Her Beguiling Butler
Page 16
“Here we are.” He turned the horse from the shady lane into the pebbled drive leading straight up to a stone façade, a structure that was more hulk, more skeleton, than house.
In size, it was or once had been a manse. In color, it was lovely buttery stone. In style, what was left of the original on one wing, spoke of Restoration and early Georgian. The windows, those that remained, were Palladian. One large stained glass window stood near the top center. She guessed that piece came from some medieval structure that the family had preserved.
And in the yard, by the mews, in front of the stone front and up in the wooden scaffolds stood dozens of men. Hammering, hoisting huge posts, yelling to each other as they positioned and fitted one beam to another. They looked like bees, busy at their work. And she put a hand to her throat where joy burst upon her and brought a rush of tears to burn at the back of her eyes.
Yet she did not cry from sadness.
No.
She saw the house as it might be inside, full of sunlight from the half-moons of the Palladian windows, sparkling with white marble or pink or black, embellished with tromp l’oeil scenery of lovers walking through gardens. She envisioned the outside with a fountain near the entrance, water tinkling in gay welcome to those who lived here every day. She saw the trees trimmed, the bushes cut, and to the right a rose garden. She could close her eyes and smell the fragrance of them.
“You see it as it should be,” he said to her.
The curricle had stopped. They sat before the main entrance, pale stones arched like a bower but without a roof.
She found his gaze and smiled at him. “I do.”
He got out and came round to help her down. “Let’s walk through it, shall we?”
Her awe grew. And so did her visions of what the house might become. It was foolish, it might even be childish, but she allowed her heart to fantasize.
They did not speak. She was content at that. She merely wanted to walk the floor, note the rays of sun as they marked the wood and marble. Though he did not tell her what room this was or had been, she saw the potential of what the place might become. The hall here, the saloon there, the family drawing room here. The kitchen at the back but close to the dining room. And above—she stopped to gaze up to the rafters where the master bedroom suite might be—she noted how massive but cozy the mansion would be.
He walked her out to the terrace which faced a withered maze. She saw it as it should be, with dark greenery and shaped topiaries, garden seats and children romping along the path.
He faced her. “It took me months to begin the restoration. The weather was so awful, no mason or carpenter would think of working in the climate.”
“Still in all, you have been busy.”
He took her hands and studied them. “I asked my uncle and aunt to hold this party despite the court mourning period. They agreed because they knew my intent. I meant to show you this.”
How her heart swelled to hear that. “Thank you. It is quite lovely. And will become even moreso.”
“I know you have not begun any restoration of the Bentham house.”
She shook her head. “I did not yet have an inspiration to begin.”
“I hoped that was the case.” He stepped closer to her. “Alicia, I want you to know that I knew Jerome.”
She gazed at him in a new and startling light. So her inkling had been a sound premonition. “How?”
“We were together in the Army for more than four years. He was an excellent officer and his loss to the regiment was a tragedy.”
She could tell he had more to say. “I loved him. Miss him. He was my protector.”
“Yes.” Finn curled his arms around her waist. “In many ways, he wanted to save you from disaster.”
“How do you know?”
“He spoke to me of you often. I think I knew who you were from his tales. How you played toy soldiers with him and even took up fencing so that you could test him.”
She laughed. “That’s true. He was tolerant of his nagging little sister.”
“Darling,” Finn said and locked his gaze on hers, “I was with him when he died.”
She could not move.
“He was quite brave about it.”
“Tell me how—“
Finn shook his head once. “No. I will say that twelve-pounder does terrible damage to a man’s body. But Jerome’s mind was with him before he went. Very much so.”
“What did he say?”
“He made me promise I would ask for your hand in marriage.”
Her mouth fell open.
“He wanted me to return to London and propose to your father.”
“You were the man who asked for my hand,” she said, in awe.
He swallowed. “I was.”
“My father rejected you.” Oh, the years that had been wasted.
“He did. He wanted Ranford for you.”
“He wanted the prestige, the social connection and—“
“That is the past. Over. Done. And had he accepted my proposal, you and I would not have the equal of what we might have otherwise.”
She searched his enchanting eyes. “What do you mean?”
He turned her toward the house and with two fingers, circumscribed the perimeters of the mansion. “I hope to show you the fullness of what we can be together.”
Her heart took rapid flight. She nodded. “Do. Please.”
“My dear woman,” he whispered as he kissed her ear, “I wonder if I might interest you in a different house?”
She could not speak for the delirious expectation rushing through her blood.
He squeezed her hand. “I’m glad the workmen could not begin sooner. It gives me a chance to show you what it might become. In flux as it is, the house could be anything you want.”
Anything I want.
“Alicia, I’ve never lived in a house built on love. But I’d like to build this one into a home with you.” He searched her eyes. “I love you, darling. I have from the first minute I saw you and I was to be your servant, your underling, unworthy of your consideration. But somehow you saw past that. You are visionary, darling. And yes, I love you. Impetuous, impatient you. I love you and I want to live my life with you here. If you’ll have me, I promise to be prompt with my answers, tender in my devotion and easy to love. Will you marry me?”
She swallowed hard and hugged him, then threw back her head to grin at him. “Could you doubt it?”
His brows shot high. “Yes, actually, I could.”
She kissed him quickly, madly, her hands in his hair. “Might I choose the architect?”
“I hope so.”
“The furniture?”
“Please do.”
“The paint? The rugs. The sconces.”
“Wallpaper from Macao. You’ll like it. I ordered it down from my warehouse in London yesterday.”
She licked her lips. “Marvelous. Gas light, too, I think, don’t you?”
He chuckled and picked her up and swung her around. “Light the place up. Do it, please, with the best so as not to burn it down again.”
“No. Never. And running water. Drains. Cisterns on the roof for every bathing room.”
“A large porcelain tub for the master suite,” he said with hot intent in his gaze.
She kissed him again. And whirled around toward the garden. “I see the roses over there.”
He settled her back against him and nuzzled the curve of her throat.
“And a conservatory for flowers in the winter.”
He pressed her against him, and his desire rose, apparent to her so that she grew light headed in his embrace. “I love you.”
“And do you consider my proposal a good one?”
“I do.” She flung her arms around him and rose on her toes. “My Finn, Finnley, Wallace, Beaumont. My lover. My husband.”
He kissed her then as if she were made of glass and then as if she were made of molten iron
.
She giggled. “Might you have a license?”
“I can have the footman run to acquire one this very afternoon.”
She surged close to him and whispered, “I want to marry you soon. Tomorrow.”
He chuckled. “I will arrange that.”
“We could have Lady Snaggle and Lord Lullaby witness the event.”
He roared in laughter. “Snaggle and Lullaby?”
She was sheepish at her criticism. “I shouldn’t.”
“But you are with me and when you are, you must be natural. Spontaneous.”
“I promise.” She kissed him again, delirious with happiness. “And so must you be with me.”
“Always.”
She snuggled close to him, her head against his massive chest listening to his drumming heartbeat. But then she pulled back to grin at him. “When do you think the house might be ready for us?”
“As quickly as you make up your mind about décor,” he said.
“Hmm. Yes, because such a large house will require a number of excellent servants.”
He stared at her. “Bring yours.”
“I could. They are excellent and will need employment. But sadly—“ She toyed with a button on his waistcoat.
He barked in laughter. “What?”
“We’ll need a butler. Do you know of anyone we might hire?”
He pressed her to the wall, a hand braced above her and kissed her with a passion she had so long missed. “No.”
THE END
His Tempting Governess, Book 2
Delightful Doings in Dudley Crescent
At Number 18, Baldwin Summers, the Earl of Cartwell, deals with three problems in his house. At thirty-six, he’s changed. He recently pensioned off his two mistresses. He’s tired of gambling as well. He’s won land and houses and fortunes far too often, and to be frank, the thrill is gone. He’s oddly enticed now by the lure of managing them.
Then too, he’s had thrust upon him quite suddenly his best friend’s eight-year-old daughter. The child is a terror and needs a firm hand. With no idea how to mold her into a socially acceptable creature, he hires a governess.
However, that woman presents his most pressing problem. She enchants his ward. But she’s beguiling him as well. And it’s a wonder because she’s so very…odd. She recites Latin like Cicero, defeats him every time at chess—and dances. Nightly. In his drawing room. Alone.
He cannot ignore her. He cannot control her. Worse, he cannot quell his mad desire to kiss her.
But can he offend the ton and do what he really wants?
Can he make her more than his governess?
And would such a bluestocking deign to become his countess?
Coming soon afterward~
His Naughty Maid, Book 3
Delightful Doings in Dudley Crescent
A Note to Readers about Dudley Crescent!
Dear Readers,
You won’t find Dudley Crescent on any London map. The place, the delightful doings are only in my mind. For those perambulations, I do hope you return for more and more. And if you wish to see how I make my historical novels accurate—and more intriguing than your old high school history class, do visit my blog where I give you tidbits about my travels and my research into fashion and food, real life to-die-for heroes of old and ladies worthy of passionate lovers!
Happy adventures in reading,
Cerise
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HER BEGUILING BUTLER,
Delightful Doings in Dudley Crescent, Book #1
by Cerise DeLand
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Novels by CERISE DELAND
ABOUT CERISE DELAND