by Syrie James
“I was not criticizing,” he insisted. “I am delighted to see you out and about. Is the work going well?”
“It is, thank you. In a few days, I should have some preliminary drawings to show you.”
“Excellent.”
She felt the awkwardness between them easing a bit.
“A lovely day, is it not?” he commented.
“Magnificent.”
He hadn’t mentioned the proposal—Kathryn was relieved and grateful about that—and she certainly had no intention of bringing it up. In fact, he seemed to have put behind him the anger and mortification he’d felt that day, and instead was determined to make conversation. She was only too happy to follow suit. Anything she could do to help promote a good working relationship.
“This view,” Kathryn remarked, “is to die for.”
“To die for,” he echoed, his tone more contemplative now. “Such an interesting phrase.” He glanced at the pair of cannons beside them, then at the row of additional cannons that wrapped around the terrace deck. “It reminds me that men have actually risked their lives fighting to defend this island.”
“Have they? Were many battles fought here?”
“There were two famous sieges. The first in 1193, when the Mount was captured on behalf of Prince John in the reign of King Richard I. Another siege took place during the War of the Roses. The Mount held its own against six thousand troops for twenty-three weeks.”
“Impressive.”
“Thankfully, for the most part, St. Gabriel’s Mount has managed to ward off invaders with its threatening façade.”
“It is an imposing castle. It must have been a thrilling place to grow up.”
He considered that. “It was . . . unique, I suppose. But my brother was seven years older. He left for school when I was small. I wasn’t allowed to associate with the local children. I only saw my parents for an hour at tea. So whatever time wasn’t spent with my nanny or devoted to studies with my tutor, I was obliged to spend pretty much by myself.”
Katherine had heard similar reports from men of the upper classes. Her heart went out to him. “That must have been lonely.”
“I didn’t know any different.”
“My sisters and I were also left to ourselves a great deal,” Kathryn said, “but we had each other. What did you do with your free time? How did you entertain yourself?”
“Oh, many things. I built model ships, for one.”
“Model ships! What happened to them?”
“I don’t know. I suppose my brother threw them out.”
“What a shame.”
“They weren’t anything special. Just a youthful hobby. I spent the greater part of my time reading. I used to curl up in a window seat in the library and lose myself in the pages of a book every chance I got.”
“I did the same thing as child.” Kathryn tried to picture the duke as a young boy, reading, an image that made her smile. Suddenly an idea came to her. “Oh!” she cried.
“Is something wrong?” the duke asked, alarmed.
“No, something is very right. What you said just now . . . it made me realize what’s missing from my drawing of the castle stairwell. Window seats!”
“Window seats?”
“There are lovely mullioned windows on every landing of the main staircase, and the walls there are a good two feet deep. It’s the perfect spot to put built-in nooks that invite the eye, to hold Chinese vases or blooming orchids or a cushion to sit upon and read.”
“What a lovely idea. Add that to the list.”
“I will.” Grabbing her notepad and pencil from her skirt pocket, Kathryn jotted that down. Replacing the tiny book, she gave him a grin. “I’m a great reader myself. I noticed a copy of Ivanhoe on your bedside table that looked well-read.”
He looked surprised. “You were in my bedroom?”
Heat crept up Kathryn’s throat and cheeks. “I . . . was taking measurements for the plans,” she explained quickly. “I just happened to notice the book.”
“I see. Ivanhoe is one of my particular favorites.”
“Mine as well. Sir Walter Scott was a genius.”
“I agree.”
“He invented the version of Robin Hood that we enjoy today. My sisters and I spent much of our time playacting Robin Hood in our garden and the surrounding woods.”
“But Robin Hood is a boy’s story.”
“Not true. It is a universal tale about a legendary, heroic outlaw. Robin Hood is as much a girl’s story as a boy’s.”
“I stand corrected, Miss Atherton.” Lord Darcy grinned. “Which part did you play? Let me guess: the heroic outlaw.”
She laughed. “Lexie and Maddie and I were a very democratic group. We took turns playing Robin and Maid Marian, and brought all the other members of the merry band to life as well.”
“You and your sisters were unusual girls. And if they are anything like you, I’d guess they have grown up to be unusual women.”
“I can’t tell if that is a compliment or a criticism,” Kathryn said, eyes narrowing.
“It was meant a compliment.”
“Then I will accept it as such.”
“What did you say your sisters’ names are again?”
“Lexie, which is short for Alexandra. Maddie is short for Madeleine.”
“Do you have a nickname?”
“No. My mother couldn’t abide the name Katie or Kathy. So I have always just been Kathryn.”
“It’s a lovely name.” His gaze was warmth mingled with admiration, a look that made Kathryn’s heart beat more rapidly again.
The duke was so charming and reflective today. It occurred to her suddenly that the former sense of unease between them had dissipated, like the fluffy parachutes of a dandelion scattering on the breeze. She was immensely enjoying their chat.
“Do you know,” he said suddenly, “I haven’t thought about this in years, but I used to playact as well, as a child. On this very spot, in fact.”
“What did you play?”
“I was a knight laying down my life to defend the Mount. I would load and shoot off every one of these cannons.”
“I hope you always saved the day?”
“I did.” He laughed. The memory seemed to delight him. “I had another game as well. I was defending the Mount against pirates. They would climb up the walls and I’d fight them off single-handedly with a sword, mortally wounding the captain.” He enthusiastically mimed the action as he spoke, swinging an imaginary sword. “My skills and bravery so impressed the remaining band of pirates that they surrendered en masse and begged me to be their new captain.”
“Did you accept?”
“Of course. It is every boy’s dream, I think, to be a pirate captain.”
Kathryn laughed and was about to reply when a sudden gust blew up from the sea, rustling her skirts and tugging her hat from head. “Oh no!”
She and Lord Darcy tried to grab the hat in vain. Her spirits sank as she watched it fly into the airy void beyond the wall, then tumble over and over on the wind on its way out to sea.
“That’s gone.” Lord Darcy shook his head in dismay.
“Oh well.” Kathryn gave a shrug. “It was only a hat. Although, admittedly, it was one of my favorites.”
He turned to her and said gallantly, “I shall buy you a new one.”
“I couldn’t let you do that.”
“But you must.”
“I have other hats, Your Grace. I can replace that one when I return to London.”
“Miss Atherton. You lost your hat on my premises. Quite literally, on my watch. It is therefore my responsibility to replace it.”
He was so adamant, she couldn’t refuse. “If you insist.”
“I do insist. I further insist that we find a replacement at once. The tide has just gone out. Which gives us a three-hour window to cross the causeway. I imagine there must be at least one millinery shop in Rosquay.”
“That sounds nice, but I don’t have time to
go shopping, Lord Darcy. I have to get back to work.”
“The last time I checked, you were working for me. Isn’t that correct?”
“It is,” Kathryn acknowledged, wavering. She was so enjoying his company, she didn’t really want it to be over just yet.
“As your employer, I am making it a requirement of your contract that you take every Friday afternoon off.” He shot her a grin. “Beginning immediately.”
The causeway between St. Gabriel’s Mount and Rosquay appeared twice a day with the ebbing of the tide, revealing a wide stretch of golden sand bisected by a raised path made of small stones.
“I am intrigued to learn that you used to build model ships,” Miss Atherton commented as they strolled along the path to the mainland.
Lance was pleased that she had agreed to accompany him. It hadn’t been easy, approaching her on the terrace just now. But he had squelched his lingering embarrassment and hurt pride, determined to follow his grandmother’s advice. Talk to her, Lancelot. Listen to her. Find out what makes her tick.
So far, he appeared to be succeeding.
“I had a similar sort of hobby as a little girl,” Miss Atherton was saying, “except I built model houses out in the woods.”
“What kind of model houses?” Lance asked.
“I made them out of bark, twigs, stones, and moss. I added doors and windows, and furniture and accessories out of scraps of wood and acorn caps.”
“Who lived in these houses?”
“Fairies, of course.”
“Of course.” He glanced at her, admiring the way the sun glimmered on her golden hair. A wayward tendril had escaped its pins. He ached to reach over and brush it off her forehead, had to shove his hand in his pocket to restrain the impulse. “Is that what started you on the path to architecture? Fairy houses?”
“Maybe. In art lessons, when all the other girls were drawing landscapes or flowers or animals, I was always designing houses and other buildings, each one more elaborate than the last. My instructor thought me very odd. But I couldn’t help myself. Those were the images that filled my head.”
An image filled his head of Miss Atherton as a girl, sketching fantastic edifices. It made him smile. “I should love to see those drawings.”
“My mother burned them all.”
“She didn’t!”
“She did. She told me to stop drawing things that were so unladylike. Years later, when I told her that I wanted to be an architect and design real buildings, she was horrified. ‘It is unthinkable for an heiress to work,’ Mother said. ‘Moreover, architecture is a man’s profession. You are setting yourself up to fail.’”
Setting yourself up to fail. Lance had uttered almost identical words to Megowan when they’d discussed Miss Atherton.
Part of him wished that Miss Atherton could achieve the goals she sought. But despite all his grandmother’s comments about compromise and believing impossible things before breakfast, Lance still believed she was in for a world of disappointment. If she became his wife, however, she would have a new set of goals, a new purpose. Which would make it easier to accept the truth about the viability of this career she thought she wanted.
All Lance had to do was get her to choose him. To accept his hand the next time he asked.
“Perhaps there is some truth in what your mother said,” Lance pointed out carefully. “Men hold all the power in the world of architecture. It may take a miracle for them to admit a woman to their ranks.”
“Then I will pray for a miracle,” Miss Atherton responded. They had reached the mainland now and entered the village of Rosquay, which was lined with quaint shops and houses. She paused and gestured toward the King’s Head, an old pub across the street. “Tell me, Your Grace. When you look at that building, what do you see?”
Lance stopped and studied it. “A pub that serves excellent ale.”
She laughed. “I’m talking about the building. What do you observe?”
“It is whitewashed and half-timbered.”
“Anything else?”
“It has leaded glass windows. A sloping roof. I imagine it is very old.”
“An apt description. I expect that is what most people see.”
“Do you see it differently?” Lance asked, curious.
She nodded. “I see the foundation beneath the building that holds it up. And the skeleton beneath the plaster, the wood or brick that gives the building definition and shape. In my mind’s eye, I am taking it apart and seeing it rebuilt from the ground up.”
Lance nodded slowly. “Interesting.”
He held back a frown. It was becoming increasingly obvious that architecture was in this woman’s blood, and not something she would give up lightly. Well, the battle had just begun. He wasn’t going to give up lightly, either.
He spied a millinery shop just down the street, and pointed it out.
As they headed in that direction, she said, “Did you always aspire to go to sea?”
“No. I liked building models, but I had no aspirations, really. My father chose the Navy for me. I despised my first year of training school.”
“Why?”
“I was teased and bullied for being the son of a duke. A misery made worse by the untimely death of my parents.” He hadn’t planned to say that. It was a painful subject he’d never spoken of to anyone other than his brother.
“I’m so sorry.” She looked at him. “How did your parents die, if I may ask?”
He’d brought it up; he had no choice but to follow through. “They went on a world tour and died in India of cholera.”
“Oh! How awful. How old were you?”
“Fourteen.” A feeling of deep discomfort invaded Lance’s chest. He never talked about these things. He didn’t like talking about these things. But she seemed so interested. His grandmother had told him to open up to this woman. Lance forced himself to continue. “I was sitting in class on my training ship, listening to a lecture on nautical astronomy. My commander called me up on deck and informed me that my parents had passed away. ‘Keep a stiff upper lip, my dear chap,’ the old man said, clapping me on the back. ‘Shed a few tears if you must, then get over it. You’re in the Royal Navy now. You have a good life ahead of you, boy.’”
“That’s quite a speech.” Her eyes were full of empathy. “And after all this time, you remember every word of it.”
Lance shrugged, trying to shove the memory out of his mind. “It happened a long time ago.”
“But I suppose the pain doesn’t ever really go away. I can’t imagine how difficult that was for you. I am so sorry,” she offered again as they walked along.
Her gentle manner was a soothing balm to the ache that filled his chest.
“I had to accept it, or go mad. So I made my peace with it, and looked to the future. I soon changed my mind about the Navy,” he added, determined to return to a brighter subject. “I discovered that I not only tolerated my new life, I had actually fallen in love with it.”
“I’m glad you found an occupation you loved, Your Grace, and that you were able to enjoy it for so many years.”
He paused on the threshold of the millinery shop, turning to her.
“Yes. But we never know in what direction life will lead us, do we?” Here, he thought, was an opportunity to lay the groundwork for the new direction he hoped she might come to embrace. “As I have discovered, it is important to be open to the winds of change.”
She smiled. “I agree, Your Grace.”
He grinned in return. That went rather well. Pushing open the shop door, he said: “Let us buy you a hat, shall we?”
Chapter Twelve
The milliner didn’t carry the masculine-style hats that Kathryn favored, but she fell in love with a confection of yellow straw decorated with blue ribbons and flowers that Lord Darcy and the clerk both insisted was very becoming.
After making the purchase, Kathryn decided that as long as they had come all the way into Rosquay, she might as well put the time to go
od use. They called in at several other shops, where she spoke to various craftsmen and artisans about the upcoming renovations at St. Gabriel’s Mount, gathering paint and fabric samples that might prove useful.
Every shopkeeper and craftsman in Rosquay was pleased to see the duke and treated him with deference. If said townsfolk addressed her in a more aloof manner, or made it obvious that they didn’t want to deal with a woman, Kathryn took it in stride. She’d been dealing with this kind of prejudice for so long her response had become second nature. She simply talked their ears off until she wore them down and they begrudgingly came around to her way of thinking.
In one of the shop windows, Kathryn saw a poster advertising the upcoming Children’s Fête.
“Oh,” she told the duke. “I’ve been so focused on the castle renovations, I forgot all about your Children’s Fête. Have you made any plans in that regard?”
“Nary a one,” he admitted, looking sheepish.
“Well, time’s a-wasting. We had better get busy.” Passing a draper’s shop, Kathryn suggested, “Let’s stop in here and buy ribbons.”
“What for?”
“You cannot have a Children’s Fête without prize ribbons,” Kathryn explained again.
After buying rolls of red, blue, and yellow satin ribbon in the width required, they arranged with the postmaster to have them sent to a print shop in Plymouth, where they would be cut into prize lengths and stamped in white ink with the name and date of the event.
As they exited the post office, Kathryn found her gaze darting in the duke’s direction, finding pleasure in the simple act of being “out and about” with him, as he’d put it. She congratulated herself on having achieved her goal. All that frenzied attraction and marriage business was behind them. They could now concentrate on business business. They were just two people out walking together on a sunny day.
This theory was crushed to dust when Lord Darcy stopped and turned to face her so abruptly that she almost ran into him. “I appreciate your help with this,” he said quietly.
He was standing just a foot away. The warmth, gratitude, and depth of feeling in his eyes made Kathryn’s heart flutter. His attraction to her was as obvious as the nose on his face. A nose that was perfectly straight and as beautifully proportioned as the best noses on the Roman statues she so adored. It was suddenly difficult to breathe, much less formulate words.
