A Figure of Love

by Minerva Spencer

  “I find my position suits me admirably, Mrs. Lombard.”

  Again she heard the hesitation before her name. She knew that Jessup, like her dead husband’s family, were unhappy that she refused to use her honorific. Serena allowed them all to believe her resistance to aristocratic titles was because of her French Republican upbringing, rather than the truth; a truth they could never know.

  She realized the butler was waiting for her answer. “I’m pleased to hear you are happy here, Jessup.” And she was. It was too bad he’d needed to leave his home of many years, but—as she knew all too well—everyone deserved a chance at a better life.

  Serena returned her cup and saucer to the massive tea tray. “Mr. Beech has asked me to work with him on the new gardens for Rushton Park.” Jessup knew what Serena did for a living. He’d worked for the Lombard family when she had first arrived in England almost ten years ago. He’d been there when Serena—after living her first year under the care of the duke and duchess, who were very kind to their youngest son’s foreign widow—had scandalized her new relations by moving to London to take up a position teaching art and sculpture at a girls’ school.

  Once again, her husband’s family blamed her mad French blood—but, thankfully, hadn’t tried to stop her—for taking her infant son from the comfort of Keeting Hall and moving them both to a town house with two other women teachers. It had been a difficult decision, but she did not regret it.

  “If you will permit me to say so, madam, I have seen your work, and it is quite lovely.”

  The Jessup of old would never have offered an unsolicited opinion. Perhaps working in a Whig household had given him a more egalitarian outlook.

  “Thank you, Jessup.” She stood and smoothed down the skirt of her dark green traveling costume. “I’m refreshed and eager to see Rushton Park. Would it be possible to take a stroll around the grounds?”

  “Of course, madam.”

  Serena opened the flap of the large leather satchel she was rarely without and took out her sketchpad.

  She smiled up at him. “I’m ready.”

  As he moved to open the door for her, Serena studied his familiar narrow form and black-clad shoulders and decided she was more pleased than she would have expected to find an old family ally and retainer. Of course she’d known Jessup worked for the reclusive Gareth Lockheart, but the man kept houses in London, Edinburgh, and Bristol. If she’d given the matter more than a passing thought, she would have assumed Lockheart kept the unparalleled butler in his London house, where it was rumored he spent most of his time.

  Jessup escorted her down a staircase wide enough to accommodate seven soldiers marching abreast and paused on the ground floor.

  “Shall I take you out through the orangery, madam?”

  “Yes, please. I didn’t see it from the drive, but I’ve seen it on Beech’s drawings.”

  The house resembled an Elizabethan “E” but with many modifications—some rather. . . unconventional.

  “How long have you been here, Jessup?”

  “I came down with Mr. Lockheart two days ago, madam. I have been at his London house but accompanied him here to see to some unfinished household matters.”

  Serena had never seen a house quite like it. It was a corps de logis, comprised of a central block with two wings that were three stories and curved to form a three-sided courtyard—or cour d'honneur—on each side of the central block.

  Either Lockheart or Beech must have been very fond of onion domes, as there were no fewer than five of them. The blinding white façade was festooned with multitudinous cusped arches, minaret-shaped finials, and vacant plinths waiting for statuary. The mishmash of Orientalism and Indo-Saracenic styles was so like the Royal Pavilion that she kept thinking she must have taken a wrong turn and ended up in Brighton.

  The interior lacked the chinoiserie so far as she had seen. Indeed, the décor was far less definite than the exterior and felt like the rather halfhearted result of a committee.

  The hall flooded with light and ahead was a wall of leaded glass.

  “My, how lovely,” Serena said as Jessup opened one of the massive double doors to the empty conservatory, which was without even a stick, plant, leaf, or crumb of dirt. “When was this finished?” She turned in a circle, gazing overhead at the spectacular glass walls and canopy.

  “Last spring, ma’am.”

  Serena couldn’t help thinking of the orangery at Keeting Hall, which was perhaps a quarter of this size and so choked with plants it had felt like a jungle. It might be old and crowded, its glass hazed and cracked, but it was alive. Which was more than she could say for this empty glass box. Beech had not mentioned the orangery, but Serena couldn’t help feeling a frisson of excitement as she imagined filling such a beautiful space with living things.

  Jessup opened one of the French doors and they stepped out into the cool spring sunshine. She turned to him. “I will walk the immediate area until Mr. Beech arrives.”

  The butler’s eyebrows arched.

  “What is it, Jessup?”

  “Mr. Beech is not expected until late afternoon, ma’am.”

  Serena frowned. “He told me it was to be a midday meeting. I have engaged the post chaise to return for me at four.”

  “Mr. Beech is to arrive at five o’clock and will stay the night.”

  Serena wanted to howl with frustration but it was hardly Jessup’s fault. “I’m afraid Mr. Beech neglected to inform me of either the correct time or duration of our meeting.” She sighed and glanced around her without seeing anything, her mind churning. The expensive journey out and back had been paid for by Mr. Lockheart, of course, so she was not concerned about that. But she had brought no change of clothing or any other items for an overnight stay. She also had not told Lady Winifred, her friend and housemate, that she would be gone overnight. And of course Oliver would be expecting to see her tomorrow morning.

  She looked up half a foot to meet Jessup’s impassive eyes and shrugged. “Well, Jessup, this is a bit of a muddle. I did not come prepared for an overnight stay, nor did I tell anyone I would be away that long.” She caught her lower lip between her teeth and worried it. “You know the way of things here, what do you advise?”

  His expression didn’t change, but his dark brown eyes glinted with approval at her calm reaction.

  “Mr. Lockheart is a gentleman who does not stay long in one place, ma’am. It is his plan to leave Rushton Park tomorrow. He will return to London for a few days but then I believe he is headed to the North. It may be some time before he returns to Rushton Park for another meeting.”

  That was his way of saying she should stay. “I see.”

  Jessup’s mouth opened a crack, but then he closed it.

  “What is it you are thinking? Don’t be shy.”

  “Do you need to be back in London tonight?”

  “No, but my son and the woman we live with will worry if I’m not back by this evening.”

  “If I could make arrangements to provide you with the items necessary for an overnight stay and send a message to reassure your friend and Master Oliver, would you have any objections to staying?”

  It was not ideal, but she knew this commission would be worth a great deal of money.

  “Thank you, Jessup, that would serve admirably.”

  “If you will excuse me, I will see to it. I will leave you to enjoy your walk and return for you in half an hour.”

  ***

  Gareth had the big rolls of plans for the new pottery spread out on the vast trestle table he’d had made for this exact purpose. He was examining it with a magnifying glass, studying the details for the massive kilns.

  He was so enrapt he nearly jumped out of his skin when a throat cleared behind him. He ignored his rapidly beating heart and sighed. “Yes, Jessup, what is it now?”

  “I am terribly sorry to disturb you, sir, but there appears to have been something of a misunderstanding.”


  Chapter Two

  Serena stared at the immense book-lined room. Three rooms linked together, actually. A library unlike anything she’d ever seen. Of course the entire property was singular, from the lush countryside that surrounded the gargantuan house, to the vast suite of rooms she’d been given for her brief stay. Rooms that were twice as large as any she could recall at Keeting Hall.

  Jessup had taken care of her as if she were a queen, sending one messenger speeding off to London and another all the way to Ayelford—the nearest town with a dress shop—to purchase a nightgown and dressing robe. These, as well as a selection of toiletries, combs, and brushes—all new—awaited her in her sumptuous chambers. Serena would have to wear her clothing to dinner and again tomorrow when she left, but Jessup told her Mr. Lockheart had been apprised of the matter and tonight’s dinner would be informal.

  All in all, she could not be unhappy to be staying an evening in such a house. The library alone was worth the inconvenience. Bookshelves began only a few inches off the floor and did not stop until the ceiling, which she believed to be at least fifteen feet high. The book ladder was precariously tall, and she could imagine herself scaling it and risking life and limb for the sake of a book.

  She was examining a rather exquisite set of six volumes of illuminated French poetry when the door opened behind her. She turned to find Sandy Featherstone, her deceased husband’s cousin, twice removed.

  “Hallo, Serena, Beech told me you’d agreed to come.” He came toward her with his arms outstretched and Serena submitted with resignation to his embrace. He was a sticky-handed man whom she had only ever tolerated because of his connection to the family.

  Serena stepped away when it became apparent he was not going to voluntarily release her. He eyed her in a way that made her jaw tighten, his small-fingered hands moving in their habitual hand-washing motions.

  “Hallo, Sandy.” Serena forced a smile. “So, it appears I have you to thank for this.” She made a gesture which encompassed everything around them.

  He grinned, the sight somewhat alarming as he seemed to have twice the normal complement of teeth. “It was nothing, my dear—merely family looking after family. Besides, I told Beech we had better snap you up before your fees became exorbitant.” He chortled, clearly tickled at the thought of such a thing happening.

  Serena’s smile became even stiffer. “Well, whatever the reason, I do appreciate it. I’ve just finished a series of small commissions and was at loose ends.”

  “What are cousins for, my dear?” He gestured toward a cluster of decanters sitting on a granite slab supported by massive gold lion’s feet. “Would you like a drink before dinner, Serena?” His hand trembled slightly, making it clear he would like a drink.

  “A glass of sherry, if you have it.”

  “Mr. Lockheart has everything.” He smirked and then turned to fix their drinks. “Oh, and I’m afraid I’ve got some rather disappointing news,” Sandy said over the sound of glass clinking against glass. “It seems Beech was delayed in London.”

  Serena closed the volume she’d taken down and replaced it on the shelf. Of course he was. It had been exactly that kind of day.

  Sandy came toward her with their drinks. “Not to worry, though. He sent his plans down and we can study them after dinner.”

  Serena perked up. That was actually better than having Beech here as she’d noticed the successful architect had a tendency to talk over-much about himself and his achievements. The two times she had met with him it had taken him more than a half hour before he could come to the point.

  Serena sat on a gilt settee that had been upholstered in a rather shocking chartreuse while Sandy took the chair closest to her, a gothic thing with dragons for armrests.

  “So, what have you been up to since we last saw one another—Lord!” He examined the ornately coffered ceiling, as if it might contain the information he sought. “Was that five years ago?”

  “Has it been that long?” But she knew it had. Sandy had done something to displease the duke and had not received an invitation to the famous house party the duke and duchess had every year around Christmas. She took a sip of excellent sherry and set down her glass on a side table that appeared to be a Sphinx.

  “Yes, Oliver was towing around that wooden horse, if I recall correctly. You were on holiday from the school.” He wore a sly smile, clearly amused by her method of supporting herself.

  Serena was surprised he remembered her son’s name. “The Stefani Academy closed last year.”

  “I’d heard that.” His pointy nose quivered, putting her in mind of a rat. “I’d also heard the woman who owned it was rather dodgy and hared off abruptly—almost as if there was something scandalous she wished to leave behind?”

  Serena felt a surge of distaste for both him and his characterization of her friend Portia Stefani. The school in question had been an oasis of friendship and security, and she sorely missed it. She changed the topic before she said something to Sandy she would regret.

  “I have had a series of commissions since then. Most notably a project for the Mannerings.

  “I heard about that, too—some rather ostentatious work on an undercroft in their private church.”

  It always amazed her how Sandy seemed to know everything that went on in ton circles, even though he was perpetually on the fringes of it.

  “And you, Sandy, how have you been occupying yourself?” Besides drinking and gambling, she could have added.

  “As you see.” He waved a hand in the air, his other hand holding the glass which already held just half of what it had only a moment earlier. Sandy had always had too much of a taste for spirits.

  “What exactly do you do for Mr. Lockheart?”

  “This and that. In truth, I am no more than a well-paid secretary, although he does not use me for his matters of business.” He smirked. “You might say I act as his wife, until he can buy one.”

  “Oh? Is he in that market?”

  He gave her a smile that made her feel dirty. “You sound interested, Cuz.”

  “I am quite happy as I am, Sandy.”

  His raised brows told her what he thought of that claim. “I selected many of his servants, furnished all his houses except the London townhouse, and advise him in his acquisition of art. Right now I am busy with his stables, which he wants to have ready for use by the fall.”

  Serena suddenly understood the hideous furnishings. “Mr. Lockheart hunts?” She could not recall hearing much about the man, other than he was rich and rather odd.

  “No.”

  The door opened before Sandy could explain, and their host entered the room. Serena was surprised—he was not only younger than she had expected, he was also elegantly dressed and strikingly handsome. Serena realized she’d given in to preconceived notions and had expected a brawny merchant or flashy cit.

  He crossed the long expanse of carpet and Sandy leapt to his feet to make introductions.

  “Mr. Lockheart, may I present Mrs. Lombard.”

  The tall, well-proportioned Adonis took her hand and made a perfunctory bow over it.

  “I am pleased to make your acquaintance, madam.” His eyes were slate gray and the most opaque Serena had ever seen, observing her without a hint of interest or any other emotion. His lips, sinfully lush and shapely, bore no trace of a smile.

  He was perhaps a head taller than she, his dark blond hair on the longish side. Like Sandy, he was dressed informally to accommodate her lack of evening dress, in a bottle-green coat, rich brown waistcoat, and buff pantaloons tucked into coffee-colored Hessians polished to a blinding shine. His snowy white neck cloth was tied with simple elegance; he wore a plain gold watch with no fobs at his waist. His clothing had been made by a master and tailored to fit his form as snuggly as a well-made glove.

  “Thank you for inviting me to Rushton Park, Mr. Lockheart.”

  He nodded abruptly and glanced at his watch, his sensuous mouth turnin
g down slightly at the corners. “There are still seventeen minutes until dinner.” He looked up, his gaze flickering over Serena’s untouched sherry to Sandy’s empty glass. “What are you having, Featherstone, I will refill it.”

  “Ah, thank you, sir. Brandy.”

  He took the glass without speaking and went to the sideboard.

  Sandy smiled at her and gave a slight shrug. So, her prospective employer was a gloriously handsome man who was also brusque and without social graces. Well, she had heard he was different.

  “I daresay Jessup has informed you Mr. Beech will not be here for dinner,” Sandy said, his flickering eyes proclaiming his discomfort with silence.

  “I received his plans by courier. We will proceed without him,” Lockheart said. “After dinner we will examine what he has drawn up.” His voice was as devoid of expression as his face. No irritation, regret, or anger at Beech’s absence. He returned to where they were seated and took a chair across from Serena after giving Sandy his drink. A double, if Serena was not mistaken.

  He fixed Serena with his rather unnerving cool gray stare and took a sip from his glass. His hands, like his person, were slim, elegant, and devoid of jewelry. Serena had expected the stereotype merchant, a beefy, bluff man in his later years. But Lockheart not only resembled a gentleman, he spoke like one, too. While his accent was not exactly aristocratic, it was refined and precise, definitely not that of a man said to have come from the stews of London. There was more here than met the eye.

  “I understand you inspected the property this afternoon, Mrs. Lombard.”

  “Nothing so thorough as an inspection, but I did wander as far as the stream and then along the small wood.”

  “And did you have any ideas?”

  Serena chuckled. “I always have ideas.” She smiled at him, but he only blinked calmly back at her. So, he was lacking in humor. She tried again. “My understanding was Mr. Beech would submit a general design and I would see to the details and statuary.”

  “It is true I have engaged Mr. Beech to create a plan. Have you designed and laid out gardens yourself?”