morrow might be most interesting should he convince Sir Phineas to put forth his ideas on architecture. Perhaps Lady Juliana had reason to detest Sir Phineas. How would she react were Edmund to pit Sir Phineas and his Gothic leanings against her radical notions? At least Gothic was traditional in design, was it not? Or had it altered like everything else Edmund had held to be sacred?

Puzzled and disconcerted, Edmund allowed his valet to assist him in changing for dinner. If nothing else, life in the coming days and weeks would not be dull. Far from it.

Chapter Fi
ve

“
Kitty, I have never felt so frustrated in my entire life. That man is absolutely dreadful!” Juliana plumped herself down on the window seat to survey her younger sister, her face quite reflecting her feelings.

“I thought him most polite,” Kitty objected mildly.

“Polite! Well, allow me to put you straight on that matter. I will agree that when a pretty woman is around Lord Barry, he is all charm and smooth words and devastating smiles. But when it comes to the wonderful innovations I worked so hard to have installed in his house, well! He is an utter monster. However”—a delighted gleam entered her eyes—“I did convince him that a shower bath would be quite acceptable. And he appeared to accept my drawing for the balusters. I do not think he cares overmuch for the buffet that Papa designed, sad to say. I expect it overwhelmed him.” She exchanged a rueful look with her sister.

“I should like to see this buffet. Does it truly have hot and cold running water? The footman will be able to rinse the glasses? Oh, any woman would be pleased with that. Think how it will save on the amount of crystal necessary!” Kitty clapped her hands with delight, then added, “Mama would like it, I feel quite sure.”

“Lord Barry does not, not in the least. I could tell, even if he was excruciatingly polite about it.”

“I must say, I thought better of the man,” Kitty said thoughtfully, subsiding in the window seat close to her sister, watching her face carefully.

“I just know I shall have a battle with him over the matter of the hot-air heating I intend to have completed in a week or two. He does not realize that things are so far along,” she confessed with a guilty grimace. “I never dreamed that he would not be pleased to have a warm house in the winter. The pipes are all in place. They must be tested and then connected to the boiler—and I confess I do not understand quite how it all works, but Henry has assured me that he does and will take care of the matter for me. Dear Henry—what would I do without him?”

Kitty studied her sister’s face, then said, “You think of Henry as another brother, do you not?”

“Of course,” Juliana said simply in a most matter-of-fact way. “Why, he has run tame around here since I can remember. It was Henry who gave me my first drawing lessons. I should think he is dear to us all. With a bit more training he could assume Papa’s place as architect. Pity he cannot train in France, as did Papa.”

“I believe Rome is the place to go now,” Kitty offered.

“Lord Barry wonders what training
I
have had. It is difficult to explain all those years of working at Papa’s side, executing drawings for him, accompanying him to various sites. I absorbed every word he said, studied every change in his designs from my earliest days.”

“Mama was not best pleased that he took you with him,” Kitty reminded. “She felt it highly improper for a young girl to be tramping through houses under construction.”

“Poor Mama,” Juliana said, looking down at her serviceable muslin that was to
rn
near the hem and sported a spot of paint on one sleeve. “She would have me sit on a cushion and tat lace or flutter over the roses as she does. That sort of life would bore me to tears.”

“Do you suppose Lord Barry feels as Mama does? That it is improper for you to be working on his house? Perhaps if Henry spent more time with his lordship, he would be more accepting of all these innovations you propose.”

“I see what you mean,” Juliana said in a considering way. She rose and brushed down her skirt. “I shall think on it
.
In the meanwhile I had best change into something more feminine. I suppose Lady Rosamund is to join us for dinner and the evening?”

“And her parents. I confess that Lady Titchfield is frightfully imposing. I scarce dare speak a word when she is around. I am glad to be as mute as a fish at dinner.”

Juliana paused by the door, smiling at Kitty. “At least you do not have to wonder what
she
says. Her voice booms over the room above all others.”

Kitty giggled and left the window seat to dress for the evening, feeling more resigned to the company. “I shall wear blue tonight,” she announced. “Rosamund is certain to wear her rosebuds.”

“Perhaps I shall wear my peach silk. It will clash with her rose, and she will be furious.” Juliana winked, then slipped down the hall to her room, hoping that none of the family would see her in her dirt.

She did not wear her peach, of course. She was tempted, but far too well-mannered to be so rude to a guest. Instead, she donned a simple willow green gown of gossamer satin that fell in delicate folds about her slim form. There was a touch of blond lace at the neck, and the sleeves were slashed to reveal cream satin underneath. It was a becoming gown, one her mother had bestowed on her when she decided it would not do for Barbara.

Like her missed London Season, the dress had rankled at first, then was accepted as being better than nothing. Some day Juliana fully intended to visit a good mantuamaker. She would order an entire wardrobe and charge it to the estate. Since she received no direct payment for her efforts on Lord Barry’s house, she felt something was due her.

Unfortunately, upon entering the drawing room, she found she was ahead of the others. All, that is, but for his lordship. “Good evening, Lord Barry,” she said with a faint curtsy in his direction. She almost smiled at his reaction and could not resist adding, “Did I clean up well?”

He gave her a thunderous look. “Good evening.” Obviously he intended to ignore her outrageous remark, which was probably just as well.

“I gather a few of your London togs have arrived?” She had noticed his beautifully tailored corbeau coat and biscuit pantaloons the moment she saw him. Drat the man, he certainly
was a treat for the eyes. His stance reminded her of the Grecian statues in that book of etchings in the library. He was quite classical. And that thought brought a blush to he
r
cheeks, for those statues were frightfully unclothed.

“Indeed,” he admitted. “It will take time to become adjusted to the change in fashion.”

She thought a moment, then it dawned on her. “Pantaloons. Ah, how practical they look.”

“I suppose
you
would have women wearing them as well.” He strolled over to stand at her side, rather intimidating yet not at all as he had been by the staircase at his house.

A gleeful light entered her eyes, and she nodded demurely. “I should think it would be most practical, my lord. Think of the fabric saved, and how comfortable they would be. We would be able to climb ladders and steps with little worry. I should think they would be warmer in winter as well—for you must know that silks and muslins are dreadfully chilly. Yes, I believe it would be a wonderful idea.” She permitted her shawl to slide down from her shoulders to reveal her bare neck and low-cut bodice. She had noticed that Henry frequently stared at her when she wore this gown.

“Do not think of it,” Edmund cautioned, having a little better notion now of how she went about things. “Restrain your radical ideas for once.” He observed the expanse of creamy skin and swelling bosom that would delight the eyes of any red-blooded male. Egad, the chit
was
fetching. Pity she held such revolutionary notions.

“But I frequently restrain my so-called radical ideas. Why, were I to have my way, I would be free to—”

Her words were cut off, to his apparent annoyance, when Barbara entered the room in a drift of ice blue sarcenet with a white gauze overskirt. She looked like a princess at the very least. Mama had permitted her darling girl to wear a simple sapphire pendant on a gold chain. It totally eclipsed the necklet of pearls that Juliana was allowed.

His annoyance fled fast enough. He advanced upon Barbara with all his consummate charm.

“La, sir, how fine you look this evening. I vow that Weston must have had the making of that coat. ’Tis nothing that
would come from a country tailor.” Barbara glided to his side and smiled at him. Usually when she did this, it left her target utterly speechless.

“Lady Barbara,” he said smoothly, taking her hand lightly in his, “you are most elegant this evening. It is so pleasant to return to England and all the charming English beauties.”

Juliana had wondered if Lord Barry would avoid the usual stunned reaction of a gentleman when exposed to Barbara in her prime. He had, and she could forgive him a great deal for being above Barbara’s wiles. He had turned his compliment into a general one. How neatly he avoided her snare. Evidently he wished to look the current crop of beauties over before rushing into matrimony and his English bride. She wished him luck. He’d need it.

Lady Hamilton entered the room shortly, followed by the Marquess of Titchfield and Lady Titchfield with their daughter, Lady Rosamund Purcell. Juliana knew that they fully expected their precious Rosamund to capture the hand of a duke at the very least or perhaps a marquess. Lord Barry, as a mere viscount, was somewhat beneath their consideration. However, there was always the matter of his wealth. Juliana had observed that money quite often compensated for a lot of things. And, as well, available dukes were a bit thin on the ground just now.

Lady Titchfield boomed her good evening to one and all, looking down her most imposing nose at Lord Barry with the attitude of one who is inspecting a possible purchase.

“Lady Titchfield, Lord Titchfield,” Lord Barry said in his most polished manner, “charming to meet some of my new neighbors, for I feel it will not be long before I am able to reside in my new home.” This remark was made with a glance at Juliana.

“True,” she agreed. “All that remains is to complete the details.”

“My, what a clever girl,” Lady Titchfield blared forth. “How fortunate one of your children was able to step in and take over when your husband went aloft,” she concluded with a pat on Lady Hamilton’s arm. “It is a pity that so many men do not appreciate a clever woman. I suppose they find them too masculine.” It was clear that in her eyes any woman who was clever had intruded on male territory.

Edmund frowned a trifle, then drawled, “Far better a clever woman than one who is without any wit at all.” He wasn’t sure why he had come to Lady Juliana’s aid. He hadn’t liked the way she was treated; to have snide remarks made about her capabilities irked him. He might not appreciate all she did for him, but he well knew the value of her knowledge—even if he chose to pretend otherwise.

Sir Phineas entered at that point with his eldest son, Peregrine, in tow, followed by the charming and fashionably gowned Lady Cowell, widow of Sir Jonas, and Lord and Lady Plunket. The baron was a thin, angular man, whereas his lady wife was a dumpling, beaming smiles at all and immediately chatting with Juliana in the most friendly fashion. Algernon Plunket was right behind them, eyeing the London elegance sported by Lord Barry with envious eyes. Kitty slipped into the room like a soft gray shadow.

At some point Henry Scott had drifted into the room, remaining in the background. Edmund noted that Henry kept his gaze mostly fastened on Juliana. Precisely what was the relationship between those two? She appeared to treat him with casual affection, relying upon him for support. However, it seemed to Edmund that Henry felt different.

They all went in to dinner in strict precedence: George Teynham, as host for his widowed sister, escorted the marchioness while Lady Hamilton accepted the arm of Lord Titchfield. Lord Barry smiled at Lady Rosamund, who accepted his attention as her due. Juliana gratefully joined the genial Lord Plunket. Unfortunately, Barbara had to be paired with Sir Phineas and his smug grin. Algernon politely did honors for Kitty—looking fine in her simple blue gown, while Peregrine Forsythe offered his arm to Lady Plunket. Henry escorted Lady Cowell with a gracious smile and comfortable conversation. Everyone liked the baronet’s young widow, and she was everywhere invited. If Lady Hamilton hoped to encourage a friendship between Henry and Lady Cowell, the lady appeared most willing.

The dinner was much as Juliana had anticipated. Lady Titchfield dominated the conversation by sheer volume. Her comments on the food were such as must please any hostess. As long as she contained her remarks to menus she had known and food she had enjoyed, all was well. Juliana could forgive much as long as Lady Titchfield left her alone, not making sly little digs at Juliana’s lack of a London Season and her
masculine
interest in building.

Once the ladies withdrew from the table, Juliana found herself led to the pianoforte by her mother and quietly urged to play something lively.

Lively, it was. A rondel was followed by a country air that melded into another such tune. Lady Titchfield tapped her toe for a bit, then launched into the latest gossip with Lady Cowell and their hostess.

Lady Rosamund stood by the harp, as though contemplating whether or not she ought to volunteer her talent for the evening’s entertainment.

Lady Plunket chatted comfortably with Barbara, leading her over to where Juliana obediently played. “I know you have a pretty voice. Do sing for us, Lady Barbara,” Lady Plunket begged. Kitty trailed along, watching silently.

Since Barbara was not loath to perform when she suspected the men would be soon joining them, she quickly agreed. The sisters briefly discussed possible songs, then settled on one about a country girl and her sailor lad. This was followed by a French tune, for Barbara did rather well at those.

Algernon Plunket was the first of the men to enter the drawing room, pausing at the sight of Lady Barbara warbling by the pianoforte. He was closely followed by Peregrine, Henry, and Lord Barry. They also seemed to appreciate the vision of grace and charm who also managed to sing rather well. Uncle George, Sir Phineas, and Lord Plunket, along with Lord Titchfield, chose to dawdle in the dining room, perhaps because Titchfield liked to escape his wife’s company whenever possible.

The younger men clustered about the pianoforte, praising Barbara for her lovely songs. Edmund noted that the others totally ignored Juliana and discovered that it annoyed him.
She played extremely well, and she certainly accompanied her sister’s charming, if erratic, renditions with spirit and understanding. It could not be easy to anticipate just when Lady Barbara would choose to hurry or to hold a note longer than its due.

“You play well, Lady Juliana,” Edmund offered in a break during all the chatter.

“Juliana does everything well,” Henry said quietly.

“In a somewhat
masculine
manner, you must admit,” Lady Rosamund inserted. An angelic smile on her rosebud mouth, she looked exceedingly feminine in her rose sarcenet trimmed lavishly with blond lace and tiny rosebuds.

“Is capability and practicality totally a
masculine
trait, Lady Rosamund?” Edmund inquired lazily. “I have met any number of fribbles who are capable only of gazing in their looking glasses—unable to manage the smallest estate, and men who are frivolous—looking only to their own amusement. It seems to me that any woman should require both those assets—in order to run a household, for example.”

He was pleased to see her toss him a vexed look. He suspected that the daughter of the quiet marquess was accustomed to being the leader of the younger group in this area. She did not like having a stranger—even if he was an eligible viscount and had wealth to boot—cross her. It was also becoming clear that Lady Rosamund enjoyed making not so subtle slurs at Lady Juliana.

Juliana rose from the stool upon which she had uneasily perched the last few minutes and said, “Shall we join in a game?”

Kitty had heard Edmund’s defense of her sister. She bestowed a grateful smile in his direction, then said, “We might do charades.”

“You always want to do charades—merely because you do not choose to hear what we say when playing other games,” Lady Rosamund said with a flicker of annoyance.