“Not until we are almost upon it. Though from the manor one has a commanding view of the surrounding countryside, from here the wood prevents one from being able to see to the hilltop.”
The carriage made a sharp turn to enter the drive. Will sucked in a breath, fending off the tug of memory and trying to see Brookwillow as his visitors must.
The tall brick wall that led away from the gatehouse into the woods, lichen-coated and missing most of its top course of bricks. The long-deserted gatehouse, its windows empty of glass and part of its roof fallen in. Only the drive, which received enough traffic to keep the grass beaten down, didn’t look the picture of neglect.
They passed fields that had once, he vaguely remembered from childhood, been planted with gently waving rows of wheat, now grown up in weeds and bracken. As they climbed steadily upward, the tenant farms they skirted looked in better shape, with kitchen gardens neatly tended and new thatch on the roofs, the latter courtesy of a run of good luck he’d had at the tables in the early fall.
“The farms appear in good heart,” Mrs. Randall said.
“I believe the land is quite fertile,” he replied. “Not that I know much about agriculture.”
Before she could answer him, the carriage crested the rise and suddenly, across an untidy meadow which had once been an expanse of parkland, he saw in the distance the stone and half-timbered manor house, the myriad panes of its mullioned windows winking in the sun as if waving a greeting. Despite the trial to come, a wave of affection swept through Will.
“How charming the house is!” Allegra exclaimed.
“You’ll probably not find it so charming once you see how handily the rain penetrates the dining-room roof,” he replied, the need to squelch his pleasure at her compliment making his tone sharper than he’d intended. “Though you mustn’t fault the caretakers. Mr. and Mrs. Phillips have done all one could expect with what little funds were available to prevent the whole place from falling into ruin. They will have marshaled all their resources to provide as comfortable a reception for you as possible, so I beg you will not hold them responsible for Brookwillow’s deficiencies.”
Though Mrs. Randall looked a bit uneasy after that daunting speech, Allegra replied, “I am sure whatever they have arranged will be delightful.”
Recalling the Adamesque elegance of Lynton House, Will wasn’t so sure. The churning in his gut intensified and suddenly he regretted the crackbrained idea of inviting her here, exposing Brookwillow to her discerning eyes in all its shabbiness. He thought of the humble accommodations in the kitchen and the small parlor, the only rooms still in good enough repair to receive guests, the formal rooms beyond having been long since shut up, their hangings in tatters, their wall coverings spotted with damp. Anger and embarrassment flushing his face, he had the crazy desire to order the barouche to turn around immediately and head back to Hemley.
Taking a deep breath, he resisted the impulse. By now he ought to have squelched the pathetic desire to have her think well of him. The whole reason he’d brought her here was to let her see the worst, to give her such a distaste for him she’d have no desire even to remain his friend. And should Allegra be too loyal to cast him off, surely after viewing his crumbling estate, Mrs. Randall would be affronted enough at his audacity in calling himself a gentleman of property to deny him the house.
Which was just what he wanted, wasn’t it?
Maybe not what he wanted, he conceded. But since it was certainly what he needed, he silently vowed to master his cowardly reluctance and finish the business.
A few minutes later, the carriage passed the unused front entrance and pulled into the kitchen yard. A surge of gladness momentarily escaped his inner turmoil when, in a barking of dogs and banging of doors, Mr. and Mrs. Phillips emerged from the kitchen wing to greet them.
As soon as the carriage halted, Will leapt out. Wrinkled face wreathed in a smile, Phillips gave Will’s hand a hearty shake while Mrs. Phillips captured him in a hug. “’Tis wondrous good to see you, Master Will!” she exclaimed. “Ye’ve been gone from home too long.”
“’Tis good to be back,” Will replied, surprised to realize he meant it, regardless of his reasons for returning. “Now, let me present my guests.” He turned to assist the ladies from the barouche.
“I trust you can find a dry seat for the ladies and some meat and cheese to offer them,” Will said to Mrs. Phillips after the brief introductions.
“Well, of course I can,” she answered, giving him an indignant look before turning to his guests. “Ladies, you follow me out of this wind and we’ll have you snug in the parlor in a trice! There’s some good sharp cheese, meat pies and some of your favorite apple tarts, Master Will. By the looks of ye, you’ve need of some fattening. Just like when you was a lad. Gobbled up as many pies as I could make, he always did!”
Will followed them in, his expression grim. As she gazed around the room, Mrs. Randall, widow and daughter of a gentleman, began to look properly appalled at realizing she was being received in what was clearly the servants’ kitchen. Allegra merely looked thoughtful, but soon enough, Will thought, she too would progress from surprise to indignation. Feeling defensive in spite of himself, Will set his jaw.
Mrs. Randall rallied somewhat once Mrs. Phillips seated her on the divan in front of the cozy fire in the small adjoining parlor. Once the private domain of the butler and housekeeper, the Phillipses had converted the place into a sort of reception room for Will’s use after it had become necessary to close up the rest of the house. Allegra’s chaperone brightened further after Phillips entered bearing a tray loaded with cups, saucers, and covered dishes from which emanated the savory scent of warm meat pies and freshly baked apple tarts.
“You mean to stay a few days, Master Will?” Phillips asked. “The tenants was asking if ye’d be by to see ’em. ’Tis about time to start the spring planting.”
“Yes, I’ll be here a day or so while the ladies pay a visit in Hemley before I escort them back to London. Mrs. Randall, your friend is expecting you later this afternoon? Once you finish your tea, I can show you ladies about the house. A tour that, if we are prudent, I believe can be accomplished without either of you coming to harm on a rotting floorboard or a crumbled stair rail.”
Mrs. Phillips gave him a distressed look. “’Tis not much to see in there, Master Will. We closed it up tight like you ordered, moved the furniture out of the rooms where the roof leaks and put it under Holland covers, but there hasn’t been nothing repaired since your last visit. The ladies be more comfortable staying here in the parlor. I can brew up another pot of tea and bring in some more apple tarts afore you drive back to Hemley.”
Mrs. Randall, whose eyes had widened in alarm at Will’s description of exploring the house, nodded vigorously. “If you don’t mind, I should prefer to stay here and have another cup of tea, my lord.”
“Having spent so much time cooped up in a carriage, I’m ready for a walk,” Allegra said. “I would very much like to see the house and tour the grounds, too, if that wouldn’t be too much of an imposition, Lord Tavener.”
“The late Lady Tavener’s flower beds aren’t what they used to be, but the kitchen gardens be just as she planted them and the prospect from there is still fine,” Mrs. Phillips interposed.
“Then if you are ready, my lord?” Allegra said, setting down her cup and reaching for her cloak.
Torn by a divisive mix of eagerness to be alone with her and humiliation at the prospect of displaying his disintegrating home, Will said, only a touch of irony in his voice, “’Twill be my pleasure.”
It was a testament to how rattled Mrs. Randall had been by her unorthodox reception that she didn’t think to ask for a maid to serve as Allegra’s chaperone. That, or she figured the prospect of rotting floorboards and crumbling banisters would inhibit him from attempting to ravish her charge, Will thought acidly.
Silently he led Allegra from the warm parlor up a set of cold, narrow stairs to the first floor
. “Behold the gate to my castle,” he said, waving toward the entry.
She gave him a slight smile, her dark eyes doubtless taking in every detail of the dust-dulled marble floor, the wide oaken entry door and scarred wooden stairs draped with cobwebs that drifted down from the mullioned ceiling like ghostly scarves.
Best get this over with quickly, he told himself. Gritting his teeth, he seized her elbow and steered her to the doorway of the front parlor, its furniture muffled under heavy cotton covers, then to the mausoleum of a library with its linen-shrouded shelves, then back to the dining room and two reception rooms beyond it, all three barren of furniture, their faded wall hangings streaked with water marks and darkened by mold.
Glad now for Mrs. Randall’s lapse in decorum, as he wasn’t sure he could stand exposing himself any further, he said brusquely, “Since we have no chaperone, Miss Antinori, I won’t suggest touring the rest of this floor or the bedchambers above—which for the most part are in the same condition as the rooms you’ve already seen.” Amazing, he thought, how much of a curb humiliation was to the appetite, for he’d been able to link “Miss Antinori” and “bedchamber” within the same sentence without the least stirring of lust. “We can exit to the garden here.”
Unable to bear looking at her face and seeing the distaste he knew must be reflected in her eyes, he took her arm again, escorting her outside and down the stairs from the back parlor toward the overgrown remains of his mother’s flower garden. Allegra continued to walk silently beside him, doubtless too appalled by his ruin of a home to speak.
By now his chest hurt and he was breathing as hard as if he’d run a race. He’d never imagined it would be this painful to so baldly expose his poverty. He was surprised Allegra hadn’t already drawn away from him in revulsion, begging to return to Mrs. Randall and the carriage that would transport her back to a household redolent of polished wood, shiny brass and pristine paint instead of mildew and rot.
Then she stopped, but instead of voicing a request to leave immediately, she ran her fingers through the silver-green needles of an overgrown rosemary bush in the garden bed beside them. “How clever the design is, alternating green, silver and blue-leaved plants,” she observed. “The garden needs just a bit of care to set it to rights again.”
“It was lovely indeed in my mother’s day. Like everything else here, it’s fallen into ruin from neglect and lack of funds,” he replied, unable to keep the bitterness from his voice.
“But the garden, like the manor house, is basically well-designed and sound. Oh, ’tis true the roof needs work, but once that is repaired, one need only strip off the ruined wall coverings in the back rooms and apply new paper or paint. With some cleaning and polishing, that oak and marble entryway would be splendid! The wood carving of the ceiling is both unique and beautiful. No wonder you love Brookwillow so much, my lord.”
Having braced himself to hear mockery in her voice, the sincerity of her tone surprised him so much he forgot his resolve not to look at her. Astoundingly, he found her expression to be as earnest as her voice.
“You find Brookwillow…beautiful?” he repeated incredulously.
“It certainly could be! If I were you, I should not be able to resist beginning its restoration immediately, even before I wed my heiress. There’s plenty of timber in the woods and surely a carpenter from the village could be hired for a modest fee, or perhaps the tenants might help out for a reduction in their rents. And the view from here! I can’t imagine how you ever make yourself go back to the fog and smoke of London.”
“But the house is practically a ruin!”
Chuckling, she took his arm and tugged him into motion. “You should have seen some of the lodgings we rented when traveling with Papa! Mama always said one mustn’t focus on how something appears at the moment, but rather imagine what it might become. And a restored Brookwillow could be magnificent.”
He stared down at her face, glowing with genuine admiration. She wasn’t just making polite conversation to salvage his pride. She really believed what she was saying.
His anger and humiliation faded away while something hard and cold deep within him melted in the warmth of her enthusiasm. He wanted to seize her in his arms and swing her around until she was dizzy.
Though he’d brought her here to reject him, now he wanted to hug her and never let go. It was all too easy to picture her here, her dark hair protected by a scarf, an apron over her gown, tackling every problem with her mother’s cheerful and pragmatic efficiency.
With difficulty he reined in his wildly exuberant imagining. She might make a wonderful mistress for Brookwillow, but he mustn’t forget that what she wanted was Lynton, not an invitation to help him restore his musty estate. Lest he lose sight of that fact, he’d better get her safely back to Mrs. Randall before he did something they would both regret.
To keep himself focused on that point, as he steered her out of the garden toward the kitchen, he said, “What did Lynton say about today’s expedition?”
“Mrs. Randall only told him we were going to see her friend. He doesn’t know yet that you escorted us.”
“Ah, so the fireworks will happen later.”
“I can’t predict whether he will be furious—or indifferent,” she said with a sigh. “Usually he seems to be more disapproving than jealous. But when I stay meekly at home, he doesn’t intervene at all. I’m beginning to think he truly doesn’t want me and never will.”
Though he didn’t really want to know, Will felt compelled to ask, “Do you love him?”
“I can scarcely remember a time when I didn’t adore him or seek his approval. He’s been my image of the parfait, gentil knight since I was a child. But except for keeping me from you, he seems more interested in foisting me on someone else than in claiming me himself.”
Though that was precisely Will’s impression, he couldn’t bear the sadness that clouded her eyes as she confessed that conclusion. Even as he damned himself as an idiot for encouraging her hopes of wedding someone else—a hope he believed vain, to boot—he replied, “Most likely he’s being noble, wanting to give you time to meet other gentlemen and make your own choice.”
She rallied herself to smile. “I suppose when we get home and he learns you escorted us, we shall see.”
“Even if Lynton doesn’t offer for you,” Will made himself point out, “I doubt you’ll lack for admirers, despite Lady Lynton’s efforts to discredit you.”
She shrugged. “I’ve not met any other gentleman who so excited my admiration that I would willingly endure life in the ton to marry him. Indeed, every day I understand better why my mother chose to leave society and follow the man she loved. If…if Rob cannot return my affection, I think I shall quit London and use my inheritance to purchase a small country estate.
“Like Brookwillow,” she continued, pirouetting as she gestured toward the house, barns, fields and woods. “I’ll plant a fine garden like this one. Raise chickens,” she added with a smile, skirting a squawking cluster of hens that had escaped the poultry yard to approach them, perhaps hopeful they carried a handful of grain.
“A lady who’d rather raise chickens than spend a ton husband’s blunt—amazing!” he said, admiration for her courage and independence resonating under the teasing tone. “I’m sure you’d make an excellent estate manager. Though I trust you’ll purchase one in better repair.”
She pressed his arm to halt him and turned her intent gaze up to his. “You mustn’t despair! In the very timbre of your voice when you speak of it, one can hear how much you love Brookwillow. Somehow you will find the means to restore it.”
She raised her hand and for a heart-stopping instant, Will thought she meant to stroke his face. Breath catching in his throat, he closed his eyes, every nerve alive with eagerness. Instead, he heard the small rustle of her gown as she let her hand fall back to her side.
He opened his eyes to see her curling her fingers into a fist—resisting the urge to touch him, perhaps?
“I think your lessons have progressed to the point where you may apply yourself more assiduously to finding that heiress,” she said, avoiding his gaze. “We should start back to the village before the dusk is upon us. Thank you for bringing me. I understand better now why you decided to endure the shallowness of the ton in order to find the means to return Brookwillow to its former glory.” Letting go his arm, she walked toward the kitchen entrance.
Allegra might want Lynton, but in this moment Will realized the only woman he wanted and would ever want, the lady who held his whole heart, was Allegra Antinori.
How could he settle for an infusion of money from an heiress for whom he felt only a tepid attachment? Without a loving, vibrant presence at its heart, even a restored Brookwillow would be more hollow facade than haven.
Wasn’t there some way he could make Allegra his?
Excitement swelled Will’s chest as the reckless, irresistible idea formed in his mind, perhaps propelled, as he would tell himself later, by the maddening frustration of sitting across from her all day long while being unable to touch or kiss her.
Without allowing himself time to think, he sped after her and seized her arm, forcing her to a halt. “Do you really wish to goad Lynton into deciding whether or not he wants you?”
Surprised, she looked up at him. “Goad him? What do you mean?”
In the dusty kitchen yard with the dogs milling about, Will dropped to one knee and took her hand. “Allegra Antinori, you’ve intrigued me since the moment I saw you. Though I’ve nothing but a ravaged estate to offer, would you do me the honor of marrying me?”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
ALLEGRA STARED DOWN at him, shock on her face. “Are you mad?”
Her fingers, which Will retained in a light grip, trembled in his. Tightening his hold, he grinned at her. “Probably. But you must admit, my offering for your hand should propel Lynton into making a counteroffer, if he ever intends to. Don’t you agree?”
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