by Rosie Wynter
“You are the architect then?” Claire asked, her mind beginning to fit the puzzle pieces together.
“Indeed he is, though he also likes to take on the actual building work himself half the time. I have never met another architect who prefers lugging bricks to drawing designs. I swear this man spends more time chipping and laying stone in the hot sun than he does indoors, sketching and designing.”
“You only complain because you wish I would come out and shoot with you more. I am telling you though, you will be glad of the extra attention I put into my work.” The man turned his attention back to Claire then. “Regardless, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Curtis. I look forward to knowing you better hereafter. But, I imagine there are others you are keener to greet.”
The earl nodded in the direction of the others, and Claire remembered her sister. She turned and smiled at Grace, her eyes moving to the flowing lines of her Empire gown, which betrayed no hint of the impending happy event. A warm flutter came to Claire’s heart as she gazed at her beautiful older sister. She felt an enormous sense of pride to see her sister looking so content and happy.
Claire’s feet began to move toward Grace, her steps slow, almost reverent.
“I’m glad that fall took the wind out of your sails,” Grace joked. “I could not handle your running into my arms and squeezing me to death like you used to.”
Claire blushed, only realising at that moment how dangerous it might have been to tackle her sister. “I won’t deny I was quite excited to see you so. If I promise to be gentle… do I still get to hug you now?”
“Of course,” Grace said, opening her arms to her younger sister.
Claire walked into her sister’s arms with a degree of hesitation. A smile crept over her face as she felt the curious sensation of hardness as Grace pressed up against her. Held like this by her closest family, Claire felt confident she was due better times ahead.
Even if Holdenwood Manor were a grim prospect, she would make do for the sake of enjoying her sister’s company.
Chapter 2
“Well, my dear, you managed to cause quite a stir.” Grace wore a smug smile as she closed the door to the guest bedroom. She moved to the bed and sat down, a slight glimpse of relief on her features, as she took the weight off her feet.
“I am quite sure I wouldn’t have done myself too grievous an injury if I had fallen onto the cobbles. Though I am rather impressed by your friend. The earl was able to catch me up so quickly!”
The smile on Grace’s face spread, and she gave a slow nod in response.
“What? Do not give me that amused smirk…”
“Was I giving such a smirk?” Grace asked, her voice flecked with a faux-innocent tone.
“Yes, you were. I do not see why. Am I not allowed to compliment a man without you reading something into it?”
“Oh yes. You so rarely pass any praise on to a man, that I have no choice but to read into it for my own amusement.”
“Marriage has made you cynical,” Claire scolded, unable to keep a straight face.
“Not at all. I am only trying to get all the negative emotions out of my system before my little one comes into the world.” Grace’s face took on a dreamy expression.
Claire had thought to begin unpacking her valise, but her desire to enjoy her sister’s company was too overpowering. She sat down on the bed by Grace’s side and rested her head on her shoulder.
“I will own that Lord Dalton’s assistance was most stirring. It is not every day I get to feel caught up in such a powerful grip.” Both women giggled a little at Claire’s shocking admission. After a moment of laughter, Claire’s expression turned serious once more.
“I will not be so foolish as to let my heart run wild with hopes for the earl until I know his full character.”
“Well, I can assure you from my own observances that Lord Dalton is the best of men. He wields nobility as a poet wields the pen. In temper and conversation, he is the perfect gentleman.”
“Does he read?” Claire pursed her lips as she noticed the extra second of time it took for her sister to answer.
“I have seen him perusing the shelves in our library during our stay. I cannot comment on the nature and scope of his reading, but I have seen him with a book from time to time.”
“Then you would not call him a great reader? He has never looked to engage you in talks on literature: Shakespeare, or the romantic poets of our age?” Claire lowered her head and began to study her nails.
“No, never.” Grace took Claire’s hand and looked her sister in the eyes. “You must allow for a man to be less versed in literature than you are. Lord Dalton is an architect and has to dedicate a good amount of his day to his craft.”
“I can accept that a man’s employment keeps him from immersing himself in works of art and words as fully as I do. Still, it is not unreasonable for me to expect a man to share in my passions. How can a gentleman know how to woo, unless he first studies and contemplates the great romances?”
“You make it sound as if love can be distilled down to a science. From my own experience, a man can understand the steps of romance and still be a cad and a rogue.”
“Oh, indeed,” Claire agreed. “I did not mean to imply that artful words and pleasing gestures alone are the measure of a man. Still, it is not unreasonable to expect a real gentleman to bother to learn such steps. A man who cannot rouse himself to attend to the development of his heart, is but half a man.”
“You know, my own dear George scarcely has any time to read works of fiction or poetry. And yet, I have never heard anything less than praise from you when it comes to him.”
“The man idolises you and even took a bullet to save your best friend from danger. Such heroism and dedication shows that he does not need to learn of love from a book. He exudes romance and passion as easily as he breathes.”
Grace took a deep breath, and her eyes gazed upward towards the ceiling. “So, to summarise: Lord Dalton would have been better served intercepting a gunshot for you instead of saving you from a fall.”
“There is no need to make light of the aid he gave me or to mock my own discerning standards. I have already confessed to being impressed by his features. I am quite willing to let the man impress me in other ways. You say he is an architect. This suggests a certain proclivity to the arts. It is quite possible that I will find the visions he carves in stone enough to satisfy me. Goodness knows, he’d be hard pressed to do anything to this property that could make it worse.”
“Yes, indeed,” Grace laughed. “When I first married George, I often wondered why he was so keen to remain in town so much. I must confess the outer facade of Holdenwood Manor is grim. You must own that the interior decor is pleasing, though.”
“Oh yes, warm enough inside. And it is what is inside that counts, as they say.”
A silence fell between the two sisters. Grace’s lips were drawn thin, and she ran her hand through her hair.
“Something is still on your mind, sister,” Claire noted. She stood up and moved to the wardrobe, at last busying herself checking how the maid had unpacked her trunk. She paid particular attention to smoothing any creases in her dresses and putting those to the side to be pressed. If Grace had something to say that she didn’t want to hear, she would rather not let her face reveal her mood.
“You know as well as I, that Aunt Lynch did not bring you down here for the country air or to see me. Your antics in London have left her very concerned. I remember that she felt Rosalie and I were troublesome when we were living under her roof. Yet, in the year you have been living with her, you have managed to wound no fewer than twelve men, three of them from the nobility.”
“Well, I can point to at least one major flaw in each of their characters that forced me to–”
“I am not questioning your judgement, dear. Still, it would be useful if you could, from time to time, indulge such men.”
“Indulge them?” Claire’s face bunched up and
she stopped examining her dresses for a moment.
“I am not saying you need to pretend to be in love with them. Still, one dance at a party, or five minutes of pretending to listen to an anecdote, would be enough. Do you remember Colonel Peterson?”
“Odious man! He thought the way to a woman’s heart was to describe in detail how many Frenchmen he had killed in the war.”
“Indeed. If you were to have accepted a proposal from such a man, I would probably have slapped you soundly. But, Claire, you could have endured the colonel’s bragging with silent forbearance. You did not have to declare him a... I can’t even remember what word you used to describe him.”
“I believe I called him a fattened pig, rolling around in other men’s blood and believing that it made him pretty.”
Grace let out a slight laugh and immediately covered her mouth. She tried to disguise the laughter as a cough, but the damage was already done.
“Regardless of what you said, you’ll do me the courtesy of minding your tongue here. I do not know what you will make of Lord Dalton, but he is my husband’s dearest friend. Should he show an interest in you, and you find you cannot return his interest, I ask that you be mindful of his feelings.”
Claire bit her bottom lip and swayed a little on the spot. Crossing her arms, she gave a slight nod.
“Very well. I promise, for the sake of Cromford, that I shall be mindful of my dealings with Lord Dalton. Nonetheless, you could be making a fuss over nothing. As I have said already, Lord Dalton made a strong first impression on me.”
“If you say so.” There seemed to be a note of disparagement in her voice, almost as though she did not believe Claire’s words.
Claire turned her attention back to a pink muslin, the sleeve of which was somewhat crumpled. In the silence that followed, she tried to think of Lord Dalton. Even compared to ten minutes ago, her hopes for the man had waned. Knowing that he was not an avid reader was a blow. Was she so wrong to want a man whose interests and passions mirrored her own? Both her older sisters had been very lucky in the men they had married. Was it a crime to hold herself back, waiting for the kind of man she had envisioned for so long? Either way, she was determined to prove to Grace that she could be relied upon. More than that… she wanted to prove that she was not unreasonable in her expectations of men. She wanted to show that she could make allowances for the right type of man.
By the time Claire went down to the drawing room, Aunt Lynch was already installed in comfort. She had found a chair to settle in and had accepted some refreshment along the way. She now sat facing the western window, a teacup in hand, taking in the sunset. There was a tranquillity to the woman’s features – a peace Claire had not seen in months.
Cromford sat in a chair near the fire, reading over the day’s newspaper. Catherine, his sister-in-law and Grace’s best friend, was busy sewing nearby. She was a quiet woman, and loyal to a fault to her brother-in-law. Together, the three enjoyed the quiet. The only sound filling the void was the chirping of the birds as they settled in to roost for the night.
Claire’s first instinct was to find a book and sit in the window box. Yet, given Grace’s earlier request, she felt a need to be more proactive. If reading one of her romances could cause annoyance, then she would prove she was better than that. If she could prove herself by showing some extra attentiveness to the Earl of Dalton, then so be it.
“Is Lord Dalton not here?”
“You have eyes, Claire. I assure you he is not hiding behind the curtains,” her aunt said, before taking a sip of her tea.
“Dalton is out working on the west wing,” Cromford said, proving himself to be more useful an informant.
“At this time? The sun is already coming down.” Claire sat down in the window box.
“The earl is quite diligent,” Catherine offered, her eyes never leaving her embroidery.
“I have never known any man as dependable as John Dalton,” Cromford said. He put down his paper and looked out the window. “He is the kind of man who, when given a task, settles straight down to it. As long as there is a sliver of sunlight on the western horizon, he will continue working on his vision. I have told him many times that he is welcome to put down his tools and sketch pads far earlier in the day.”
“Intriguing. Then he is particularly dedicated to his work as an architect. Tell me, does his artistry extend beyond building design? Does he paint or draw perhaps?”
Claire noticed Aunt Lynch shift in her chair, shaking her head a little as she swallowed her tea.
“If he does, he has made no mention of it. He has a good eye for landscapes of course, as part of his work. Still, I have never seen him do more than architectural sketches.”
Claire sucked in a breath. Another avenue of potential seemed to be closing for Lord Dalton. If the man had no taste or interest in art, Claire wondered how much charm he could add to the property. As each second went by, the man sounded less of an artist and more of a mason. She respected his strength and dedication to his work, even though she had hoped the man would show a little more soul. He did not read, draw or paint. More and more, it seemed as if a title and a handsome face were the only elements that stood in the earl’s favour. These were good starting points, but still leagues shy of the kind of hero Claire yearned for.
“How does my dear wife fare? Did she not come down with you?” Cromford asked.
“No, she went to her room to lie down before dinner.” Claire’s smile returned, glad to see a turn in the conversation.
For a pleasing hour, the conversation turned to the exciting prospect of the approaching addition to the family. It was a topic that drew in the whole room. It brought smiles and joy to all, to speculate on the baby’s future and life. What was most pleasing to Claire, was to see how Cromford did not seem to care whether his firstborn was a boy or girl.
The speculations and ideas spiralled from the simplistic to absurd vagaries. Gender, crib design, upbringing, the schools they would attend. Of course, everyone had an opinion about how the child would look. Aunt Lynch, of course, insisted the baby would take after her. Even if it didn’t, she hoped it wouldn’t carry too much of its grandmother’s look. The dowager duchess had never gotten along well with Claire’s mother. Even after the two had had a partial reconciliation, she took any opportunity to poke fun at her sister from time to time.
“Oh, and I am sure the child would look wonderful with Catherine’s nose!”
The group laughed at Claire’s suggestion and the red-haired woman blushed as she stared into her lap. “That isn’t even possible!” she objected, as her eyes darted to the window.
“Of course not, dear, but seeing as we have all laid claim to one aspect of the baby’s look, we should at least look to include you. It will have my ears, Grace’s hair and face, Cromford’s eyes, and Aunt Lynch’s lips. It is only fair you get to gift it your nose. Besides, it is a rather adorable nose!”
Catherine’s blush was growing to a colour that matched her hair, and she put her hand over her nose to cover it from view. This only sent the group into further laughter. Things looked set to devolve into hysterics, when the attention of the room turned to the door. The sound of the handle turning brought everyone to glance upward, smiling, to see the butler enter and announce Lord Dalton.
Claire did not smile. Instead, she felt her chest tighten, and she had trouble meeting the earl’s eyes. This came as something of a surprise to her, and her mind worked quickly to find an explanation. As she forced her gaze to meet his, she reasoned it must be her sister’s fault. Grace’s suggestions and the earlier conversation had addled her. Coupled with a long carriage ride, she felt sure she was nothing more than tired.
“I see I am missing out on some interesting discussion,” the man said with a smile. Lord Dalton held himself tall and proud as he entered the room, but Claire could see the perspiration on his brow. The way his arms and legs moved, she could imagine he had spent the entirety of the day hauling blocks of stone. There
was a kind of stiffness to his movements that suggested deep pain in the muscles.
“We were just trying to decide whom my future niece or nephew will resemble in looks,” Claire spoke before anyone else could. She even stood up and looked to the earl with some attentiveness. “I hope you will not think me impertinent, but you look spent. Can I get you something to revitalise you?”
“Please, do not trouble yourself,” the earl said. He eased himself into a chair, the muscles in his face tightening a little as though pained. “You have only just arrived at Holdenwood Manor, and I would not wish you to summon the servant for myself alone. Besides, they know when I put down my tools and I’m sure one of them will think to bring me some tea soon.”
“This is just the kind of man Lord Dalton is,” Cromford said with a laugh. “You can persuade him to toil on a hot summer’s day, but you cannot convince him to accept simple hospitality.”
Claire and the others chuckled at the duke’s jest. Yet, she could feel the truth in her brother-in-law’s words. Lord Dalton did indeed seem the sort who buried himself in work. She had met such folk before. Usually, they were men of business, their eyes ever on their investments and factories. That Lord Dalton toiled with his hands, and crafted works of beauty out of stone, set him a cut above such men. Even so, it was displeasing to see the man so caught up in his work that he could not relax amongst friends.
Rather than push the matter, Claire sat back down. She made no further attempt to offer the beleaguered earl comfort. If he did not wish to be a bother and was happy to suffer the day’s aches in silence, then that was his own business. She had made an effort to engage him, just as she had promised Grace, and she did not feel she needed to do anything more. Indeed, as she reflected on her feelings, she found herself a little wounded. She did not know why. It should not have mattered to her at all whether the earl accepted her offer of tea or not. It was a trifling matter, but it seemed to have left its mark all the same.