Camille shot her a wild look. "You'll leave it just like this, won't you? Mr. Hanniford won't make you cut down the flowers and put up giant rhododendrons and prickly roses, I hope."
"I doubt it. He likes this as it is. Although we will clear the path here from the house and build a secure terrace to have easy access to the arches."
"Superb! So it will be easy to waltz out here too. An orchestra inside in the—" She pointed toward the walled stones of the house. "What will that be? That room that fronts this view?"
"An orangerie with large French doors."
"So you could dance in there?"
"I suppose so, yes." She turned to the opening where the doors would go and she could see inside, Killian in an elegant swallowtail welcoming his guests and dancing with...me.
"The winds won't blow out the glass?" Camille asked, her knowledge of building and decor sound at her age.
"No. They will be double paned. Unusual but necessary. Sturdy to counter the seaward winds, but light enough to allow the brilliance of the view inside."
"Like a conservatory for the sea and the sun and the wild flowers of Sussex."
Liv laughed. "Come inside, my girl. You are waxing poetic."
"I must have venues, you know. Wonderful places for assignations."
Liv arched a brow at her. "Keep those venues in your imagination, my dear. Not in your experience for many years to come."
"I shall fall in love in an instant, Mama." Camille said it as if it were ordained. "You've always known it."
"Dear god. I do hope not. Rogues abound. I do hope you have the sense to wait to fall for a man who can complement you in energy as well as imagination."
Camille picked up her skirt and swished the fabric like a coquette. "He, whoever he is, must not be boring."
"Trust me. He won't be if he must keep up with you." She looped her arm through her daughter's. "Let's see the house."
Camille adored every inch of the place. She'd oo-ed and ahh-ed in the drawing room, sighed in the long gallery, pretended to play an imaginary piano in the small salon, twirled about in the orangerie like a debutante before she stood in awe in the massive kitchen. "Dear me, Mama! Who are we feeding in this cavern?"
"A large family will visit here, never forget. And there's room for all of them. They must be fed well."
"Oh, yes. I'd forgotten all of them who'd been to Remy's wedding." She trailed her hand along the wooden frame where the roasting fireplace would stand. "Two daughters, one unmarried, and one married to the Duke of Seton. They have one son."
"Remy's new wife is Mr. Hanniford's niece."
"And they have their son. Bertrand, is it?"
Liv nodded. “Rand, they call him.”
"And Mr. Hanniford has a son. Did I meet him at Remy's wedding?"
"You did," declared a rich bass voice.
Liv whirled around to see Pierce Hanniford grinning at her.
"Hello, Liv!" Pierce picked his way over piles of wooden wainscoting to take Liv by the shoulders and kiss her on both cheeks. "How are you?"
"I'm well," she said as she looked straight ahead into the silver fires of Killian's searching gaze.
"Camille, how wonderful." Pierce moved toward her daughter and left Liv facing the man she'd yearned to see again.
"Hello, Liv," Killian greeted her quietly. "How are you?"
"Well," she told him and then summoned the pluck for more of the truth. "Now that I see you, I am much better."
That transformed his impersonal gaze into a benevolent smile. "I'm very glad to hear it."
She wanted to abduct him, blurt out all her new resolutions. But his reticence and the fact that he’d brought Pierce with him, signaled now was not the best time. At a loss how to proceed, she tried for the mundane. "You're here for the day?"
"We took the nine-thirty excursion train from Victoria. Lucky we got a seat!"
"It's always crowded on Saturday."
"Half of London," said Pierce, "had climbed aboard."
Liv found her voice and her hope. "Today the weather means it is a wonderful day to be in Brighton."
"I remember," he said and his words mingled with the memory so that she fought tears in her eyes.
He fished a handkerchief from his waistcoat pocket and tucked it in her hand. "Don't cry, Liv. Everything will be fine."
She dabbed at her lashes. The lump in her throat was big as a boulder. "I want to tell you how sorry I am. For the argument. For everything. I’ve so much to explain.”
“I’m glad to hear that. We need time to heal old wounds. Let’s take it, shall we?”
This was the Killian she loved, the kind and gentle man. She beamed at him. “By all means. I'd like to walk you through the house."
"My dear, I saw the receipts yesterday at Roger's. You're spending me out of existence with your choices," he said on a chuckle, "so you'd better make this a grand tour."
"Oh!" She clutched the handkerchief to her chest, her brain suddenly mush. She was so overjoyed to see him. Handsome charming debonair Killian. "I've spent too much? But—but Roger said you told him I had the run of it. Up to—um—how much? I—I can't recall."
"Forty thousand pounds. Yes, I did say that."
"But now it's too much? Well, well. All right. All right." She put one hand to her chest, one to her temple. "I can cut back."
He grabbed her hand, the one against her chest and she could wager he felt how frantically her heart beat. "Don't you dare."
"No? I don't understand. If you want me to stop spending then I—"
"I was teasing you. I want you to have whatever you want, Liv. I don't care how much it costs."
She tipped her head. "I'm confused. What are you saying?"
He tucked her arm in his and patted her hand. "Just show me the house, Liv. Tell me how wonderful it will be to live here."
"Shall we go outside and start in?" she asked, her mind more calm, her words more practical when talking about architecture and design.
"Let's. We'll leave Pierce here to entertain Camille."
Liv glanced at the couple and shook her head. "I would say it seems the other way round."
"She is a delightful girl. I remember meeting her at Marianne and Remy's wedding."
"Thank you. I find her...effervescent. She fills me with pride. Her vivacity for life."
"I can see Pierce finds her amusing."
Killian's son and her daughter were laughing together.
"Camille will be coming out soon," he said.
"No. She'll turn sixteen in a week, but she won't have a debut." Liv rolled a shoulder, sensitive about this issue. "I cannot afford it. She doesn't expect it. Doesn't want it."
"I understand," he said. "Lily was married before she could have one, but she didn't want it anyway. Marianne was a widow and couldn't bear the idea of it in any case. And Ada flatly refuses. She finds it just as much fun to drive the men of the town crazy without adding the tensions of being presented at court."
"Wise of them. Camille says she'll learn more if she remains an observer of society rather than a participant."
"Oh, what does she observe?" he asked with a grin.
"She's a writer. Or an aspiring one."
"Bravo," he said as they made their way across the uncut lawn to the entrance of the house. "A poet, I would imagine."
"Mmm. She is dreamy. But no. Though she tells me she'll change, she puts her pen to gothic romances. Gloomy men in towers. Virginal young ladies in dire circumstances. They pine for each other. "
He had a wicked half smile to his lips. "Have you read her work?"
"I have. She's quite eloquent. One wonders how and when children learn what they do. She didn't decide to read anything until she was ten and then she read everything, even the labels on tins and store flyers. Most of it aloud, too. A few months ago, she told me she sent off one of her stories to a publisher in London."
He chuckled. "Any word yet?"
"Nothing. I don't expect any."
"Don't be too sure. Pierce made his first fortune at eighteen investing in a copper mining company in Colorado. No one else thought it had a chance. He did." He came to a stop before the porch at the entrance to the house and waved a hand above him. "The coach entrance?"
"Exactly. Larger than usual by a third to accommodate two traveling coaches pulling to the front door at the same time."
"Have you decided on the columns?"
"Doric. Simple. Orderly."
He swung around to view the green before them. "I like the escalation of the land. A plane. A welcoming court. And the drive curves around the main block to the carriage house and stables."
"And to the kitchen garden. I think your cook, whoever she is, will love the expanse. The entire plan for the landscape takes advantage of the serenity of the view."
"I liked the plan when Roger first showed it to me. I didn't want a castle on a hill, but a home nestled in its proper place."
She stared at him. He was not a king defending his realm by force. But a king of commerce with enough humility to display it in his style of a new home. "Did you hire Roger because of his reputation?"
He narrowed those piercing silver eyes at her. "I did. Not because you worked for him, Liv. If that's what you're really asking me. I had asked among my friends and acquaintances for recommendations for architects. I'm not in the habit of hiring people unless I'm impressed with their potential. And though I knew you worked with Roger, I planned to see you again whether or not you worked on my projects."
"Thank you. I had to ask."
"I understand."
"Shall we go in?"
"We should," she said, her hope to resolve their conflict growing more positive by the minute.
Stepping through the hollow of what would become the double doors into the foyer, they stood on the Italian cream and honeyed marble parquet tiles.
"As you can see if you stand here," she said and took his hand to lead him nearer to her, "you turn right to climb the grand staircase. Or if you wish to turn left you have a straight line of sight from the entrance through to the long gallery and large French doors leading to the outside terrace and the Dominican arches. Your view of the sea will be unobstructed. On a clear day, this will be a sweep to the sun and the water. With the doors open, I predict you'll hear the waves upon the shore."
She stood entranced by the prospect.
When she tore her attention to him, he was smiling down at her. "You hear them now?"
She nodded. "Even though it’s not high tide? I do."
"Show me the rest." He offered his arm again.
This time when she took it, she felt a rush of joy. He was here. He'd come to be with her, enjoy her company and he was not angry. He was not demanding explanations, but had come, she was certain now, to see if there was hope they might find a way forward into a future. At least as friends.
And if I am fortunate, perhaps more.
Chapter 18
“Splendid dinner," Killian told Liv two Saturdays later as the four sat in Liv's small dining room in her rented townhouse on the Marine Parade. "You are an excellent cook."
Killian would be discreet to say nothing of his previous visit here. Camille should not hear of her mother's brief affair, and Pierce gave no hints of it.
"It takes a delicate hand not to over-bake the fish," said Camille. "Mama is very quick to sauté them just right."
"And the cream cake is one I could have again," said Pierce with a grin.
"You could have another piece," Liv said.
"No, I could not!" Pierce said with a pat to his stomach.
"But now, it's time we washed the dishes," Killian said. "We don't want to miss the band."
Camille clasped her hands together. "The 16th Lancers. They're playing only from eight o'clock to ten."
Killian said, "Precisely. What do you say, Pierce?"
"But—" Liv objected. "My maid is here to do this."
"We created more work for her than she normally has," Killian said. "So, no. We'll help! No excuses. I said we've come to take you dancing on the promenade tonight and we will!"
Camille beamed at them. "Me, too, I hope."
Pierce feigned horror. "How could we possibly take a child like you?"
"Oh!" she squinted at him. "You don't think I can dance."
"Have they taught you to waltz at that school you go to?"
"I'll show you a step or two, you presumptuous man. Besides," Camille said and folded her arms, "if you don't take me along, I shall sneak out and find you. A total scandal. Then what will you do?"
Pierce spread his hand wide. "Haul you over my shoulder and bring you home."
"Mama," Camille pleaded, her lovely face an utter wreck. "Tell them I can come."
Liv grinned at her daughter. "I wouldn't dream of leaving you here."
"All right! That's settled," Killian said as he shoved back his chair. "Dishes! Now!"
For three Saturdays, he and Pierce had taken the early train down to Brighton. He'd asked his son to come along with him, intent on making the visits light-hearted affairs. Nonetheless, Liv had attempted to apologize in depth for her behavior, but he’d blocked her.
“I have my own explanations to offer, but I am not yet ready,” he’d declared.
“Why?” She frowned, insisting he tell her.
“I owe you as much—perhaps more—than you may think you owe me. I should have news soon. Until then, we’ll enjoy ourselves. Rekindle our friendship and our affections.” He’d offered her a consoling smile. “Soon, my darling. Soon.”
He'd broached no subjects other than the polite ones or those that pertained to the construction of his country house or his townhouses. Occasionally, he and Liv discussed the other project she supervised, that of the Lockern Foundation and their forty townhouses.
"I'm pleased with that commission," she'd told him earlier today. "I owe you my thanks for that recommendation."
"You earned that on merit. I would not have given any praise, if you and Roger didn't deserve it."
"I'm pleased at that, too," she said and squeezed his hand.
That and the easy way she looped her arm through his as they strolled along his landscape or the small city of Brighton were the only physical expressions of her growing ease with him. She didn't cast about when they were out along the Parade or in a restaurant. For whatever reasons, she was at ease with him. What Remy had told him of her youth and family had given him enough clues to the reasons she'd not wished to associate with him. He only hoped time and his love for her might salve the wound. Love could cure much, but not every wrong doing. He was old enough and wise enough to acknowledge the pain of that. But he had to try to bring her to him. If he had to wait years, he would.
This renewal of their friendship he hoped would be gradual, a mutual acceptance of what was inevitable. He loved her. And though she had not declared it, Killian could see in her words, her smiles that she cared for him. Although she had to come to the statement of it in her own good time, he worried that she could never love him enough to forgive the past and marry him.
Pierce was a fine companion for these trips. Jovial, joking with him, Pierce understood Killian's sorrow that Liv had rejected his proposal. So he was good enough to come along. Though today, he had not been keen to leave London. On the train, he'd confided that he'd called upon Elanna yesterday in her London townhouse.
"She's horribly unhappy," Pierce had told him. "No one receives her by herself. She's furious at the snub. Carbury's been up to London just this week again to barge in and demand she return home."
"It is his house and his wife," Killian said with foreboding in his heart. His intelligent son was obsessed with the young and foolish Countess of Carbury and could not stop himself from interfering. "And you can and should do nothing to irritate the situation."
"I know. I do know. She's like...a drug. I cannot stop. Nor can Phillip Leland. He was leaving as I arrived."
"Leland's constant attentions make matt
ers worse. Carbury already hates Leland and suspects him of 'criminal conversation'. If he becomes incensed and sues for divorce, he may include any other man he suspects on a list."
"Me?" Pierce turned beat red in fury. "Absurd. He knows I'm her friend."
"Leland probably says the same."
But Carbury was so incensed about his wife's spurning him, he would reject reasonable explanations. He could do anything. Anything at all.
Killian wished he could do more to distract his son from the web of the seductive countess. Warning him of disgrace had not seemed to be sufficient.
At least, Pierce was eager to come along to Brighton each Saturday and help him renew his friendship with Liv. He hadn't expected to fall in love. Not at his age. But he couldn't help the admiration he felt for Liv...or the desire. To learn that she was the daughter of the man whose livelihood he had ruined had shocked him. But it also resurrected in him a belief that on rare occasions in one's life it was possible to correct the harm one had done to another.
Killian prayed his efforts to make amends to Liv would not be in vain—and that she might come to love him and live with him as his wife.
"Shall we go?" Camille asked when they'd dried the last plate. "I'm ready and the band begins at eight o'clock on the stroke."
"Are you chilled?" Killian asked her as they found a spot on the terrace sheltered from the sea by the bandstand. "The air has turned colder."
"It will rain tomorrow, I think," she said and leaned against the wooden rail that enclosed the public dance floor.
"You can have my coat."
"I don't need it," she said, though she gathered her wool shawl around her throat. Turning aside to watch Camille and Pierce waltzing to the band's rendition of a Viennese tune, she found her voice and her logic. "They're very attuned to each other. Some couples never get the rhythm right."
"We could."
She took that opening to say her peace. Admiring the sharp, clean lines of his handsome face, she said, "We could. What remains is for me to tell you the real reason I refused you that day. Will you let me now?"
His mouth curved at one corner. Reaching out, he smoothed tendrils of her hair from her cheek. It was the most intimately he'd touched her since they'd parted in the Grand Hotel. "Please."
Sweet Siren: Those Notorious Americans, Book 3 Page 17
