“Bertie said Peter needs time to himself,” Nell explained. “And we found a little door up here, so—”
“Please inform Bertie that Emma and I would like some time to ourselves, as well,” said Derek. “Go ask Peter to read you a story.”
“But Bertie said—”
“One moment, please, Emma.” Taking the stairs three at a time, Derek ran up to the gallery, where he bent to confer with his daughter.
Emma turned back to the house plans and paged through them slowly, stopped, then started again. “New wiring,” she murmured. “New plumbing ...” Twenty years ago the rose suite hadn’t even had a sink, let alone its own bathroom, and there’d been no fancy stove in the kitchen. She looked up as Derek returned, a bemused expression on his face.
“Nell gone?” she asked.
“Yes, but ...” Derek rubbed the back of his neck. “My daughter informs me that it’s nearly lunchtime.” He reached down to toy with one of the frayed ribbons. “Have you any plans?”
Emma shrugged. “I’d intended to go down to the village to buy a few things this afternoon.”
“All right.” Derek took a deep breath, then jammed his hands into his pockets. “We’ll go down together, then. They do a slap-up lunch at the Bright Lady—the village pub.” He hesitated before adding apologetically, “Seems I’ve also agreed to have supper with my children in the nursery this evening. Don’t know quite how it happened, but ... well, rather awkward. Means you’ll be dining alone.”
“That’s okay,” said Emma. “I’m used to it.”
“Shouldn’t be,” Derek snapped. He flushed, then jutted his chin toward the gallery. “That is to say, my daughter, Nell, wondered if you might join us for supper.” A look of concern crossed his face. “You are eating, aren’t you?”
Pulling in her stomach, Emma replied stiffly, “I’m not dieting, if that’s what you mean.”
“Thank God. After a week of Susannah and her food-fads, I’m ready to set light to every diet book on the market. Nothing wrong with a healthy appetite. Why, Mary could put away—” He faltered, then went on, haltingly. “My late wife enjoyed food. Don’t know where she put it. She was small, like Peter. Same dark hair, too.” He glanced at Emma, then quickly looked away. “She died just after Nell was born. Pneumonia.”
Was that it? Emma wondered. Was that why he’d been so upset by the duke’s graphic description of drowning? Emma knew there was no set timetable for grief, but five years seemed a long time for a mere anecdote to elicit such a strong reaction. Yet, looking at him now, hearing the pain in his voice, she knew it must be so. She felt a brief stab of envy—what must it be like to be missed so desperately?—but recoiled from it. If Derek’s wife had loved him, she would not have wanted him to mourn like this. “I’m very sorry,” she said.
“Me, too.” Derek busied himself with closing the portfolios. “Look, why don’t we head down to the village now? I can explain the house plans to you on the way. Don’t mind walking, do you? Nell said it wouldn’t bother you.”
“Did she?” Emma smiled. Clearly, she’d made more of an impression on Nell than she’d realized. “I suppose Bertie expressed an opinion of me, too?”
Some of the strain seemed to leave Derek’s face as he gave Emma a sidelong look. “He did, in fact. Thinks you’re quite splendid.”
Emma had never received praise from a stuffed bear before, but as she watched Derek return the portfolios to their respective shelves, she felt irrationally pleased.
12
The cliff path wound around the east wing of Penford Hall and skirted the edge of the walled woodland before beginning a gradual descent into the valley that held the village of Penford Harbor. The prickly gorse soon gave way to bracken; the windswept rocky meadow to the still, sun-dappled shelter of the trees.
Derek had pulled off his sweater and tied its sleeves around his waist. He wore a wrinkled blue chambray workshirt underneath, and as he rolled up his shirtsleeves, Emma noticed his sinewy forearms. She wondered fleetingly how such strong hands could perform such delicate tasks—uncovering a whitewashed fresco, repairing fragile stained glass—then realized that Derek’s eyes were on her, and redirected her gaze.
“Don’t suppose you were able to make heads or tails out of the house plans,” Derek said.
“I managed to pick out a thing or two,” Emma admitted, amused but slightly nettled by Derek’s condescending tone. “The plumbing and wiring have been completely revamped. New access panels, stack vents, feeder cables, supply lines, a whole new distribution board. If the cutaways are any indication, some floors have been raised and leveled, and a new roof’s been put on.” She glanced slyly at Derek. “Have I left anything out?”