Lord Barry's Dream House (9 page)

She stepped back, breaking the spell that seemed to bind them. “We shan’t find it in here,” she said, her voice husky with some emotion.

He followed her out of the dining room to the entry. They came to a halt, listening for the expected babble of voices. Nothing.

They exchanged a questioning look, then marched along to the rear of the house. There, some distance beyond the main building, stood a shed that held the steam engine.

“That is one of the Trevithick steam engines,” Juliana murmured to her patron. “It will be used to pump the water to the house. Perhaps what we heard was some malfunction?”

“Perhaps,” Edmund allowed. “Let us hope that it is not often repeated. Tell me, where is the fire for this hot-air heating you promised me?”

“The furnace is under the house in the ground level, my lord.” Juliana, very conscious of her attraction to this man and fighting it every moment she was near him, led the way down to the lower level of the house to the large brick chamber with an opening into which coal could be shoveled.

“The servant places coal into this chamber. When burned, it produces heat. The heat rises through all those pipes that you cannot see now because they are covered by walls and floors.
When you walk through the rooms, you will perhaps note small registers through which the heat can escape. The cold air returns to the furnace to be heated again. It is very simple,” she concluded, thankful that Henry had taken the time to equip her with an easy explanation to a subject she did not thoroughly understand.

“Indeed,” Edmund said in a reply to what was foreign to him. However, he would never admit it to her. “I wonder if it is practical. Seems most unorthodox to me.”

“But, sir, think of the comfort.”

“What if there is a fire? Should think the pipes would get overly hot. What then?” He rubbed his chin with an immaculately gloved hand, one that made Juliana very conscious of her own grubby gloves.

“One is careful to keep the fire just so,” she said, crossing her fingers behind her, for she wasn’t sure just how this matter was handled.

“Hmm.”

Juliana watched her patron walk around the furnace, inspecting the brickwork, peering into the interior, tapping on one of the pipes that was exposed. “We shall see.”

She wouldn’t have put it past the man to have had her tear the bricks down. Odd, when she had taken over, she had anticipated a venturesome young man, one who would appreciate the very latest in design and invention, one who would embrace the new and unusual. Instead, she found this conventional man, rooted in the past, and holding somewhat fixed notions of what might be acceptable. She was thankful she had persuaded him—by fair means or foul—to agree to retain the new-fashioned ideas. He would thank her come some snowy evening and he was cozy in his well-heated house.

Relieved that he didn’t expect her to rip the brick furnace out, Juliana led the way up the stairs to the living area. They found Henry entering the house as they came into the entry way.

“What luck did you have?” Juliana eagerly inquired, hurriedly crossing the room to greet her dear cousin who also happened to be her assistant in this project.

“Very good luck, as a matter of fact,” Henry said, smiling at Juliana with his usual charm. “While in Oxford I found all the
men we need, and as well, met a carver who was out of work. He is of the York school and from a sample I saw, most gifted.”

“Oh, wonderful. He can begin immediately on the library carvings.” She turned to face Edmund, a wary look creeping into her eyes. “Would you like to see the drawings I have done for that room, my lord? I doubt if the copies I sent reached you before you sailed.”

At his nod Juliana found her roll of plans and drawings, to extract the delicate and most clever depictions of the muses and each art she governed. Clio sat with her laurel wreath slightly askew on her head, scroll in hand. Euterpe played on her flute. Erato strummed her lyre, a wistful expression on her face, and Urania stood with a hand placed on a globe, looking most militant. The remaining members of the nine muses were equally well done and truly clever. There was a hint of playfulness about most of them, a touch of amusement in the faces that he could only hope the carver might duplicate.

“Very nice,” he said with unfeigned pleasure. He glanced up to see Juliana standing close to Henry, and all of a sudden he felt the most intense surge of what could only be envy. She obviously liked her works supervisor. They seemed far closer than was called for under the circumstances. He would that she had the same liking for him, yet he knew this was impossible, given his position in relationship to hers.

“The plasterers are wanting to begin work on the dairy,” Henry Scott said, intruding into Edmund’s mental meanderings.

“The dairy?” he said, full of curiosity. Was this the ordinary plasterers? Or was it that team of Italians who still littered the place with their bottles of red wine and scampering children?

“Very well,” Lady Juliana said, withdrawing from both men. “Excuse me and I will see to matters.”

Henry marched off in the opposite direction, intent upon directing the carpenters when they arrived, particularly the carver.

Edmund wandered along the hall to the morning room and over to the window to look down on the grounds at the rear of
the house. He stood there, hands behind him and feet planted firmly apart. He had an excellent view from here.

Juliana hurried along, only to be accosted by that fellow they had seen earlier—Peregrine Forsythe. He had left a carriage some distance away, approaching Juliana with hat in hand and a hesitant smile on his face. Whatever did the chap want now, Edmund wondered, and again felt a stab of envy that she should smile so broadly in greeting to the son of her avowed enemy.

Out in the yard Juliana greeted Peregrine with heartfelt gratitude. He had truly saved her bacon, as her brother would have said. “We meet again, Mr. Forsythe.”

“Lady Juliana, I had to come over as soon as may be to tell you how sorry I am that the paper was taken, the substitution made.”

She nodded her acceptance of his apology. “It was not your fault, you know, but I appreciate your kind words all the same. It might have been worse,” she allowed with a mischievous look. “Imagine that other paper hung on the walls!”

They shared a few moments of comfortable laughter.

Juliana studied Peregrine. She could see why Kitty admired him. He was better-looking than his father. No doubt he inherited his looks from his mother’s side of the family.

It was interesting that he confided in Kitty about his concerns for his father and his integrity. All the more to promote Kitty and hope that Peregrine would forget all about Lady Rosamund.

“You are coming to our ball, are you not?” she inquired while walking with him toward his carriage. A dog raced past her followed by one of the Italian children. The child yelled at the animal, laughing and uninhibited as an English child would never have been before strangers.

“Indeed. Kitty saw that I received an invitation.” When he observed Juliana’s raised brows at his familiarity, he continued, “Now do not pucker up when I call her Kitty. We have known each other all our lives. Do not forget I helped her learn to toddle her first steps.”

“I suspect nurse never forgave you. Kitty was always a favorite of hers. It made it difficult for us all when we discovered that Kitty finds hearing difficult.” Juliana thought of her mother’s rejection of the child who was less than perfect.

“I know that none of you ever mention it. Is there nothing to be done for her?”

“Not at the present. Perhaps someday a man will think of something brilliant. When she is older, no doubt she’ll resort to an ear trumpet. Now, she merely requires someone to speak distinctly to her.” Juliana placed a timid hand on his arm, then withdrew it when he looked down at her. “She told me that she much appreciates your kindness to her. Perhaps you know that mother refuses a Season for her. Barbara will go to London next spring. I imagine Kitty and I will trundle along to enjoy life on the fringes.”

“Kitty is not to have a Season!” he exclaimed.

Juliana did not remind him that she was denied one as well. “Our lovely Barbara pays for dressing. I am too old and Kitty impaired.”

“There is nothing wrong with Kitty,” he said in a fierce undertone. “Your mother—” and he halted, perhaps realizing that he had almost overstepped the bounds even friends were allowed.

“Well, I have persuaded Kitty to join us at the ball. You may console her there,” Juliana said lightly.

“I’d like to return to explore the house—sometime when his lordship isn’t around. He is a trifle intimidating.”

“Patrons tend to be that way,” Juliana agreed. “Come whenever you are able.”

When he had driven off, Juliana glanced off at the nearly completed Chinese dairy, then returned to the house once again. She would have to give instructions to the plasterers, then go back to Beechwood Hall for a late nuncheon. Small wonder she had lost weight; she forgot to eat half the time.

“That was Peregrine Forsythe,” Lord Barry said when he stepped from the morning room to join her.

“Yes. He wished to apologize for his father’s behavior.” Juliana knew an urge to confide the story Kitty had told her about Sir Phineas and his less than excellent work, yet she knew she had best remain silent on that score. It was not fair to Peregrine, never mind that toad, Sir Phineas.

“You chatted for some time,” his lordship observed, looking somewhat hostile to Juliana’s worried gaze.

Annoyed, she blurted out what she would never have uttered normally. “He sympathized that Kitty and I will not be given a Season when Barbara and Mother go to London next spring. I am too old and Kitty impaired—she does not hear well, you know.”

“You? Too old? But you are scarcely into your twenties, are you? A mere babe!”

“Inform my mother, sir. She thinks me ancient, despairs of ever finding me an eligible husband. I would not be surprised were she to put me in caps and send me to my Aunt
Tibbles
, who must be all of fifty.”

“This will never do,” he murmured, ushering Juliana from the house and to her horse. He assisted her into the saddle and stood there with an inquiring gaze, studying Juliana like a strange and unfamiliar object with which he scarce knew what to do.

Juliana agreed with him, but was mortified to think she had been betrayed into voicing her litany of complaints.

“Forgive me, sir. I am not usually given to lamentations. Do you join me on the ride home? I suspect there will be something to eat if you desire.”

Edmund looked at the shuttered expression on the girl at his side. Too old for marriage? Lady Hamilton was shatter
-
brained. He ignored his desires, which had more to do with kissing Lady Juliana than food.

They rode in complete silence, neither willing to give voice to thoughts.

Chapter
Eight

Ju
liana attempted to remain out of Lord Barry’s path for the next two weeks. In this she was, for the most part successful. If he saw her at dinner, she disappeared immediately after with Kitty happily in tow. Since Lady Hamilton did not expect her eldest daughter to strike anything other than curiosity in the heart of their guest, she seemed not to mind in the least.

Barbara most gladly entertained, playing the harp and looking angelic. If Lord Barry suffered a surfeit of harp playing during his time, he was far too polite to say a word about it.

Barbara was also deeply involved in the plans for the coming ball. Lady Hamilton decided it would be excellent practice for her come-out the following spring. Invitations had been sent and, although it was to be but a modest country house ball, acceptances were most gratifying in numbers.

Lady Rosamund had urged that every eligible earl, marquess, and duke within reasonable distance be invited. In this Lady Hamilton agreed, for if one could fire off a daughter without the expense of a London Season, it was most desirable. Yet, few of these indicated they would attend.

“Kitty, I have heard quite enough!” Juliana declared, after a week of listening to Barbara wax eloquent over everything from the table arrangements for a light repast, to the musicians who had been located, to the elegance of her gown. “I should think that you have heard quite enough of this coming ball, as well. How I wish—not for the first time—that Lord Barry was still in Jamaica.”

“I thought you said he had not been a problem these past two weeks?” Kitty said from where she was curled up on the window seat in the morning room, catching the best light for reading a book on botany.

“Only because I have managed to avoid him at every turn,” Juliana explained. “What a clever notion I had to suggest that Barbara and Lady Rosamund take his nosy lordship on various tours of the countryside—to show him the many beauties of our area. I vow he has been royally entertained.”

“Indeed,” Kitty murmured with a smile. “He seeks his room at first possible chance come evening as of late. Do you suppose he is tiring of those two beauties as well as the countryside? Not to mention the harp?”

“It would serve him right. He desires to marry a typical Englishwoman, and they are both splendid examples. Today’s lady is a far cry from the ladies of old. They were a sturdier sort, I believe. Papa told me the story of Bess of Hardwick
—
who also liked to build houses. Now
there
was a woman who knew her mind and dared to do as she pleased. She even,” Juliana said with emphasis, “defied her queen. I think the story is rather romantic, urging two young people to marry when she knew Elizabeth would be furious.”

“Sounds quite stupid to me,” Kitty observed.

“Today we have bland and affable women who do their husbands’ bidding, remaining in the country—breeding, for the most part—while he has a smashing time in London.” “What has put you in such a frightful mood?” Kitty inquired, seeing to the heart of her sister’s roundaboutations.

“The work on the Etruscan room is completed,” Juliana said with an expressive grimace at her sister. “I cannot put off the day of reckoning any longer. The windows are completely installed everywhere, and it is time to test the hot-air heating system—all we need is a cool, dampish day for that and it is misting today. The stair railings ought to be finished this coming week. I wonder if he will like them?” She sighed and confessed, “Were it anyone other than Sir Phineas who offers to take over this construction, I believe I would yield to him. It is a monstrous job, and I am growing weary of all the little, plaguey problems.”

“What now?” Kitty patted the seat beside her, inviting her eldest sister to confide her woes.

“If it is not one thing, it is another.” Juliana plumped herself down on the seat, leaning against the satin smoothness of the wainscoting to close her eyes for a moment. She opened them to fix a tired gaze on her sister. “The carver whom Henry found in Oxford is a wizard at his craft, but we have had problems obtaining just the right sort of wood. Mr. Maine wishes lime wood—the proper lime will speed his work immensely. Henry finally obtained it, but at some expense.”

“Well, that is a relief for you,” Kitty observed.

“True. Tis amazing how fast Mr. Maine works. Of course, no one dares bother him. He sits in one of the back rooms, a fire burning nicely to remove any chill, and creates my drawings to scale in wood with incredible accuracy and detail. He adds flowers and leaves that you swear are real.”

“What else?” Kitty asked.

“The Etruscan room. What if Lord Barry detests it? I ought to have shown him the detailed drawings for the decor once he arrived here. But after I saw what sort of man he is
—such
a conventional man—I feared he would reject the room without seeing how magnificent it would be.”

“You do realize that Lord Barry is to live in this house, and not you? I should think you would wish to consider his feelings first,” Kitty said, eyeing her sister with a frown.

“I do. Only
...
this is such a beautiful room. You will quite fall in love with it when you walk into it. The colors are so fresh and vibrant. It is very well done,” Juliana assured her sister with a smile and nod.

“You had best show him the room before he discovers it on his own. There is no point in postponing the inevitable.” Kitty shook her head in sympathy.

“I know.” Juliana rose with a sigh, then chuckled. “Besides, I believe Barbara and Lady Rosamund have run out of beauty spots they think will please him. He is too polite to tell them to jump off a bridge, or something equally terminal. I know I must do my duty. But I won’t like it, I promise.” She marched to the door as one going to her doom, glancing back at Kitty with a wistful gaze.

In the hallway she espied Lord Barry, who wore the hunted expression of a fox who seeks to escape the hounds.

“My lord, would you care to join me at the house today? I believe there are several things you might wish to view. As well, the heating ought to be tested, and I suspect you would wish to be present.”

He strode down the hall with long steps, clasping Juliana’s upper arm and urging her along to the front door. “By all means,” he said in a low voice, as though fearing to be overheard. Once outside, he suddenly released her arm, perhaps realizing it was highly improper to touch her so.

“I have tried to ride over to my house for this past week without success. I would see how things go on there.” There was a hint of exasperation in his voice, but Juliana was far too wise to inquire as to his difficulties.

“Of course,” Juliana replied, trying to put a note of sympathy into her voice. Never would she admit she had aided and abetted in keeping him away by suggesting to her sister that it would be a kindness to show his lordship about. That Barbara was not averse to capturing an admittedly handsome viscount might have contributed to her enthusiasm.

Juliana rode Beauty in silence, quite ignoring the falling mist, mulling over what she intended to say to his lordship when they reached the house. She did
not
plan to reveal the problem that had occurred with some of the plasterwork. It seemed that a portion of the gypsum had been improperly burned—or not burned at all. When it was combined with the sand and water, plus the animal hair to give strength, the whole had fallen apart within a brief time, to the dismay of the plasterers.

Fortunately, the work had been the very last to be completed in a bedroom and not of great amount. It had been hastily remedied, and the bedchamber was now finished to everyone’s satisfaction.

The plasterers had moved out to the Chinese dairy where they were busy creating an Oriental fantasy it was hoped all
—
even the dairymaids—would appreciate. She well knew that many noblemen who had such elaborate outbuildings invited one and all to see them. This particular “dairy” would be a work of art, though of course not truly a dairy.

But Juliana was quite sure that no other building project had been so plagued with disasters great and small. Henry made certain that no more bad lime made its way to the plasterers. But what would be the next dilemma to be faced?

“You are rather silent this morning. Any problems?” Lord Barry inquired in a casual, almost lazy manner as they approached the house.

“Nothing serious,” she admitted, as close as she’d come to confessing all.

Someone had cleaned and swept the entry. The stairs winged upward in elegant style—the hand railing completed on the one side and the other in the process of being installed.

She gave the work a critical look, hoping that Henry had scrutinized it. At the bottom of each wing of the stairs stood beautifully designed standards, the product of the first carver who had been here. They had been executed in wood and painted to look like stone and would have exquisite oil lamps on top of them.

Lord Barry walked up to them and stopped. Juliana held her breath, for this was the first of the things she must show him this day. It was difficult to gauge his reaction, for he was most adept in keeping a closed countenance.

“Very nice,” he finally commented, glancing to see the workmen watching him from midpoint on the stairway.

Without waiting for additional remarks, Juliana whisked him up the stairs to the first floor, then along the hall to the door that led to the Etruscan dressing room. She turned to face him, her hand resting on the doorknob.

His encounter with the standards—which she privately thought most fine—had brought faint praise. What his reaction to the Etruscan room might bring was beyond her imagination.

“Well?” he said with that familiar raise of his brows. “Do we enter?”

Juliana swallowed with care, then slowly opened the door, motioning him to go in first.

Edmund strolled into the room and could immediately see why Juliana had shown such a hesitant look. He didn’t know
what he’d expected—some great disaster, perhaps. But this? Never.

“The painter-decorator is famous for his work,” Juliana said in a beguiling manner.

“The wainscoting is plain, at any rate,” he commented, watching her face without seeming to. She looked so disappointed, he felt bad—almost—but not quite. The chit ought to have discussed this with him first. This was no simple decorative scheme; it was a plan of the first magnitude. He honestly did not know if he liked it or not.

“Note that each of the little medallions is a different scene,” she quietly said. “And I would have you know that you may buy vases and other objects in the Etruscan style from Wedgwood.”

“Well,” he drawled, “it seems elegant, if cold. I am not convinced that this is what I wish.” Juliana deserved to be placed on tenterhooks for a time while he mulled over the matter of this room he supposed was called the Etruscan style. The colors were black, red, ochre, and white
^:
—a somewhat limited palette, yet effective, nevertheless.

She watched him with an intent gaze as he wandered about the room, studying the various classical designs. He had heard of this sort of decoration, that many had adopted it in one form or another. It was much admired, or so he’d read. He was not certain he wished to be among the throng.

The sun cast a path across the floor, lending its warmth to the otherwise cool room. It was not chilly, merely that the strange formality in the rather bizarre antique designs chilled I him. The smell of the oil paint still hung in the dampish air of the room, adding to the unpleasantness he felt
.
“Somehow I cannot imagine someone caring to enter this room—you said it is to be a dressing room?—and see sphinxes and ancient dancing ladies cavorting around some odd type of urn. Wherever would you place any furniture? An armoire,
f
or instance? Or chairs? Or is the room intended to be an expensive show and not for sensible use?”

He looked at the ceiling, observing that the center medallion had some mythological characters portraying an unfamiliar scene. But the general lines were pleasing, and he truly did
not hate the designs. Quite simply, he had not been prepared for this. And he had
not
ordered it done.

He studied the fireplace surround that stood in the center of one wall. There were palm leaves at the top of the sides and a laurel wreath complete with ribands directly in the center. He supposed he ought to be thankful that this was all there was to it, and no fancy chimneypiece to add to the costs. Even if simple, this was not something that came from the catalog of a supplier of fireplaces.

“What
did
all this magnificence cost?” he wondered aloud.

“I have not seen the final reckoning, but I have a fair idea what it will be,” she said hastily. “You must understand that the account lists every color of paint used in the room, how much, and the cost. The painter-decorator cites nut oil, white lead, lamp black, and red lead, among others, not to mention a dozen brushes. His charge is fair for the work executed,” she assured him.

“How much,” he insisted.

He blinked at the price she mentioned in her small, yet firm, voice. Painting half-nude women and bosomy sphinxes did not come cheap.

“I see,” he said thoughtfully. “Which means that I had best learn to live with this.” He gestured to the delicately and elaborately painted walls, the dancing females with floating draperies, and the solemn sphinxes who stared off into space.

“You hate it,” she said quietly, so dejected he braced himself to withstand her appeal.

“No, I do not hate it—precisely.” He watched her face light up and again thought what a pity it was that she would not make a proper wife. She had such charm at moments like this. “I shall reserve judgment for the nonce. But may I suggest that in the future you consult me before haring off like this?” If his voice sounded as though iced, it only reflected his annoyance with her. He took another last look about the room, then strode into the adjacent bedroom and stood there with a frown.

“I know it is plain,” she said with determination, “but it is to have fabric shirred on the upper walls, above the wainscoting. The stuccoists did a very pretty border at the top, do you not agree?”

He had to smile at her then, for she was so eager to find something for him to approve. “The flooring is to be oak planks, I would hope?” He did not intend to ease her path.

“Indeed, sir. Nothing but the finest will do,” she assured him. “It is to be installed before long.”

“I seem to hear that phrase quite frequently.” He suspected the wry note in his voice would put her on guard.

“Sometimes the supplies are long in coming. We order and wait.” She made an expressive shrug worthy of one of the Italians he had noticed around the house.

“Then wait some more?” he suggested.

“How true,” she said with what was almost a grin.

“What else have you to show me?”

She backed to the door that led to the hall and gave him one of those wary looks again. “The heating system. That is all.”

“What is wrong with that?” he inquired with what he thought was remarkable patience.

“Nothing in the least—as far as I know,” she admitted. “It has not been tested as yet, but since today is a perfect test day—what with being dampish and a trifle chilly—I asked Henry to see about the test.”

“I have the notion that not a one of you has actually seen a system such as this in operation,” Edmund said, not concealing his displeasure at yet another bit of evidence of this young woman’s unseemly daring.

“Well, you might say that,” she confessed, leading the way back down the stairs to the main floor. “It will be better than depending on fireplaces,” she declared
.

“What is wrong with our good English fireplaces!” he demanded.

“For one, you may freeze on one side while you roast on the other, unless you chance to be on the far side of the room, when the temperature is likely to be but fifty degrees. You would not believe the number of women who die of inflammation of the lungs.” Juliana gave him a look that defied him to disagree with what she’d said.

“They might try dressing more warmly,” he snapped in a perfectly odious manner while eyeing the low neck and generous bosom she refused to conceal.

A workman was cleaning windows on the outside. Another was tidying the floor, sweeping the sawdust into ragged piles. Edmund sneezed, one of those royal sneezes that startles everyone within hearing range.

Juliana bustled over to the workman, quietly suggesting he dampen his broom and finish the cleaning with all possible speed.

She gave his lordship a cautious look. How she hoped he would find Lady Rosamund fascinating, or better yet, become enamored of some young English miss during the coming ball. If only she could send him off on holiday. Of course it was his house they were building, but she found it utterly nerve-racking to be near him.

And then she hit upon the perfect plan! She would so involve him in the day-to-day decisions that he would become tired of it all and leave her alone. As Kitty had reminded her, Lord Barry was the one who would live in this house. It would be a good thing for him to become more involved, Juliana thought with glee.

“Follow me, and we shall find Henry and the man who will tend the furnace,” she said with what she hoped was a sincere smile.

Henry and a soberly garbed man stood by the furnace. A heap of coal had been dumped into a brick bin off to one side. The servant held his shovel most militantly.

At a murmured order from Henry, coal was shoveled into the furnace. The lighting took some time to accomplish, and Juliana grew more nervous by the minute. Yet had she not determined that Lord Barry would best be served if he were to be involved in every detail from now on?

Once the fire took hold and was burning nicely, the servant closed the steel door with a bang.

“It will take a bit of time for the heat to rise upward, I expect,“ Henry said. “Why do we not go upstairs to see how long it takes for the heat to reach the rooms on the ground floor.” He motioned the others to go ahead of him, giving Juliana a quizzical look when she passed.

“I have a plan,” she whispered, not able to say more than that. She would talk with Henry before the ball. He would be sure to be there and she wanted to be certain that she had two dances with him before all the local belles sought his hand. He might not be of the peerage, but he was well liked and had a tidy income.

By the time they entered the breakfast room, a gentle warmth issued forth from the brass register. Juliana felt that at this moment she might retire with glory. If that furnace worked with any degree of efficiency, the house would never be as bone-chilling as most homes she entered on rainy or winter days.

Lord Barry placed his hands behind his back and strolled to and fro before the window. Then, without a word, he led the way to the morning room, that place so traditionally reserved for the use of the women of the household. Juliana followed after grabbing a thin book that lay on a stand near the door.

Here as well, a gentle heat radiated from the shining brass that was punctuated by a delicate scrollwork in a design quite Grecian in concept.

Juliana moistened her lips, then boldly stepped forward. “I would consult you about the lighting, my lord. I have with me a pattern book with many designs for fixtures. I should think you would prefer the colza-burning Argand lamp. It is so much superior to any other work of lighting—other than gas, which you indicated you did not wish?”

He gave her a startled look, then walked over to peer at the slim volume she offered him. “Indeed,” he murmured after another, rather searching, look at Juliana that quite made her wish to squirm.

“Here are a number of splendid examples of the Argand lamp. I particularly like this one with a Roman influence, simple and elegant.”

“You do like the elegant, don’t you,” he muttered. However, he did not reject that design, and Juliana hoped he might be led in the direction she thought the interior ought to take.

Henry lounged against the far wall of the morning room, studying Juliana and Lord Barry with what could only be considered a questioning frown. She ignored him, turning a page in the pattern book to where a number of quite lovely chandeliers were illustrated.

“I had thought this one for the dining room, the one below for the drawing room. And here is one that is indicated for hallways. Since you will not have gas, the multiple spout oil lamp seems a good choice.” She strolled away from him, congratulating herself on her beginning.

“Do you have any other pattern books?”

Alarmed, she shook her head. This was the best supplier, her father had told her. Henry had agreed. It would not do for his lordship, inexperienced—and impressionable, perhaps—to view drawings of an inferior sort.

“I selected this company because it is known for quality workmanship.”

That appeared to satisfy him—at least on that score.

“I will study this and give you my final judgment in the morning.”

“Excellent,” Juliana said briskly, enjoying the gentle warmth that had begun to filter through the room. “If you will go with me to the room where we keep the remainder of the pattern books, you can make a decision regarding the metalwork for the front of the house.”