by Syrie James
“Think nothing of it. Yesterday was a long day.” He gestured for her to sit opposite him, and resumed his seat.
She sat. “I will be brief. I would like to terminate the agreement we made yesterday, and return to London on the next available train.”
Chapter Six
“What?” The duke frowned. “Why?”
Was he going to make her spell it out? “You know why,” Kathryn responded. “After last night, I can’t possibly stay and work for you.”
Lord Darcy waved an idle hand. “Don’t give last night another thought. Things may have gotten a little out of hand—”
“A little out of hand?” she repeated, shame washing over her. “I cannot think back on what . . . occurred without extreme mortification.”
“I take full blame for last night, Miss Atherton. Don’t beat yourself up about it. These things happen.”
“Not to me, they don’t. I have never behaved in such a manner in my entire life.”
“Which only proves that it was my fault. We both had too much to drink. I believe I can hold my liquor better than you can, and I should have put a stop to things much earlier. Correction, I should never have started things in the first place. My behavior was completely out of line. Forgive me.”
There was sincere apology in his eyes. It was gratifying to know that he was willing to admit his own culpability in the affair. But even so. “Thank you for your apology. I do forgive you. But I cannot forgive myself. First, for drinking so much, and second, for . . . everything that followed.” She took a breath. Finding it hard to look at him, she continued, “The truth is, to be honest . . . I don’t actually remember everything that . . . followed.”
“Don’t you?”
“No.” Her cheeks flamed. “Things get foggy after the part where I was . . . um . . . I think . . . lying on the billiards table? I was wondering . . . that is to say . . . how far did things go after that? Did we actually . . . ?”
“No,” he interjected, his tone and expression clearly meant to be reassuring. “We most emphatically did not.”
“Oh thank goodness.” A relieved breath escaped Kathryn’s chest. “When I woke up this morning and discovered myself in dishabille, I was so worried.”
“Nothing much happened after the point which you described. I promise you.”
“So, did I . . . pass out? Or . . . ?”
“You fell asleep.”
“Oh.” Her face grew even hotter. “Well. That must have been . . . awkward.”
“I found it rather adorable actually.”
“Adorable?” Kathryn wished she could bury her head in a very deep, dark hole and remain there for several weeks.
“You looked quite angelic, fast asleep.” His lips twitched, but his eyes were kind.
“How did I . . . get to my room?”
“I carried you there. And put you to bed.”
“Oh,” she said again. The idea that he had brought her upstairs in his arms while she was passed out cold, and then put her to bed and covered her up, sent a little shiver down her spine. It was such an intimate act she was almost sorry she had missed it.
There you go again. Instantly, Kathryn reprimanded herself for having such a thought. What was wrong with her? She hardly recognized herself.
“I was discreet,” the duke was saying. “No one else saw. So, nothing to worry about there.”
“Again, thank you. I appreciate your candid account, and that you took pains to keep this quiet. Nonetheless, I still feel that I must leave.”
He paused, then let out a disgruntled breath. “Only yesterday, you worked so hard to convince me to embark on renovations to St. Gabriel’s Mount. Despite every obstacle I threw at you, you refused to back down. I can only surmise that this project is important to you, Miss Atherton, and possibly to your career. Am I right?”
“Well, yes, but—”
“Do you really wish to give up before we have even begun?”
“No,” she burst out. “But after what happened—”
“I repeat: I take full blame. If you insist on feeling culpable, consider it a momentary lapse in judgment. No harm done. No one else need ever know. Let us put it behind us and move forward.”
Kathryn hesitated. On the one hand, it was a relief to know that he didn’t view her in a negative light after last night. An even bigger relief to understand that no one else would ever learn how foolishly she’d behaved.
On the other hand, his attitude toward their . . . encounter . . . was a bit disquieting. The way he was taking the whole matter in stride, as if this kind of thing happened to him all the time.
Well, maybe it did. He’d spent nineteen years in the Royal Navy, after all. Who knew how many women he’d slept with in all those ports of call? The notion of the duke making love to women all across the Mediterranean sent an unexpected twinge of jealousy spiraling through her, a feeling she didn’t much relish. Why should she care how many women he’d bedded? She had no intention of ever bedding him herself.
She focused on the decision before her. He might consider it a simple matter to “put it behind them.” But would it be that simple for her? Just looking at him across the desk, she felt the same intense tug of attraction that had drawn her to him like a moth to a flame last night.
Well, if she wanted this job—and she did—she was just going to have to work harder at ignoring that flame.
“I can only stay,” Kathryn replied, “if we agree that our relationship will be entirely a professional one.”
“That goes without saying,” he responded.
“Then . . . fine. Let us move forward.”
“Excellent. How shall we proceed?”
Kathryn suggested that the duke give her a tour of the premises, after which they could discuss which parts of the castle might benefit from renovation or freshening up. She would then get to work on preliminary sketches, and if he wished to continue, she’d proceed with larger scale ink drawings.
They began with a look at the basements, and were now working their way up to the battlements.
“Except for the servants’ quarters and kitchens,” Lord Darcy explained as they climbed the staircase that led up from those lower apartments, “the parts of St. Gabriel’s Mount currently in use are the main rooms on the third floor, several bedrooms on the fourth and fifth floors, and the chapel on the terrace level. A substantial area, yet a fraction of the castle itself.”
Kathryn had already pointed out that the kitchens were in need of updating, and Lord Darcy had agreed, a bit reluctantly, she’d thought. As they arrived on the third level and passed through a shabby hall, Kathryn commented in a gently inquiring tone, “I know you said cost isn’t an issue . . .”
“Not at all,” Lord Darcy returned smoothly. “Were finances a problem, Hayward would not have engaged the services of your firm.”
She was glad to have that point reaffirmed. “Why do you suppose he put off making alterations to St. Gabriel’s Mount for so long?”
The duke hesitated, as if carefully choosing his words. “Hayward was a typical bachelor, I think, busy with his own interests. I’m guessing he wasn’t interested in decorating and refurbishing.”
“Until your grandmother’s repeated requests for new carpeting finally made him feel obligated to take action?”
“Something like that.”
Kathryn laughed. “Well, whatever the reason, I’m very pleased that he called on Patterson Architecture.”
Lord Darcy devoted the next hour and a half to a tour of the main rooms on the third floor. The library was in good shape, but Kathryn felt the dining room and drawing room would both benefit from new wallpaper, lighting fixtures, and furnishings.
“Add that to the list,” the duke instructed.
They glanced into a pleasant sunroom filled with orchids and other tropical plants, where the dowager duchess was napping on a chaise longue.
“The conservatory,” Lord Darcy whispered. “My grandmother’s favorite room.”
“It looks perfect to me,” Kathryn observed. He agreed.
Farther down the hall, he showed her into a chamber decorated with a feminine flair, its walls covered in pale peach silk and floral-patterned carpets covering the wood floor. A couch, two easy chairs, and a good-sized desk populated the room along with a round table surrounded by six chairs.
“My mother called this the ladies’ parlor. She entertained her friends here, played cards, wrote letters, and such. I don’t think it’s been used much since she died. Most of my grandmother’s friends have passed away, and she prefers the conservatory.”
“It’s beautiful and looks to be in good shape.”
“The staff seems to take pains to keep it presentable, perhaps as a tribute to my mother.”
“I wouldn’t touch a thing.”
As they moved along, Kathryn took notes and continued to make suggestions. But even though she found every room of the castle fascinating, at times it was difficult to concentrate on the work at hand. Because her eyes kept darting to the man accompanying her.
Every glance his way still made her heart dance and did strange, flippy things to her insides. She admired the way he carried himself. He strode with such purpose and confidence. She pictured him in her mind, dressed in his regimentals, issuing orders to his men aboard his ship. It was a rather thrilling, handsome image.
“I like your idea of removing this wall and opening these two rooms into one.”
The duke’s voice snapped her back to attention. He had made a deliberate and tactful point, she suddenly noticed, of bypassing the billiards room, instead taking her into the smoking room again.
The memory of all that had gone on in the adjoining chamber the night before made her cheeks grow warm. Keep your mind on your work, Kathryn. She quickly jotted down “Smoking room/Billiards room: remove connecting wall” on her growing to-do list.
Her resolve was tested further when they toured the fourth floor. The master bedrooms—on the same floor but on the opposite side of the building from the guest room where she was staying—were a His and Hers arrangement with their own dressing rooms and sitting rooms.
“This is my room,” Lord Darcy explained as they entered the large, beautifully appointed chamber. “Admittedly, it feels odd to be sleeping here.”
Kathryn’s gaze fell upon the huge four-poster bed. Her pulse skittered as the image of him stretched out and sleeping there vaulted into her mind. Did he sleep clothed, she wondered, or naked? She immediately drew a mental curtain over the thought.
You have designed dozens of bedchambers. This is simply one more.
Clearing her throat, Kathryn replied, “Why does it feel odd, Your Grace? Because you are accustomed to much smaller quarters?”
The duke shook his head. “It’s not that. This was my brother’s room. And my father’s and grandfather’s before that.” He glanced around, visibly discomfited. “My brother, God knows why, never got around to getting married. He was a very good-looking man. Women adored him. All he had to do was choose a bride, but he never did. I suppose I am still not used to the idea that it’s up to me now to . . .” He broke off.
Kathryn suspected he was thinking about his duty, as the new duke, to marry and produce an heir. The responsibility seemed to weigh heavily on him. “I’m sure you will settle into your position soon enough, Your Grace. Just take things one day at time.” The moment she said it, Kathryn felt herself blush. It was a very personal comment to make, and here she was trying so hard to be all business. “As for this room,” she added quickly and more matter-of-factly, “it is very nice. Is there anything you wish to change in particular?”
“I haven’t given the matter an iota of thought,” he reminded her.
“Right. Well. I do have one suggestion. There’s only one bathroom on this floor, and it’s at the end of the hall.”
“And?”
“Today, most houses of this size are designed with en suite water closets in the master suite. If you want to enter the modern age, we should add a water closet—or as we Americans call it, a bathroom—for you and your wife.”
“My wife,” the duke repeated sharply. With those two words, a dark gloom settled over his features that she couldn’t quite decipher.
Kathryn wondered if he resented the idea of being obligated to marry. He’d been a bachelor all his years in the Navy, after all.
“It wouldn’t be a difficult modification,” she explained quickly. “We could convert one of the master sitting rooms. I promise, you will be very glad of a private chamber with your own plumbed bathtub and toilet. Every new house on Fifth Avenue in New York City features one, if not several.”
He frowned, considering it, then gave in with a shrug. “You are the expert, Miss Atherton. Whatever you say.”
The fifth and uppermost floor, the duke explained, was primarily devoted to guest bedrooms and suites that hadn’t been used in over a hundred years, and was primarily closed off. As such, he only showed her his grandmother’s suite.
“Your grandmother was right,” Kathryn pointed out. “She does need new carpets. Rather desperately.”
That brought a smile back to the duke’s lips. “Add that to the list,” he said.
They climbed the last flight of stairs and issued outside onto an enormous terrace surrounded by a stone wall, with an expansive view of the sea and coastline. This level also featured two large, ancient stone buildings topped by towers and turrets.
The first building was a thirteenth century chapel. As they stepped inside, Kathryn gasped softly. A quiet feeling of reverence imbued the space. Light filtered through stained glass windows before and aft, casting a colorful glow. A stunning stone altar presided, and a carved mahogany lectern overlooked rows of sturdy pews. The side walls of the nave were hung with countless memorial plaques to departed ancestors, some spelled D’Arcy, others spelled in the more modern fashion.
“How incredible,” Kathryn gushed. “To think that this is part of your family home, and has been for—how many hundreds of years?”
“Nearly three hundred.”
She bit her lip. “I wonder how many of your ancestors have been married and christened here.”
Lance didn’t respond immediately. “It’s interesting to see it through your eyes. I never thought of it as being anything special. It’s always just been the family chapel.”
Kathryn gave him a look. “Not many people have a family chapel, Your Grace.”
He chuckled. “You’re right. Thank you for that reminder of what a privileged life I have led.”
“Even dukes ought to retain a shred of humility,” Kathryn teased.
He gave her a warm smile, which made butterflies flit in her stomach. What are you doing? Kathryn issued a strict mental reminder that she was supposed to be behaving like a professional, not chatting up the duke and making him laugh. Or smile. So . . . warmly.
They agreed that the chapel was another part of the castle that required no improvements. As they exited onto the terrace, Kathryn asked to see the much larger building across the way.
“The great hall?” The duke shook his head. “I won’t waste your time. I don’t care for that chamber.”
“All the more reason for me to see it.”
He sighed. “If you insist.”
Crossing to the building in question, the duke pushed up a heavy iron latch and swung open the old wooden door. When they stepped within, Kathryn was enveloped by the scent of dank, cold mustiness.
The windows were so covered in grime that they barely let in any light. As her eyes adjusted, she perceived that she was in a large ceremonial chamber, every inch of which was blackened from centuries of soot.
Even so, Kathryn was awestruck as she glanced around. The ceiling was more than two stories high, enclosed by barrel-vaulted open latticework. Ornate plasterwork carvings ran like a decorative ribbon around the tops of all the walls. Huge plasterwork coats of arms were prominently featured at each end of the room above massi
ve fireplaces.
“This is magnificent,” Kathryn exclaimed.
“It’s a relic,” Lord Darcy disagreed, “from the days of knights and armor. My family never used it.”
“Oh! But it should be used. This room should be the showpiece of St. Gabriel’s Mount.”
“The showpiece?” He glanced at her as if she’d just suggested that they fly to the moon. “How? And for what purpose? It’s far too big. It’s cold and dark. The floors have been eaten away by insects and wood rot. It’s an eyesore.”
“All that could be addressed, Your Grace.”
He crossed his arms over his chest and stared down at her dubiously. “I’m listening.”
“I’d start by washing all the windows and scrubbing the plasterwork. Then I’d repair and refinish the floors. The biggest thing I’d change, though, is the ceiling.”
“The ceiling?”
“The latticework is nice, but it’s old and cracked, and you can’t get access beyond it to clean the ceiling.”
He gazed upward. “What would you do?”
“I’d replace the lattice with new, sturdy beams, retaining the same barrel structure but filling in the gaps with plaster and decorative woodwork. That would make the ceiling simple to clean and give the room a new dynamic. This would make an ideal ballroom, and the perfect site to host elegant parties. With a few pieces of well-placed furniture, it could also make a welcoming family parlor.”
The duke stared up at the ceiling, as if trying to picture what she was describing, but failing. “Can you draw that?” Before she could respond, he added with a chuckle, “What am I saying? Of course you can.”
Lance couldn’t help but be inspired by all the suggestions Miss Atherton had made.
St. Gabriel’s Mount had always seemed to him an ancient behemoth and crumbling burden that he was glad would never fall on his shoulders to maintain.
By a twist of fate, it had become his. He’d had very little time to get used to the idea of being its caretaker, but the prospect had seemed daunting. And most likely a losing battle.
