Lord Barry's Dream House (8 page)

She led the way again, skirting a bucket of paint and a ladder with ease. This was her element—the smell of wood and plaster, paint and all the other associated odors that came with building. She especially loved the smell of freshly cut lumber.

“G’day, milady,” the older of the pipe fitters said, doffing his cap. “We have about finished installing the boiler. All else is ’bout ready.”

“Lovely,” Juliana said, not quite comprehending all that had been done or had yet to be accomplished. Henry had promised to handle Lord Barry regarding this matter of the hot-air heating, and now he was gone. Another complication that could be laid at the feet of Sir Phineas.

“Milady,” said a man wearing the garb of a painter-decorator. “If I might have your ear for a few minutes?”

“Excuse me, Lord Barry, there is something that needs my attention. Perhaps you could discuss the matter of the heating with this gentleman?” She gestured to the pipe fitter, who looked dumbfounded at the very idea of explaining anything to a peer of the realm.

“Indeed. At least I might receive some straight answers.” He bestowed that raised-brow, somewhat supercilious look on her again, and she hoped that the pipe fitter would be able to satisfy all those questions.

Juliana tossed a pleading look at the pipe fitter, then followed the painter-decorator down the hall, up the stairs, and along to where the Etruscan room had been planned.

Stepping inside, Juliana drew in a delighted breath. It was utterly magnificent—even if half completed.

“I cannot see a problem. I think this is utterly lovely.”

“Thank you, milady.” The man relaxed a trifle. “I wished to know where the torcheres are to be placed, for I can work the design so it will appear to include them.”

Juliana surveyed the room, then consulted her set of plans. “Here,” she said to the man who now peered over her shoulder. “I intend to place them here on this east wall.” The door opened, and one of the workmen stuck his head inside, disappeared, then in short order came in again, this time as the first of two carrying the Etruscan fireplace mantel.

“Oh, I am pleased,” Juliana said with delight. Now if Lord Barry would agree, she could face anything else.

The men set the large piece of marble into place, inching it back and forth before fixing it to the wall. The painter-decorator studied it, then gave it his nod of approval. He went back to work, leaving Juliana free to go.

Hearing steps in the hall, she scurried around the door and along to the central area where the stairs were located.

“Lord Barry! Did the pipe fitter satisfy your queries?” Juliana advanced on his lordship, willing herself not to look back at the Etruscan room, and hoping that the workmen would not make too much noise. One thing about painters, they were usually quiet.

“Indeed,” he said absently, “and I suspect the thing will actually work as he claims, oddly enough.” He looked down the hall to the room from whence the pounding came and raised his brows in silent questions.

Juliana decided she hated that look. “Installing a fireplace mantel. The painter is busy in there as well. It is a messy room at the moment. I expect you would rather see it when they are done and gone. Come with me to see the India paper that has come for your future wife’s bedchamber?” As Juliana uttered these last words, a blush crept across her cheeks, annoying her greatly.

“You are taking a surprising amount of interest in my future wife,” he said with a wry note in his voice.

“It is part of the duty of an architect to try to please every person who must live in a house. Since you have not chosen your wife, I can only guess at what she might like.”

“You like it, then?”

“Indeed, I do,” Juliana replied with enthusiasm.

She found the rolls of paper that had been carefully placed in a fabric sack. Pulling one forth, she unrolled it and gasped in dismay. Puce and lime green flowers splashed across an orange background. It was quite hideous.

“And you
like
this paper? Lady Juliana, if this is a sample of your taste, I should prefer to hire a specialist to do the house,” Lord Barry said firmly, without thought of tact or diplomacy in the least.

“No! That is, I have never seen this pattern before! There has been a mistake, I tell you. How could this happen!” Juliana took one last look at the loathsome paper and swiftly rolled it up, stuffing it into the bag before examining the remaining rolls.

“Well?”

“They are all the same. I will have to return them. I have never heard of a problem with orders to Robson Hale before. Why, they do paperhanging to the Prince of Wales!” she checked the paperwork, then slumped against the wall, thinking furiously.

Lord Barry reached over to pull the invoice from her unresisting hands. “This is not the same design?”

“Not in the least—wrong number. Your India paper was paper-napped!” She smiled wryly at her attempt at humor.

“Do not tell me you ascribe
this
to Sir Phineas; I’ll not believe it,” his lordship said with a scornful look at Juliana.

“I’d never say anything of the sort—to you,” she added under her breath.

“Well now, there seems to be a problem,” Uncle George said in greeting, only to see Juliana in the doldrums.

“Uncle George,” she said with relief, knowing her uncle
would sympathize with her. “Would you believe that the order of India paper from Robson Hale is the wrong pattern?” She
pulled out the first roll, exposing it so her uncle could see how vastly unlike the original this was.

“Goodness me!” he exclaimed. “I believe that must have been printed by someone who had not the least taste.”

“The invoice indicates the correct pattern was shipped, not I this. Robson Hale is not given to making errors. I believe this dreadful paper was substituted for the one I ordered.”

“You think someone waylaid the parcel and made the exchange?”

“She called it paper-napping,” Lord Barry drawled, his expression indicating how little he thought of the notion.

“One may smile and smile and be a villain,” her dear uncle said with a knowing look. “I believe the man we have in mind is about to pay us a visit, for I noticed his carriage coming this way just before I entered the house. Hide your February face,
I my dear. Do not allow him to know all we suspect.”

“I cannot believe what I hear,” Lord Barry began.

“Then keep quiet,” George retorted quietly as the echo of footsteps on the stairs drew nearer.

“The tartness of his face sours ripe grapes,” Juliana murmured just as Sir Phineas strolled into the room.

“What wind blew you hither?” Uncle George said, using one of his many favorite quotes from the bard.

“Well, well, is
t
here a problem?” Sir Phineas asked, his lean face lighting up with a devious look that might pass for a smile. He managed to ignore George’s greeting.

“Why should you think so?” Juliana said with what she hoped was an innocent gaze.

“Discussion here of all places?” He looked about the room, then turned his rascally gaze back to Juliana. “Place is oddly quiet today.”

“We were not pleased with the carpenters who had been working here, so we let them go,” she said with a cool stare at the interloper. “Stupid mistakes are costly and untenable, would you not agree, Sir Phineas? As well, I feared that one of them would drink too much—for they seemed to like their
ale more and more as the days went on—and kill himself through sheer carelessness. I hope they perform better for their next employer—poor man. I do not envy him,” Juliana concluded sweetly.

Sir Phineas gave her a narrow look. “I thought you were satisfied with their work.”

“At first, perhaps,” she admitted. “But they developed a problem with reading a plan that I could not tolerate.” She did not reveal the matter of the too-short stable walls, not wanting to give Sir Phineas the satisfaction of knowing how much trouble he had caused, nor did she want Lord Barry to hear of the matter, either. He had quite enough on his plate for the moment.

“Hello, where is everyone?” Within minutes Barbara appeared, followed by Lady Rosamund. Both girls were dressed in delicate sprigged muslin and looked like flowers from a summer garden.

Juliana turned aside from the sight of her lovely neighbor simpering at Lord Barry.

“We have the most famous idea,” Barbara said with a delightful laugh. It had the effect of cascading water on a hot day. She fluttered a pretty fan, one of her collection. She always carried one with her wherever she went.

“Lady Hamilton has graciously consented to allow us to have a ball,” Lady Rosamund said, slightly breathless from the exertion of climbing the stairs.

“And we are to have the pleasure of the planning of it,” Barbara cried with glee.

“I trust I shall be invited,” Sir Phineas said.

“Oh, of course,” Barbara said with no enthusiasm whatsoever. However, she was proper in her regard for their neighbor, in spite of his insinuating ways.

“And I trust Peregrine will attend as well,” Juliana added, knowing that it would please Kitty.

“I doubt if anyone will wish to miss the entertainment of the season,” Uncle George said, giving Sir Phineas a look that should have curdled his blood.

“Summer is so often dull here in the country. Nothing but crops growing, and gardens needing tending, berries picking, all that sort of thing,” Barbara said artlessly, although if she had ever picked a berry or tended a garden, Juliana didn’t know of it.

“Indeed,” Lord Barry said, offering his arms to both girls to escort them to the ground floor. “Why do we not go outside? I would seek your opinion of the garden plan.”

Since both girls detested the smell of paint, they leaped at the opportunity to leave. As well, they thought the idea of putting a stamp of approval on any plan the viscount nurtured would be an excellent notion.

Once alone with the man, Juliana faced Sir Phineas, permitting the loathing she felt for him to be revealed in her face. “I wonder, do you know about a shipment of India paper from London? Oddly enough, it appears to have gone astray.” Juliana crossed her fingers behind her back and added, “The courier who brought my order also had one for you, Sir Phineas. I believe I shall take this one over to where you build and check yours—if you do not mind? It is possible the lad did not read well and confused the two.”

“Now, see here,” he blustered.

“Cut line, Phineas,” Uncle George said, his voice sharp and cold. Turning to Juliana he added, “I’ll carry this package for you. You are done here?”

“For the moment. Join me, Sir Phineas?” she commanded, not trusting the man for one second. She shuddered to think what he might do if left alone, considering his macabre sense of humor. “We will ride to your construction immediately.” She guessed he would not have bothered to destroy her order as yet. At least she hoped it would still be around. From the unhappy look on his face, she supposed she guessed rightly.

The trio marched from the house, ignoring Lord Barry and the girls where they laughed and chattered about gardens and views.

Uncle George and Juliana mounted their horses, then left Sir Phineas in the dust as they galloped off in the direction of his building site. They would beat him, and with cunning, would find the correct paper before he could prevent it.

Juliana smiled as she thought of the look of frustration and anger that had settled on his face. Then she sobered as she
considered how Lord Barry had taken to Barbara and Lady Rosamund when they arrived. Never had he looked at Juliana in that manner. And, she confessed, she was greatly attracted to the man—when he wasn’t criticizing her. It seemed her attraction was as doomed as Kitty’s.

Chapter
Seven

Ju
liana slid down from Beauty just as George Teynham tethered his mount to a post. He glanced at Juliana as t
h
ey half ran to the Gothic manor house under construction.

“I vow, it is the most over
-
o
rn
amented monstrosity in the country, if not the world,” Juliana muttered, looking up at the design Sir Phineas had created.

“Hurry, Sir Phineas cannot be seen as yet, but we do not know just where the India paper might be. It may take us some time to find where he has concealed it.” George motioned her to precede him into the house.

Juliana nodded and ran lightly up the stone steps to the front entrance. Once inside, she glanced about for help when she chanced to espy Peregrine studying the plans for the house.

“Peregrine! Where might I find a parcel of India paper that was misdirected here in gross error?” She glanced at her uncle, who produced the package that held the puce, lime, and orange print wallpaper that had been brought to Lord Barry’s home. Peregrine flinched when he saw the colors, then exchanged a look with Juliana that revealed a great deal.

“This is what we received, and as Robson Hale rarely makes an error, we suspected that perhaps the two parcels were switched?” Juliana said tactfully, not wanting to place Peregrine in the position where he felt he had to defend his conniving father. “Is there one here, perchance?”

Peregrine gave Juliana a grim look, then walked across to one of the workmen. They spoke briefly. Peregrine exited the entry room, reappearing in short order with a parcel that looked much the same as the one George Teynham held.

“Perhaps this is the one you seek?” Peregrine said, offering the parcel to Juliana.

She tore open the wrapper to uncover the first of the rolls of India paper inside and breathed a sigh of relief. “Oh, thank goodness. We will not have to reorder after all. This is the pattern I selected from London.” She gave the delicate pink brocade design a fond look, then smiled at Peregrine. “I am much obliged to you, sir.”

She turned to leave the house to find Sir Phineas advancing upon them, a fierce scowl on his unlovely face.

“How dare you abscond with material I ordered from London! If you have a problem with delivery, perhaps you need a competent man in charge of construction.” He gave Juliana a scathing look, transferring his fulminating gaze to George and the parcel in his arms.

Juliana was dismayed to see Lord Barry immediately behind Sir Phineas. How he had managed to arrive so quickly puzzled her—when last seen he was absorbed in the description of his garden-to-be with Barbara and Lady Rosamund.

“He will lie, sir, with such volubility that you would think the truth were a fool,” George muttered in an aside that must have been heard by both Sir Phineas and Lord Barry.

Peregrine surveyed all with a watchful gaze. He edged closer to Juliana, still holding the puce, lime, and orange print wallpaper he’d accepted from George Teynham.

“
This
is the India paper I ordered some months ago from Robson Hale, Sir Phineas,” Juliana declared, tilting her chin in a defiant manner. “It matches the fabric ordered for a chaise longue. I find it difficult to believe that you also ordered this same design as I and not what is in the other package.” Juliana gestured to the large parcel in her uncle’s arms. “Mine would not be at all the thing to have with Gothic.”

“What if I did order the same paper?” he said with a cunning smile. “Simply because a house is Gothic on the exterior does not mean the interior
necessarily
follows suit. It is my paper. Put it down, George.” He bestowed a sneering look on Juliana’s uncle that was full of derision.

“I think not,” George calmly replied. “Juliana, show Lord Barry and Peregrine the paperwork you brought along. The correct number of rolls are here. Can
you
produce an invoice that has the proper information, Sir Phineas?”

“I, er, do not have such paperwork here,” Sir Phineas sputtered. “I leave such details at home in my library.”

“Then we shall lay claim to this India paper until you can prove to our satisfaction that it is indeed yours, instead of Lord Barry’s. Good day, Sir Phineas, Peregrine.” George motioned to Juliana to go ahead of him.

They left the house, carefully minding their steps over the piles of sawdust and bits of lumber, George hanging on to the parcel with grim determination.

“You were a trifle hard on the old man,” Lord Barry said at Juliana’s side, having caught up with her.

“However did you manage to arrive here so quickly, my lord?” Juliana said, pausing beside Beauty while awaiting her answer. “And no, we were not hard on that scheming old fool. He is as considerate as a stone.”

“I decided to follow you and find out what was involved. I am glad I did.”

Juliana did not wish to hear him tell her that he thought her full of nonsense. She accepted his assistance onto her saddle, then gathered the reins in her gloved hands. “I suspect our discussion could wait until later. I must return to the house and instruct the painter-decorator about this paper.” She glanced at the Gothic pile under construction and smiled wryly. “I intend to have that paper hung on short order. Let’s see Sir Phineas try to remove it from your walls!”

With that she nudged Beauty slightly, and the mare obediently took off in the wake of George Teynham.

Edmund stared after Lady Juliana with a bemused gaze. What a fiery little thing she was, full of passion and righteous contempt for her neighbor and competitor. He swung himself up on Firefly and set a course after this most amazing young woman.

It had been interesting to watch the son, Peregrine. He had not leapt to his father’s defense. Rather, he had most likely been assisting Juliana in obtaining the India paper before his father arrived on the scene. Was this another male who was smitten with the lovely Juliana? Henry, and now Peregrine? It seemed that Lady Juliana had hearts strewn from one end of the countryside to the other.

However, the matter of the paper had given him much food for thought. There was little doubt in his mind that the old man had been up to something and snaffled that paper for reasons of his own. If he had ordered the monstrously dreadful stuff that had first been brought to view, Edmund could well appreciate his wanting to switch.

Somehow, he suspected this was not the case. In fact, he reluctantly came to the conclusion that Sir Phineas wanted to throw an obstacle in Juliana’s path. Perhaps it was truly as Juliana had said, that the old chap wished to wrest the commission from her control and take it upon himself. If he hadn’t known about this particular incident, Edmund could well have assumed that Juliana did indeed need to relinquish control of the project—and that he required a new architect.

As to Lady Barbara and Lady Rosamund, who had voiced such interest in his garden-to-be,—well, they represented the finest flower of English young womanhood. He would do well to observe them, for such was the sort of woman he wanted to marry. Certainly, he had no wish to tie himself to a daring, lively, passionate woman like Lady Juliana. It occurred to him that while Juliana possessed that fiery, determined nature, she most likely would not be a conformable woman—the sort he desired for a wife. No, Lady Barbara or Lady Rosamund was the type who would fit that description nicely. He would most definitely hunt for a woman like them. The notion that Juliana might be the better choice in the long run was pushed to the back of his mind.

When he arrived at the house, he saw a curious stack of crates being unloaded from a dray wagon. Empty crates gave evidence that some items had already been taken inside the house. After looping the reins around a post, he sauntered over to watch.

Juliana appeared absorbed in the unloading process. She checked some paperwork against the number of crates and smiled.

“Everything accounted for?” Edmund asked and was rewarded with a flashing smile that could blind a man not accustomed to bright sun.

“Indeed. All properly labeled and present. This is one order Sir Phineas either did not expect to come or simply did not bother with—not knowing what to do with it.”

“There have been other orders that have disappeared?”

“
Yes, although I cannot prove that Sir Phineas was at fault. Just the other day a shipment of marble was ruined because of rocks on the road that the driver did not notice. That road has always been reasonably well-maintained, yet I cannot accuse a man of dumping rocks on the road just to cause me problems. But I can suspect him of such a dastardly deed,” she concluded with a snap.

Edmund studied her flushed face, those sparkling eyes, and wondered if he had ever seen a woman so truly alive. Not for her the languid smile, the gentle pace, the hours at the embroidery frame. She sizzled, snapped, simmered with vitality.

Yet, he could honestly say she was not improper in her conduct otherwise. While at dinner—and afterward—she exhibited every evidence of a well-bred lady. He suspected this house had become a passion with her. And he distrusted passion in a lady.

“What is in these crates that is so important?” he ventured to inquire when the last had been unloaded from the dray.

“The water-closets,” she admitted. Lady Juliana looked at him with a wary gaze, as well she might.

“You agreed that they were acceptable, sir,” she reminded. There was a dull red flush beneath her skin, a sort of quiet blush. It was not easy for her to discuss so personal a topic with a gentleman, yet she held her ground. He rather admired her for that. Yet, as Lady Rosamund might have said, it was such a
masculine
thing of her to do. Unladylike. However,
he
found nothing masculine about Lady Juliana Hamilton. Not in the very least.

Why did he enjoy baiting her? he wondered. It was not at all gentlemanly of him. Yet it proved irresistible. She always rose to that bait with such fire and unwomanly logic. Women were not supposed to have the brains to match wits with men, yet she disproved that notion. She possessed sharp wits and a clever mind. Not to mention a highly desirable body, came a thought from the back of his observant mind.

“I shall reserve my final judgment until I have seen one of these contraptions in operation. You said the plumbing is complete?” If she wanted to assume the role of her father, she would be put to the blush in this instance.

“Indeed,” she agreed, walking along at Edmund’s side into the house to the small room where the first of the water-closets was being positioned.

Once the water-closet had been set in place, the elegant mahogany seat was put over it.

One of the workmen glanced at Lady Juliana, then Lord Barry, and ventured to explain, “The water supply comes in here, sir, then this here trap that holds the water is released by the flap valve that’s operated by this cranked arm here. Quite simple, actually.”

Edmund inspected the clever device and agreed that in theory it seemed as though it should work. He watched as final connections were made, then stepped forward and, at a motion from the installer, cranked the arm to the side of the water-closet. Water came down in a loud rush, the trap opened, and the water disappeared down the pipe.

“Most efficient,” Edmund commented to the installer. He turned to Juliana and said, “I see no reason why the rest cannot be installed as planned. I only hope there is no problem with them later,” he concluded skeptically.

“As you wish, Lord Barry.” She gave a patently relieved nod to the installer. He disappeared to the rear of the house, no doubt in search of the next water-closet and the location for same.

Edmund crossed the entry, approving the soft gray of the Portland stone underfoot. The painting here had been completed, and he liked the colors—palest gray picked out with white. It was pleasant and not the sort of thing one would tire of easily.

“You selected the colors here?” he said to Juliana while studying one of the several niches in the wall, speculating on what statuary he would like to place there.

“I did. Papa died before he could reach that point. I felt this to be masculine in tone, and I think an entry should set the character for the entire house.”

“The dining room?”

“It ought to be masculine as well, for men spend such an inordinate amount of time at the table,” she said with a flash of those magnificent eyes.

Edmund smiled and failed to argue with her as she apparently expected of him. He strode across the entry into the dining room to study the walls. The painters had finished their work here. The room was a soft celadon with an ivory ceiling and trim. A discreet touch of gilt was just enough to satisfy a woman, perhaps a man as well. He liked it. It looked elegant, refined, and far better than what he had seen at the Gothic pile Sir Phineas was constructing.

“Nicely done,” he said, allowing his approval to sound in his voice as well as in his words. “I have a large painting by Stubbs that would look well against that green color. There is another one I bought of a hunt scene by George Morland. I am of a mind to have it here rather than in the library.”

“Oh, that will look fine,” she said with unfeigned enthusiasm. One thing he admired about her—when she liked something, there was no false admiration. She allowed her excitement to show. It might be unladylike, but it was definitely gratifying.

“The drawing room is completed as well,” she reported, changing the topic. “The new carpenters will have to finish two rooms on the first floor, then complete the partitions in the attics. Of course there are a number of outbuildings to construct.” Juliana turned aside and stared out of the window. She was beginning to like this man, and she had better keep her distance for the nonce. He was too close for comfort, and there still was the Etruscan room and the Chinese dairy to hurdle.

All at once there was a roar of a noise. Startled, Juliana whirled about to find herself against his chest. His arms came up to steady her, and for a few moments she knew the comfort of being held safely in a gentleman’s embrace. Oh, he smelled so masculine, all lavender mixed with a dash of horse and something spicy. There were so many times when she longed for such consolation.

“What was that?” She edged away from him and looked about her in confusion.

“Perhaps we had better find out?” But he failed to move, nor did Juliana take another step.

She looked at him, wondering how it would be to have him kiss her. She had been kissed once or twice, depending on how one considered those things. Both were snatched, hurriedly done, and highly unsatisfactory. What
would
it be like to be kissed at leisure by a man of experience—a man among men, widely traveled and finely polished. Dare he?

Edmund stared at her. As he had noted before, she was a delicious, fiery bit of womanhood. Somehow, he knew that kissing her would be a vastly different experience from the cold salute he might expect from Lady Barbara or Lady Rosamund. More dangerous, as well. What a pity Juliana was a lady. He’d have enjoyed exploring the subject with her.