Chapter Four
Colin meant to instruct his valet to pack his trunks after breakfast. There was no point in staying any longer. He would briefly explain his reasons to his father and begin the journey back to London today.
He sipped his tea and heard an odd chewing sound under the table. Then he noted that the sausages on his sisters’ plates had somehow disappeared. When he lifted his brows, Bianca and Bernadette regarded him with innocent expressions. No doubt they had been feeding the dog beneath the table.
When breakfast concluded, the marquess cleared his throat. “I have an announcement to make.”
Everyone regarded him quizzically, with the exception of the marchioness.
“After much contemplation, I have decided that it is time to make an inventory of the repairs needed for Sommerall House.”
Colin stared at his father. All around him voices buzzed. What had precipitated his father’s sudden change of mind? Then he realized that Margaret did not appear the least bit surprised.
She must have intervened on his behalf. Why did that make him feel guilty? She had been kind to do it, and he had never done her a kindness. If anything, he’d kept his distance. He should thank her, but he suspected she neither sought nor wanted gratitude from the likes of him. Her motivation for helping likely had less to do with his wishes and more to do with keeping the peace at the house party.
The marquess held up his hand. “I have not finished. My son wishes to manage the work. After consulting with Wycoff, he and I agreed that Lady Angeline’s expertise would prove helpful. To ensure that the proprieties are observed, a maid will accompany them.”
Margaret cleared her throat. “We cannot spare Marie or Betty, so I am promoting Agnes to chaperone. She is the newest of three scullery maids and can be spared. She will busy herself dusting and helping to clear away any items that are beyond use or repair.”
“Can we help?” Bianca asked.
The marquess frowned at his daughter over his spectacles. “No, you may not. I have another task in mind for you. That task is to walk your ugly dog and make sure he stays below stairs—”
“Papa, please do not say Hercules is ugly,” Bernadette said. “You will hurt his feelings.”
The marquess snorted. “As I was saying before I was interrupted, that dog is only allowed in the kitchen. Either you abide by my edict or the dog goes in the dustbin.”
“Chadwick, do not overset the girls,” Margaret said. “They are fond of Hercules.”
The marquess shook his head. “I expect—”
A pitiful animal whine sounded beneath the table.
The marquess’s eyes bulged as Hercules trotted out and sat next to his chair. The pug lifted his snout and whined again.
“Papa, Hercules is showing you his affection,” Bernadette said.
“Who let this ugly dog out of the kitchen?” the marquess demanded.
Hercules promptly ran back under the table.
The marquess leaped to his feet and lifted the tablecloth. Hercules scampered out and the twins gave chase.
“Come back here, you sorry excuse for a dog,” the marquess shouted.
Hercules kept running, apparently thinking it was a game.
The marchioness rose. “Chadwick, the girls will catch him…eventually.”
Bianca and Bernadette were giggling as they chased the dog.
Hercules ran into the water closet.
“Damn dog,” the marquess shouted.
“Chadwick,” Margaret said in a shocked tone.
“Pardon me,” he said gruffly. Then he stomped over to the water closet door. Hercules sprinted past the marquess. “Ames!” he shouted.
The butler hurried his step. “Ah, I’ll get a maid to clean,” Ames said, and rang the bell.
“Why has our home turned into a spectacle?” the marquess demanded.
“My dear, it may have escaped your notice, but our home has always been a spectacle of one sort or another,” Margaret said.
Colin leaned closer to Angeline. “Notice the dog is smiling.”
“And so are you,” she said.
After Angeline went upstairs for her cloak and bonnet, the marquess beckoned Colin to join him in his study. “I wish to make it clear that this is only a preliminary measure. With Lady Angeline’s help, you will make an inventory of everything that needs to be done.”
“I understand, and I am ready to begin,” Colin said. He tamped down his excitement, but this was real progress.
“I am not finished,” the marquess said. “My original condition still stands. You must find a bride or I will sell the house.”
His father had given in on the inspection, and Colin figured he could maneuver around his father’s insistence on marriage, too. “It is quite possible the repairs will take many months,” Colin said. “I will focus on making the house habitable and then I can begin my search for a wife when the spring season begins.” He thought a minute and added, “It would be best if I had a home before acquiring a bride.”
The marquess rolled his eyes. “There are two hundred rooms at Deerfield. You could take your pick. You will not divert me. You have six weeks.”
For God’s sake, not again. He meant to placate his father. “I intend to start a family in a few years.” Forty sounded like a ripe, old age to give up his bachelor life.
“I have an offer for the house and have no intention of waiting for you to make up your mind,” the marquess said. “If I do not insist on marriage now, you will continue to chase courtesans and actresses. All of the repairs will be for naught, because you will spend all of your time in London and let Sommerall fall to rack and ruin again.”
“I need a few months to find a bride,” Colin said. “It is a reasonable request. After all, it is a lifetime decision.”
“You have precisely six weeks. That is my condition. You will either abide by it or I will sell the property. Now, you will excuse me. I’m off to shoot birds.”
Colin gritted his teeth. Somehow he had to circumvent his father’s ludicrous marriage requirement.
After Agnes climbed up next to John, the driver, Colin helped Angeline inside the carriage and sat with his back to the horses, facing Angeline. What the devil was he to do about his father’s decree? The man was unreasonable. He knocked the roof with the cane he only used in the carriage. A few moments later, the vehicle rolled off.
“Something is wrong,” Angeline said, raising her voice to be heard above the horses’ hooves. “You were elated earlier.”
“I do not wish to shout at you.”
“Very well.” She stood and swayed as the carriage turned.
He was on his feet in an instant. When the carriage hit a bump, he grabbed her arm and pulled her down on the seat beside him. He inhaled the scent of roses and freshly ironed linen, no doubt from the petticoat. The scents of a woman. Dangerous.
He would hold his breath—or breathe through his mouth.
Her bonnet was askew and her skirt was hiked up, revealing her silk-clad calves. Very long, slender calves. He imagined matching long thighs. No, he would not. This was Angeline—the shrew. He was not attracted to her. But she’d agreed to help him, and he needed her advice.
She tried to pull her skirts down, but obviously she was sitting on half of them.
“Don’t worry, the skirt isn’t going anywhere,” he said.
“It will wrinkle,” she said, squirming.
“Good Lord. Stand up and I’ll hold your waist while you pull down the skirt.”
“You will do no such thing.”
He grinned. “I promise I won’t squeeze.”
Her glare could torch a man—in all the right places.
“Up you go,” he said, placing his hands on the natural curve of her waist. Lord, she had a narrow waistline. As she pulled at her flimsy skirts, she revealed a deliciously rounded bottom. Naturally he imagined his hands on her derriere, and his groin tightened.
After she finished pulling and wiggling to his delight, he took her hand to steady her as she gingerly eased onto the leather seat. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure,” he said, grinning.
She narrowed her eyes.
“Is something wrong?” he asked, all innocence.
She sniffed. “I meant to ask you that question. You were happy at breakfast, but something transpired afterward. You were in a state again.”
He released a gusty sigh. “My father still insists I marry.”
“I think he is testing you,” Angeline said. “It is an unreasonable demand. You might as well ignore it.”
He met her gaze. “There is a new problem. He gave me six weeks to find a bride.”
“That is outrageous,” she said.
“Yes, but my father is adamant.”
“He did, however, approve of the renovation,” she said. “That is a big step.”
“Do you not see the problem? I might spend a fortune and lose the property because I have no bride. All of my efforts might be for naught, except to beggar me.”
She shook her head. “The marquess knows that it is impossible for you to find a suitable wife out in the middle of the country. I think you should set it aside and focus on the house. Once he realizes you are serious and industrious, he will likely extend the time frame for you to find a bride.”
“And if he doesn’t? I can’t take that risk.”
“What else can you do?” she said.
He looked at her. A long moment elapsed. If he married Angeline, all of his troubles would disappear in a snap. But good Lord, Angeline?
She met his gaze, and they both looked away. Had the same thought occurred to her?
After an uncomfortable silence, she said, “I do not envy you.”
“Your parents aren’t pressing you to marry?” he asked.
“I’m not besieged with suitors,” she said. “Frankly, I’m relieved.”
He didn’t believe her. “Oh, come now. Every woman wants to marry. That is what ladies do.”
“I’m not every woman, and I have no intention of marrying.”
“That sounds like pride talking,” he said.
“No, it is me talking.”
“You can’t live independently.”
“My late grandmother left me a fortune. It is in trust, of course, but I can live comfortably enough at the dower house.”
“You can’t be serious,” he said. “You would prefer to live as a spinster rather than marry?”
“That is my plan,” she said, “whether you believe me or not.”
“You are joking.”
“No, I am not.”
“I doubt Wycoff will approve,” he said.
“I am thirty-one years old, as you well know. I do not need his approval.”
“Every lady I have ever met views marriage as the Holy Grail.”
“Not this lady,” she said.
“Do you realize what you’re missing?” he said.
“Such as intemperate and adulterous rakes, rogues, and roués?”
He looked astounded. “You are serious.”
“We need to concentrate on the work that needs to be done. If you worry about the marriage issue, you are likely to feel overwhelmed. Think about accomplishing one thing at a time,” she said.
“Did someone give you that advice?”
“I came to that conclusion myself.” She turned her attention to the window, letting him know she would not elaborate.
She clearly did not wish to discuss her decision, but he thought it odd. He suspected her decision was born of pride and perhaps fear. No doubt her engagement to Brentmoor had caused her more than a little grief.
He still could not fathom why she’d gotten involved with Brentmoor. The man was well known for high-stakes gaming and multiple liaisons. She could not claim ignorance of his character. Perhaps Brentmoor had convinced her that he’d turned over a new leaf and reformed, but that also brought to mind another question: Why had Wycoff allowed the man to court his daughter? The duke was no fool.
Was it possible she’d carried on a secret romance with Brentmoor? He mentally shook off the thoughts. Whatever had occurred was none of his affair.
Granted, he’d led a rake’s existence for years, but he’d only dealt with sophisticated women. He never went near the innocent belles or single ladies; he avoided anything that might result in getting a leg shackle. At any rate, he wasn’t one for a grand romance. He’d leave that nonsense to radical poets and besotted swains.
More than anything, Angeline needed real occupation. Last night, she’d tossed and turned in bed. She would be here for only a month. When the house party ended, she would return to Worthington Abbey and make the announcement to her family. There was no doubt in her mind that her mother and father would disapprove, but there was nothing they could do to stop her.
It would be far better to move into the dower house as soon as possible, but thoughts of Penny worried her. Her sensitive sister would be overset, but Angeline would make sure that Penny knew she could visit at any time. There would be much to accomplish. She would have to hire a cook and a few servants. Perhaps she would even buy a gig and learn to drive it. It wasn’t the life she had always envisioned, but she would make the best of the situation.
She could well imagine her mother imploring her to make one more attempt during the spring season, but Angeline had no intention of exposing herself to society again. She knew exactly what would be in store for her, and she refused to play into the hands of the gossips.
She worried about her father’s reaction the most, but eventually even he would come to terms with her decision. Unfortunately, ever since the debacle with Brentmoor, he had all but avoided her.
It would be better for all of her family if she lived quietly and independently in the country. Her mother and father would take Penny to London in the spring, and while it hurt to know that she would never be able to see her sister at her come-out ball, Angeline knew it was for the best. She’d learned she was strong enough to withstand many things, but she could not bear the thought of her poor reputation hurting her sister.
Sommerall, one hour later
Colin carried the heavy hamper. “Cook must have packed enough food for an army. Honestly, I don’t know what she was thinking.”
“The fresh bread smells wonderful,” she said, “and I smell biscuits.” She reached inside. “They’re still warm,” she said, popping one in her mouth.
“You’re like a greedy child sneaking a biscuit,” he said.
“We both used to steal biscuits when we were children,” she said.
He huffed. “I don’t remember anything of the kind.”
“You ought to remember. We were nine years old, and I stole two biscuits, but you got caught with your hand in the jar. As I recall, you got your hand rapped for it.”
He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. “Now I remember. You escaped all punishment. I was a gentleman even as a child and took your rap on my hand.”
“Hah,” she said.
While John took the horses to the barn, they walked up the steps. When Colin turned the key, Angeline had the oddest sensation that she’d done this once before with him. The feeling was so strong she felt as if it had truly happened.
He ushered her inside, and there was a familiarity just at the edges of her thoughts, although she couldn’t point to anything specific. They would have been young children at the time the marquess had closed up the house. Most likely she was imagining something that had never happened, and even if it had, there was no significance attached to it.
Colin removed his gloves and ran his finger along the marble hall table. “Dust,” he said with a frown.
“After so many years, the dust should be much worse,” Angeline said. “Obviously, someone has cleaned it before, though not regularly.”
Agnes set her basket on the floor and applied a feather duster to the table and the gold-framed mirror above.
“We can set our gloves here and hang our wraps on the pegs,” Angeline said, removing both. “Thank you for persuading me to accompany you. Painting screens, embroidering, and playing the pianoforte seem so frivolous. Helping you restore Sommerall will give me a sense of real achievement. I feel invigorated already.”
“I never realized that ladies might grow bored with their lives.”
“I doubt I count as the average lady,” she said. Then again, she doubted the lightskirts he consorted with spent their days embroidering proverbs in genteel drawing rooms.
“Angeline, I won’t pry, but you mustn’t let the actions of a dishonorable man dictate the rest of your life.”
She gave him a wan smile. “It is kind of you, but there is no reason to worry.” Of course, she would never admit how many times she had gone over the events in her mind. She’d pinned the exact moment when Brentmoor joined her group at Vauxhall, uninvited. The lanterns had added a little ambiance as they’d walked along. When he’d dared her to set foot on the dark walk, she’d refused and dismissed him from her thoughts. That had not deterred his single-minded courtship, but it marked their first encounter, one she wished she could expunge permanently from her brain.
As time went on, Brentmoor had uttered all the right words and persuaded her that he was a changed man because of her, and yet, somewhere deep inside there had always been a seed of doubt. She’d ignored it to her detriment.
“You seem pensive,” Colin said.
She didn’t want to waste the day thinking about Brentmoor. “I’ve had more time to ruminate than I ever wished. Today I’m going to make myself useful. Hopefully we will encounter a great deal of potential and very few problems.” Belatedly, she realized she’d revealed too much and made herself seem pathetic. So she added, “Mind, I rarely waste time ruminating.” Liar.
“I’m grateful for your assistance,” he said. “It’s been years since I’ve been inside. It feels strange,” he said.
Twenty-five years had elapsed. She hadn’t considered that he might feel apprehensive about entering the house, but it would be perfectly natural. He’d been only six years old when his mother had died, and his father had never returned here.
“Whatever we find, promise you won’t be disappointed,” Angeline said.
“To be honest, I expect the house will need numerous repairs. Whatever is wrong can be righted.” He paused and added, “Hopefully.”
Colin opened a door and led her inside the anteroom. There was a dusty marble fireplace and a large bookcase—floor to ceiling. After he set the hamper on the floor, he pulled back the covers over a large round mahogany table.
“It is in excellent condition,” she said.
“The carpet beneath is faded,” he said.
“That should have been rolled up and stored.”
“I believe my father left in some haste after my mother’s funeral.”
She felt a pinch in her chest at his words. Despite the many years that had elapsed, he must feel the void. Even in her exile to Paris, she’d read the news in English scandal sheets where his barely concealed identity and exploits were so easily discerned and served up a few weeks old like warmed-over gossip.
Angeline motioned Agnes and set her to dusting the anteroom. “There’s a sturdy ladder by the shelves. When you’re done, find me.”
“Yes, my lady.”
She turned to Colin. “We’ll need at least two footmen to lift the table and someone to move the carpet.”
With a sigh, Colin pulled out his notebook and pencil. “I’ll request the help of footmen or tenants.”
“I could make the notations while you inspect,” she said.
“Very well.” He gave her the notebook and pencil. Then he looked about. “There are marks on the walls where paintings must have hung.”
“Do you recall the paintings at all?” she said.
He shook his head. “It was long ago, and I was too young to pay attention. I imagine they’re in the attic.” He walked over to the fireplace. “There are no coals in the bin. Lord only knows what might be in that chimney.” He opened a tinderbox. “It’s empty. I’ll have to bring one the next time and see about having coals delivered. That way I can test the chimneys for any issues.”
She finished scribbling her notes and turned to the maid. Angeline noted the marks on the black-and-white checkerboard marble floor. It needed scrubbing. The carpets and the runners on the stairs were probably dusty and possibly faded as well, but for now, she would focus on the ground floor.
Colin looked up at the chandelier. “Cobwebs.”
Angeline shuddered.
“What is it?” he asked.
“I hate spiders.”
Devilment showed in his eyes as he walked his fingers along her arm.
She swatted his hand. “Stop that.”
His deep chuckle called to a wicked place inside of her.
“Speaking of cobwebs, you’ll need someone to clean the chandelier,” she said, adding that to her list.
“This way,” he said, indicating another room on the ground floor.
“Behold, the breakfast parlor,” he said as they entered.
She removed the covers, and he set the hamper on the bare table.
He pulled a chair back. “The cushions are faded.”
“I noticed the drapes are as well,” she said. “Before refurbishing anything, we should check to see if there are external blinds. If not, you’ll need to have them installed to protect furnishings and carpets from the sun.”
“Won’t that make it awfully dim?” he said.
“You’ll want it primarily for summer, and the blinds can be withdrawn up a pelmet when not in use.”
“There are shutters,” he said, “but they need to be repaired.” He sighed. “We’ve barely started, but it’s clear the work is going to be far more involved than I’d expected.”
“We don’t know the condition of the drawing room,” she said. “It’s possible the furnishings and carpets there are in better shape.”
“You’re right,” he said. “Once we’ve had a chance to inspect everything, we can decide which projects have the highest priority.”
He’d used the word we three times.
“Sorry,” he said. “I assumed you wished to continue to be involved, but you shouldn’t feel obligated.”
“I look forward to the challenge.” She already felt purposeful, and as a result her spirits had risen.
“It’s obvious the place has been neglected,” he said. “I still can’t figure out what prompted my father’s sudden urge to sell.”
“Someone expressed interest,” she said.
“Yes, but I’d wager it wasn’t the first time,” Colin said. “I think my father is bent on marching me to the altar.”
“The offer must have been attractive. The house hasn’t been kept in good order and has stood empty for all these years. Has he ever returned here?”
“Not to my knowledge.”
“He obviously cannot bear to return, and he has no surety that you will occupy it anytime soon.”
“I always assumed it would be mine,” he said.
“I know it is difficult,” she said, “but he relented today. It is far from hopeless.”
He shrugged. “It is the first time my father has ever let go of control.”
“Forgive me for prying, but have you ever asked if you might be of assistance?”
“I gave up years ago,” he said. “He used to take me with him when he visited the tenants, but he’s the sort of man who feels only he can do something. One of the reasons I’ve stayed away from Deerfield is because I’ve felt useless. My father will speak of what has to be done, but he won’t allow me to take over any of the responsibilities. It’s provoking.”
“He allowed it today,” she said. “That’s a start in the right direction.”
“Yes, but now I find myself suspicious that he has yet another plan he intends to spring on me.”
She frowned. “When did you become so pessimistic?”
“If I expect the worst, I’m never disappointed.”
“But then you are never pleased, either,” she said.
“Point taken.”
Belatedly, she realized she was a hypocrite, but her pessimism was based on real events, not potential ones. She had plans to take control of her life. It would not be easy, because her family would not approve, but she would do it.
He indicated a corridor to the left. “Let’s have a look in there.”
He opened the door, and she walked inside.
“It’s a study,” she said.
There were covers over a desk, a standing globe, and bookshelves that reached the ceiling. He watched as she opened the drapes to discover a bay window.
“There is excellent light in here. I should think you would enjoy working here.”
He put his hands on his hips. “Yes, the light shows all the dust on the shelves and uncovered side tables.”
“Do you recall this room at all?” she asked.
He sent the globe spinning. “I remember this. I thought it was a giant top at first. My father pointed out the different countries. He would quiz me to see if I remembered.”
“Did you?” she asked.
He nodded. “Yes, I learned quite a few of them. I liked Italy the best because it looked like a boot.”
She walked to the bay window again. “There is a lovely prospect of the grounds,” she said.
He walked directly behind her. The wind scattered gold and orange autumn leaves. The faint scent of rose soap lingered on her skin. It felt almost intimate to stand so near to her.
“I could grow attached to this room quickly,” he said.
She stepped away and said in an overly cheerful voice, “Shall we lift the covers off the desk?”
He wondered if he made her a little nervous. With a shrug, he pulled off the covers. There was a stand with two inkwells and four ball feet. “Clever that it rolls,” he said. His brows furrowed as he picked up the quill. “It has never been used.” Perhaps it was an indication of his father’s haste to leave all those years ago.
He opened desk drawers and closed them.
“Are you looking for something in particular?” she asked.
“Everything is empty.” He didn’t mention the miniature of his mother. Perhaps he would tell her later, but not now.
“I’m sure your father would have taken important papers and correspondence,” Angeline said.
Colin strode over to the sideboard. Inside he found a decanter and glasses. When he removed the stopper, he sniffed. “Brandy.”
She arched her brows. “Isn’t it a bit early?”
He laughed, poured a finger in a glass, and offered it to her. “For the discerning lady.”
“Ladies do not drink strong spirits.”
“Coward,” he said with a laugh.
“If you think that taunting me will work, you are wrong,” she said.
He leaned against the sideboard and swirled the brandy. “You’ve no idea what you’re missing.”
“Well, then I won’t miss it. Now, if you are done trying to tempt me, which will never work, I suggest we have a look at the principle drawing room—or is there more than one?”
He finished off the brandy. “I’ve no idea.”
“Perhaps you will recall more about the house as we explore,” she said.
He scoffed. “Or find buried treasures.”
“You are entirely too cynical,” she said, marching out of the study. “It will spoil your appetite.”
He watched her round little bottom and said, “My appetite is definitely whetted.”
As they walked into the breakfast parlor, the aroma of fresh bread filled the air. Colin’s stomach growled, making them both laugh. “We might as well eat now,” she said. Then she opened the hamper and unwrapped the cloth keeping the bread warm.
Agnes appeared and bobbed a curtsy. “My lady, I await your instructions.”
“You must be hungry.”
“If it pleases your ladyship, I’ll duck out to the barn and eat with John.”
After she left, Angeline frowned. “It is a long walk to the barn.”
“The alternative is to join us, and you know she would be uncomfortable. John will welcome her company.”
“You’re right, of course.”
He opened up the hamper and retrieved a container of lemonade and two glasses. They sat next to each other where there was a patch of warm sun that made her want to curl up like a cat. They dined on cold chicken, ham, cheese, bread, and biscuits for dessert.
“Would you care for more chicken?” he asked.
She placed her hand over her stomach. “I’m full and fear I’ll be lethargic all afternoon if I eat any more. May I serve the rest to you?”
“Lord, no. I’m stuffed.”
She started packing the food, and he set the plates inside the basket. When she handed him the leftover bread wrapped in a cloth, their hands brushed. The accidental touch stirred something inside of her. She caught him looking at her with slightly parted lips. Then he took a deep breath and looked away.
Angeline told herself she was imagining the heightened awareness between them. At any rate, she could not afford to make a misstep. He was a family friend, and she was here only to assist him. Nothing else could or would ever transpire between them.
Unbidden, she recalled his strength as he’d swung that ax two days ago and the dark hair on his chest and forearms. He was the sort of man who made women forget to breathe, but she reminded herself that he was a rake, a man who pursued pleasure first and foremost. There were probably dozens of women he’d left in his wake. She’d made one bad mistake; she had no intention of making another.
When she closed the hamper, there was an awkward silence.
He cleared his throat. “Shall we investigate the drawing room now?”
“Yes, I’m curious to see what we’ll find.”
When he offered his arm, she took it and immediately discerned warmth from his body and the scent of him. She glanced at his profile. Although she was tall, he still towered over her. The cleft chin, straight nose, and strong jawline were familiar and yet somehow more pronounced. One dark curl fell just above his brow. She remembered that he’d despised his wavy hair, but his untamable curls were definitely part of his appeal.
After they reached the landing, he led her inside a drawing room. She surveyed the overall space and thought it had potential. “The carpet escaped fading here,” she said.
He opened shutters. “You can see the reason.”
“It is unfortunate they weren’t used in the other rooms.”
He leaned his head back. “The ceiling appears to be in good shape.”
She looked up as well. “Is that a portrayal of Hercules?”
“I’m unsure.”
“Your sisters will be delighted if you tell them it is.”
“Well, let’s not tell them yet,” he said. “Otherwise they’ll hound me, if you’ll forgive the pun, to let them see it.”
He went to investigate the fireplace and squatted.
If she was a proper lady, she would not dare admire his bottom, but what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.
“The hearth has a hob grate. You can heat a kettle,” he said.
“You would ring for a maid.”
He rose. “I didn’t care about the basket grate in the anteroom, but I like to make tea on the hob.”
She stared at him. “You do it?”
“I only have one manservant in my rooms at the Albany,” he said. “On his half day, I have to do for myself.”
“You’re joking,” she said.
He turned to her. “No, but tea is the limit of my domestic talents.”
“Your resourcefulness will see you through the transformation of your house.”
“It isn’t mine, and may never be.”
He’d sounded a bit testy. She ought to be more careful with her words.
“My guess was right,” she said. “The furnishings are Georgian.”
“How can you tell?” he asked.
“The oval cushions and the red damask fabric covering the chair and settee are distinctive of the period.” She walked to the wall. “Mark the wainscoting. In the previous century, it was used to protect the walls from the chairs. These days no one uses such an arrangement.”
“The furniture is entirely too feminine. I need something sturdier.”
“Your future bride might like it.”
He fisted his hands on his hips. “Why do I suspect you are purposely trying to needle me?”
She bit back a smile. “Since you have no immediate plans to occupy the house, I recommend you keep the present furnishings. You may find there are more pressing issues that need immediate attention.”
“Let us go up to the bedchambers,” he said.
He led her up the next flight of stairs. She couldn’t help noting the lack of family portraits on the walls, though she could discern where they had once hung. She told herself they were only rooms, and she was here to assist him with the inspection. Yet she thought of how her father would react if he learned she’d gone into a bedchamber with Colin. Oh, for pity’s sake, her father would never know, and Colin certainly wouldn’t mention it when they returned to Deerfield.
She never used to be so skittish, but she’d disappointed her family. Her guilt was like the fog. It inevitably rolled in.
The first bedchamber was a well-appointed room with tall mahogany bedposts and rose-colored bed hangings that matched the drapes. A chaise longue with rose-colored cushions was angled in the corner.
“Was this your mother’s room?” she asked.
“I imagine so,” he said. There was determination in his expression as he opened the drawer of a night table.
She didn’t think much of it at first and walked to the window where she drew the draperies open. “I think you could have a wonderful flower garden in the spring.”
Footsteps alerted her. Colin was opening and closing drawers in the dressing table.
“Are you looking for something?” she asked.
“Yes.”
He strode to the wardrobe and opened the doors.
She thought it was odd that he’d not told her what he was seeking.
He released an exasperated sigh and checked the other night table.
“Perhaps I can help,” she said.
“Everything is empty.” He walked through the connecting door.
Angeline followed him, concerned about his strange mood.
“This must have been your father’s room.” The bedposts were enormous and the bed hangings were a dark crimson. In the corner was a mirrored mahogany shaving stand.
He began searching through the wardrobe and the chest of drawers.
“Colin?”
He said nothing at first. When he spoke, his voice was rough. “It’s as if she never existed.”
Her heart felt as if it had fallen to her feet. “If you tell me what you’re looking for, I will help you find it.”
“I don’t know if you can.”
“Perhaps if you describe it to me, I will have success.”
“It’s a miniature…of my mother.”
Oh, dear God. She took a shaky breath, needing to compose herself for his sake. “When did you last see it?” she asked.
“It was on her dressing table, but I might be mistaken. It was long ago.” He sighed. “I have nothing to remember her by.”
She swallowed hard. “It’s bound to be somewhere in the house. Was there anything special about the miniature?”
He frowned. “I’m imagining smooth stones for some reason.”
“You were very young,” she said.
He walked to the window and planted his hands against the wavy glass.
“Colin, what troubles you?”
He turned toward her. “I can’t remember her features.”
She bit her lip, because her tears wouldn’t help him.
He blew out his breath. “It’s been too long.”
She inhaled slowly. “I imagine servants moved everything to the attic.”
“Probably.” He paced the room. “I should have stayed in London and let it be.”
“No,” she said. “Sommerall is important to you.”
“I could have investigated the property years ago. I just assumed I would inherit. God only knows what has rotted or fallen apart.”
“Colin, your father is still the owner, and as such, it was his responsibility.”
“You miss the point. I ignored Sommerall until my father expressed his intention to sell.”
“You mustn’t criticize yourself,” she said. “You could not have predicted that your father would decide to sell.”
He huffed. “If my father hadn’t sent that letter informing me that he meant to sell, I would have made excuses to avoid the house party. Make no mistake, Angeline. I’m a selfish man. I’ve done bad things, but I won’t sully your ears. Believe me, I have earned my rakehell reputation.”
Angeline recognized self-loathing, because she’d experienced it. How many times had she silently rebuked herself for falling for a man she’d known was trouble? Instead, she’d believed his claims that he was a new man because of her. “None of us can change the past, but we do not have to be slaves to it, either.”
He huffed. “Here is something you ought to know. Rakes are irredeemable.”
“I have no intention of trying to reform you. I have made mistakes, and so have you. That doesn’t mean that you don’t deserve to find your mother’s miniature, and that doesn’t mean that you don’t deserve Sommerall.”
“If you had any sense, you would demand I return you to Deerfield immediately.”
“I’m not afraid of you, Colin.”
“You should be,” he said.
“Yes, you are a big, bad rake.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Why do you want to help me? Do you imagine it is akin to taking hampers to the poor?”
He was proud and probably regretted admitting his mistakes. “There is an old saying: Do not look a gift horse in the mouth.”
“You are bored with needlework and are only interested in renovating this house.”
“I thought I had made that clear. I have no interest in renovating you.”
A laugh escaped him. “That’s just as well. You are likely to find nothing salvageable in me.”
She had not told him the real reason. She’d tried to imagine how it would feel to lose her family and move away from her childhood home at such a young age. That year in Paris without Penny and Papa had been so hard, and she’d been an adult. At least she’d known she would see them when she returned home.
How would it feel to never see her mother again? How would it feel to never hear her voice ever again? How would it feel to have nothing concrete with which to remember someone you loved? She could not even contemplate the pain for a young child.
He’d been only six years old when he’d lost his mother. Now all he wanted was to find her miniature and preserve her resting place.
“Are you certain you want to do this? You might regret it,” he said with a mocking smile.
You might regret it. Her neck prickled. The night she’d first agreed to dance with Brentmoor, he had uttered those very words and smiled as if he were sharing a good joke with her. He’d warned her, and she’d not taken him seriously.
Angeline met Colin’s gaze and knew a moment of doubt. She couldn’t make another mistake. Once was bad enough. But this time was different. Colin didn’t want her; he only wanted her help with the house.
“There will be nothing to regret,” she said. “If you truly want to see the house restored to its former beauty, I will do all in my power to advise and help you. If you do not, tell me now.”
“Well, then, it seems we have struck a bargain.”
“We will find the miniature,” she said. “I daresay it is in the attic.”
“It will be like searching for the proverbial needle in a haystack,” he said. “I can’t afford to spend time looking for it when there is so much else to be done. I have to think about the most urgent business.”
“I will help you,” she said. “We will work long hours and take time every day to sort through the attic.”
He shook his head. “I cannot ask it of you.”
“We will find it,” she said. “We will go through every trunk, every drawer, every nook and cranny.”
“I have nothing to give you in return for all of your assistance.”
“But you already have,” she said. “I need occupation.” She didn’t tell him that the main reason was to keep the bad memories at bay.
He met her gaze. “I feel as if I’m taking advantage of you. It’s not as if we’re the best of friends.”
“But we are not enemies,” she said.
“Years ago, you most certainly considered me an enemy.”
“Years ago, I was haughty and headstrong. I thought I was invincible.”
“No one is invincible,” he said, “but you are strong. You always have been.”
She’d lost much of her confidence, but Colin’s words helped her to see that she was still the woman she’d been before the scandal. There was much she could not change, but she could change the way she felt about herself.