Designs on a Duke: The Bluestocking Scandals Book 1 Page 4

  “This,” Rebecca said, tracing a line with her finger, “is how my father envisions installing a shower-bath. And this,” she pointed beside, though it was all he could do to keep focus as he stared at that long slim finger, “is where we would put the water closet with a system that would dispense with the need for a chamber pot.”

  Valentine thought she was likely the only female he had ever met, besides his sister, who could speak of such things without embarrassment. It was endearing… in a strange way.

  He knew others may not agree with him, but perhaps he had become rather too used to Jemima’s frankness.

  “The interiors may seem simplistic,” she said, “but they will stand up over time. Your descendants will be able to design the interior according to the style of the day without having to undertake a great deal of structural change. Outside, my father thought to use stucco to accent the brick and pillars of iron to imitate the look of stone.”

  “That’s ingenious,” he said, impressed, and she smiled proudly for a moment before returning to her stoic expression and nodding to her father.

  “Thank you,” she said simply. “Oh, and one more thing that your sister will be interested in.”

  “Yes?”

  “Here is your conservatory,” she said, pointing once more. “It’s dimensions remain unchanged. We still suggest growing greenery. However, I would see if your sister has any preference for what is planted. My father has converted this back area into a laboratory. There are two tables that will extend along the back wall, with a desk to the side. Here, he would suggest hanging a wall of slate, so that she can use chalk to write and erase as needed.”

  “I love that!”

  “Jemima!” their mother admonished as Valentine’s sister walked through the door. Apparently, she had torn herself away long enough to listen to what ideas the architects may have. “There is no need for you to be skulking around doors,” their mother continued. “Do come in and sit like the lady that you now are.”

  “I didn’t want to bother anyone, nor stay long,” Jemima said, though she took her mother’s invitation and walked into the room. Val smiled slightly. He knew the real reason why she hadn’t entered — she had no desire to have to stay for the entirety of the meeting in case an idea came to her and she wanted to leave. Eavesdropping meant she could stay for what she wanted to hear and then when she was bored, she could return to her work.

  She leaned over the table now, looking up at Rebecca with an eager smile on her face.

  “Thank you,” she said earnestly, and Rebecca began to answer but then turned to her father.

  “It is my father’s work,” she said graciously. “I simply present his ideas.”

  “Well, this is a good one,” Jemima said.

  “I cannot say I enjoy the idea of the conservatory becoming a laboratory,” Mrs. St. Vincent said with a sniff, “but at the very least it is far better than having it within the ballroom.”

  She turned now to Valentine, her face aglow.

  “Oh, Valentine, once the renovations are complete, we will hold the finest ball in all of London! It will show all that we are worthy of the title after all.”

  Valentine caught Rebecca’s curious look at his mother’s words, but she seemed to dismiss it for she returned to her father’s drawings and her explanations.

  Valentine couldn’t keep his gaze off of her as she spoke. She came alive when she discussed the potential for the many niches of the walls, the arched doorways, her father’s ideas for incorporating the Palladian aspects of the current house with the neoclassical style that he was known for.

  Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright, her movements passionate.

  Suddenly Valentine was no longer thinking about his home.

  He was so distracted that when he realized all were staring at him, he knew they must have asked him for his opinion some time beforehand.

  “My apologies, what was that?”

  “My, you are inattentive as of late,” his mother muttered, but then with the remembrance that they were not alone, she added, “though you have been so preoccupied with your new duties.”

  “Yes,” he said, clearing his throat. “Well, one thing I can say with confidence, Mr. Lambert, is that we have certainly found the right man for the job.”

  “I agree,” his mother said. “It has all the convenience that Valentine desires and with a few modifications will also have the opulence that I know will impress.”

  The mention of such opulence gave Valentine pause, for he could be paying for these renovations at Wyndham House — not to mention Stonehall Estate — for years to come. He ran a hand over his face as he thought of the debt.

  Miss Lambert obviously misread his expression for she quickly rolled up the papers and stood.

  “Perhaps we should go for a tour and explain some of the various aspects of what we’re proposing?”

  She looked to each of them in question as she made her suggestion, and they all nodded.

  They began in the ballroom, before walking in a circle to the front foyer, then to the drawing room. Miss Lambert painted a picture with her words, bringing her father’s visions to life. She spoke with vivid expressions, gesticulating arms, and a wide smile. Her father commented now and again, but Valentine understood now why Lambert had his daughter work for him. Her enthusiasm was infectious.

  “Sea-green walls?” Valentine’s mother questioned. “I’m not sure how I feel about that. Marble busts over the fireplace? Of whom?”

  “For the mansion of a duke, ancient Greek carvings,” Mr. Lambert said, chiming in. “I can suggest where would be best to find them at auction.”

  Mrs. St. Vincent made a face.

  “I’m not a particular fan of the Greek design.”

  “Not a fan?” Mr. Lambert responded as though she had personally insulted him. “Why, it is because of the Greeks that we have the very style we have today!”

  Valentine noted Rebecca’s deep sigh as her father began to lecture them on Greek architectural history. His mother was not at all impressed and had plenty of rebuttals to his points.

  Valentine leaned in toward Rebecca.

  “Shall we continue on?” he murmured.

  She looked back at her father, hesitation on her face.

  “I’m not sure…”

  “I promise, we will not even be out of hearing. You can shout if we find ourselves undressed in close circumstances once more.”

  Her cheeks turned crimson.

  “Your grace, I—”

  “I’m teasing,” he said with a laugh, realizing it had been some time since he had found such humor in anything. “But I am quite curious as to what your father has planned for the library. Perhaps you can explain it to me.”

  “I can,” she agreed and he held out his arm to her as the two of them continued down the corridor.

  “You know, it took me weeks to determine where I was going through this monstrosity of a maze that is supposedly a house,” he said, turning to look at her. “You seemed to have no problem whatsoever.”

  “It is one of my few skills,” she said with a demure smile. “I’ve spent my life following my father from one commission to the next. It has been rare when we found ourselves residing in our own home, as a matter of fact. Learning a new design comes fairly naturally.”

  “You also seem to have a great understanding of his work,” Valentine remarked, and when her step faltered slightly he turned to see if there was something she had tripped on.

  “I enjoy helping him,” she said as they walked into the room that rose two stories, stretching out far to each side, filled with near-empty, mismatched bookshelves. “Do you enjoy reading?” she asked him, stepping away from his arm and looking up at him.

  He cringed. “I am not exactly one for scholarly pursuits.”

  “No? Then what do you enjoy?”

  He paused for a moment, considering what exactly to tell her.

  “I enjoy athletic endeavors,” he finally sett
led upon. “I, ah, didn’t come by my title following a conventional path so my time as a youth was occupied by other pursuits.”

  “I see,” she murmured, her curiosity evident, but she was polite enough not to ask questions. He supposed years among the residences of the nobility had taught her that.

  “Well, if there are certain sports you enjoy, I’m sure my father would be interested in knowing more about them. He could perhaps incorporate them into the building plans or the green.”

  “The green?” His stomach dropped. He hadn’t planned for any landscaping.

  “Yes,” she said, her brow furrowing. “Unless you wouldn’t like us to include it? I just thought it would be a pity, what with your land encompassing most of the neighborhood’s greenery.”

  Of course his mother would want all to see their greens as some of the finest in London.

  He sighed.

  “Very well, include the green.”

  “Right. Well, if there is anything you would like changed, do let us know.”

  He nodded.

  “Now,” he said, looking around him, “about this library.”

  “Yes,” she said, her smile widening. “Close your eyes for a moment and I’ll describe it for you.”

  She closed her own and began speaking. Valentine chose not to do as she said, but instead watched her.

  Light from the tall library windows filtered in and highlighted her prominent cheekbones as she tilted her head back and begin to describe the large French windows that her father had designed to lead out of the library and onto a balcony that would overlook the gardens beyond.

  “We cannot always be out in nature, but we can bring nature into us,” she said, opening her eyes, looking at him now with rapture. “Across from the windows will be a mirror so that the outdoors shines throughout the room. Everywhere you walk you will have a view of the trees beyond. With the doors open, the fresh scents will waft through the air. The columns around the library, which are not yet completed, as well as the bookshelves will be created out of rough-hewn wood that will capture the essence of the trees beyond it, bringing them indoors. Oh, your grace,” she said, opening her eyes, “it will be utterly beautiful.”

  Valentine was speechless. He was entranced — not by her words, nor her father’s designs.

  But by her.

  6

  Rebecca stared at her wardrobe, unsure of what to pack.

  After their meeting with the Duke of Wyndham, he had been hesitant about embarking upon their renovations until he knew what would be required at his country estate. His mother encouraged them to go ahead and begin in London, but Rebecca admired his foresight.

  She admired a great many other things about him as well, but that was neither here nor there.

  So now they were all about to take a six-hour carriage ride to visit Stonehall Estate, where they would view the manor and provide plans for it as well. This would be a bit more difficult, however, for as expansive as the estate was, they would be staying and dining with the family. It would be much more difficult to cover her father’s absent-mindedness there. At least she could blame most of it on the eccentricities of an artist.

  One never knew, however, when he would say something that would prove to be their undoing.

  What she did pack in her valise was the ledger book as well as the current finances for the development, the Atticus Project, that her father had built and subsequently failed to sell. What should have been one of his greatest legacies was ruining them.

  She reached behind her to try to massage her shoulders. She carried tightness in the muscles when she became tense — as she was right now and would be at least until they returned home once more.

  Perhaps the duke and his family would leave them be, relegating them to more servant status. While it was somewhat insulting and her father would grow incensed if he was ever treated in such a way, at the same time it would keep the St. Vincents from learning the truth.

  This had better be a quick visit.

  Rebecca also didn’t want to admit how much she was looking forward to spending time with the duke. After being among noblemen for so much of her life, she had thought she had known what to expect when she met him. She had been mistaken.

  He was frank and forthright. He spoke with directness and a tone that was not common among the noble set.

  Rebecca consulted old issues of the gossip columns — a page she had typically overlooked, until quite recently when every morning she ran to the paper and eagerly flipped through until she found it, to learn more of who the Duke of W— had been seen with. She had learned that he had not come from noble beginnings at all. It was all quite a mystery, but as far as the newspaper reported, he was a commoner who had learned he was named heir to the previous Duke of Wyndham. It noted his brother had died and his cousin had been deemed illegitimate, but nothing further. He had gone from a middle-class man with a profession — though what profession, the paper didn’t say — to duke in less time than one could open a door.

  As she had to right now. The Duke of Wyndham and his family would be here at any moment, and she didn’t want her father greeting them. He was liable to tell them that he didn’t want any salesmen at his door and they should go away.

  Rebecca worried her bottom lip as she watched out the window. Her father insisted that he would ride alongside the carriage like a proper gentleman. She had tried to convince him that it would be perfectly acceptable for him to ride inside the carriage with the women, but he had refused.

  As it was, Rebecca thought it was rather strange that the family had offered the architect to accompany them for the journey, but then, the St. Vincents did not seem to be the typical noble family.

  Which was evidenced by the overly cheerful greeting she received less than an hour later, when she entered the carriage.

  “Miss Lambert!” Miss St. Vincent exclaimed, holding her hand out. “How wonderful that you are joining us.”

  “Yes, it is lovely to see you, Miss Lambert,” Mrs. St. Vincent said from beside her daughter with a slight sniff. “I didn’t know that we were to expect you to accompany us.”

  “My father is more efficient in his work when I am with him,” Rebecca said, telling the truth. “I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Not at all,” Miss St. Vincent said with a smile of welcome. “It’s only a few hours’ journey to Stonehall Estate — just the perfect amount of time for us to come to know one another better. Please, call me Jemima. Everyone does.”

  Rebecca could sense the sincerity in her words and settled in across from her.

  “Then I am Rebecca.”

  Despite spending the journey continually looking out the window to ensure that her father still followed the carriage and concerning herself about just what he was saying to the Duke of Wyndham, Rebecca enjoyed herself. Jemima was lovely company and asked one question after another about Rebecca’s father’s work until finally, Rebecca had the opportunity to ask her a question of her own.

  “Before the duke became… the duke, where did you live?” she asked, always curious to learn more of previous residences of clients to gain insight.

  She sensed Mrs. St. Vincent stiffen, but Jemima softly smiled.

  “In a pleasant middle-class home in Hungerford,” she said, “far from London and our Mayfair mansion, though quite close to our estate. We were from the same area, as distant family of the previous duke.”

  “Truly?” Rebecca said.

  “Yes,” Jemima said with a nod. “Valentine’s inheritance of the dukedom was rather… unexpected, you could say.”

  “Are not all of these lineages quite detailed?” Rebecca couldn’t help but ask, intrigued.

  “Typically,” Jemima agreed. “However, in this case, we had always thought that our cousin was to inherit. Then he was deemed illegitimate and the College of Arms had to discover who was next in line. It came down to Valentine or another cousin, and eventually, Val was declared the duke.”

  “He must have been
pleased,” Rebecca said politely, but Jemima laughed.

  “Hardly.”

  “Jemima!” Mrs. St. Vincent finally spoke, but Jemima shrugged one of her delicate shoulders.

  “It’s the truth, Mama,” she said. “And I hardly think that Rebecca will judge us as many of the ton would.”

  “Of course not,” Rebecca said demurely. “Did the duke have a profession?” she asked, but before Jemima could say anything, Mrs. St. Vincent leaned forward and placed a hand on her daughter’s knee.

  “I must call for the coach to stop,” she said. “I am feeling a trifle ill.”

  “Very well, Mama,” Jemima said, calling to the driver to stop for a moment.

  Rebecca was no simpleton. Mrs. St. Vincent clearly wasn’t pleased with her daughter sharing the family secrets, as evidenced by the fact that she took Jemima aside once they stopped and was obviously firmly chastising her.

  Rebecca took the moment to check on her father.

  “How is your ride?” she asked when he reined in next to her.

  “Just fine,” he said. “I am, in fact, inspired by the views.”

  “Good,” she said, relieved.

  “Now, when will we arrive at the viscount’s manor?”

  “The duke’s, Father.”

  “The Viscount of Alberta,” he said, frowning. “We have had this commission for months now, Becca. Are you not looking forward to seeing his children again?”

  Rebecca’s heart sank. Her father had designed and overseen the building of Lord Alberta’s estate over a decade ago.

  “Father,” she said gently, placing a hand on his knee so that he would look at her. “We are going to the Duke of Wyndham’s, do you not remember?”

  “Of course,” he said brusquely. “Now, when we get there, bring me the plans for the London development, will you?”

  As he clicked at his horse and rode over to the duke, Rebecca rubbed her shoulder where the tension had begun again. She could only hope that her father would speak of things that wouldn’t capture the duke’s attention.