Honest
Reciprocates feelings
to the list of required qualifications for his future bride. He didn’t have feelingsyet, but he was annoyed enough with himself and Miss Quincy to imagine how badly he would have felt if he fell in love only to discover the woman he hoped to make his wife was only waltzing with him because it cured her indigestion or some such.
He tossed the pencil and journal back into the basket along with his book. Reading was no good. What he really wished he had his hands on was that sketchbook. He’d only recognized a handful of places—his parlor, the castle entrance hall and the circulating library—but he suspected most of the village had found its way into her little book. With different dressing, of course. Every single scene seemed to involve riotous women making any number of dramatic choices.
For someone as outgoing as Miss Quincy, she’d certainly managed to hide an intense inner world.
“There you are, Your Grace.” Swinton swept into view with a large silver tray, which he placed upon a small wooden table inside the belvedere. “Biscuits, lemonade, and a note from Mr. Paterson.”
Adam’s man of business. He reached for that letter first before the lemonade.
Your Grace,
I’ve shown the sketch to architects and builders as you requested. Other than enlarging the windows as seen in the illustration, most of the changes are cosmetic, and as such, not structural engineers’ particular strength. They all seemed to find it as fine a suggestion as any.
I took the liberty of sharing the drawing with the same craftsmen who provided proposals for the billiard table. They exclaimed over the use of light, the recessed cabinetry where the library shelves once were, and the intricate lighting system. The design is brilliant. One workman even claimed the billiard table in the drawing almost perfectly matches the design and dimensions of the table in his proposal, making it a perfect match.
I enclose the sketch. Please advise.
Paterson
Adam fished in the basket for the report containing the craftsmen’s proposals, and flipped through them until he found the one his man of business had referenced. It had been provided by John Thurston of Catherine Street in London. Not a local laborer at all, but England’s most renowned maker of billiard equipment, according to Paterson.
According to Miss Quincy, too, by the look of it.
He didn’t have to check his notes to know that choosing London’s most celebrated expert would exponentially increase both the cost and time required.
But as Miss Quincy had said—he wanted to do this the right way. To make thebestimpression. The last thing he needed was to have his guests standing about talking about how stingy he’d been with the materials or how much foresight he’d failed to give the question of lighting. Which he hadn’t evenknownwas an important question to ask until their argument.
Whatever flaws she might possess, one thing Adam couldn’t help but admire was her willingness totry, no matter how unlikely the chances seemed for success. What would happen if he set her up to win? He was Project Billiards committeeleader, not the entirety of the committee. With his resources and her expertise, Adam’s billiard room would not simply be a nice touch, but possibly the talk of the town. In agoodway.
He drew out the journal one more time.
Knows what she wants
Does everything she can to achieve it
“I just need one more!”
“Hold on, I’m getting it.”
Adam shut the book and stared through the lattice at his neighbors’ garden.
Miss Quincy stood near a waist-high row of blooming rapeseed with a pair of shears, talking to one of the little girls that lived nearby. Both wore crowns of bright yellow flowers atop their heads and matching yellow necklaces at their throats. In the little girl’s outstretched hand was a fifth loop of braided flowers.
“Five golden rings,” he growled in disgust. “You’re bamming me.”
As if she’d heard him mutter, Miss Quincy glanced up and met his eyes. Rather than shouting to him as she might once have done, she gave a tentative little wave.
“When you’re done dusting yourself with pollen,” he called out, “meet me in the library.”
Although he was too far away to discern the sparkle returning to her eyes, Adam swore he couldfeelthem twinkling at him.
“Five minutes,” she yelled back. “This band is for Annie’s father.”
Annie held it aloft as though the ring of yellow flowers was the Crown Jewels for a king.
