“They contain both knowledge and entertainment, and they can be enjoyed over and over—qualities which, in my mind, make them among the most noble and useful of investments. I shall buy you cartloads of them.”
“I like the way you think, husband.”
Next we investigate the kitchen. “We are responsible for our own breakfast,” he explains. “The servants come up to the house around noon each day to do the chores and prepare lunch. Mrs. Nanterre cooks dinner here for us as well. Should you ever wish to cook anything yourself, you can tell Mrs. Nanterre that you won’t need her services that evening. If you’re missing any ingredients, she can order them, if given enough time, or she may have what you need in the kitchen of the servants’ house. When you’re done cooking, you can leave the cleanup for the maids, if you like.”
“I would probably take care of it myself.” I run my fingertips along the polished surfaces of the tables, counters, and cabinets. “This place is beautiful.”
“I got you this.” He opens a cupboard and takes out a silver coffee press, along with a bag of coffee beans from a southern territory that grows the most flavorful varieties. My family has never been able to afford such coffee.
The gift of the beans and the coffee press earns Beresford a kiss, but he’s grinning the whole time so he can’t do it properly, and we both end up laughing.
“Come on,” he says. “Let’s go upstairs. I want you to see our room. There’s another surprise there.”
“I have a gift for you, too. It’s among my things. I put it in a box labeled ‘Do not open,’ so hopefully you didn’t break that rule and spoil the surprise.”
“I’m not nearly as curious as you are,” he retorts. “Besides, the maids did most of the work placing your belongings. I’m sure they put it somewhere safe. If you can’t find it, we’ll ask them about it tomorrow.”
“It’s nothing so marvelous as a piano or fine coffee,” I warn him. “The only money I had was from you, and it felt odd to give you something you paid for, so… I made it.”
“I can’t wait to see it. Come here.” He picks me up and practically runs up the stairs with me in his arms. I’m laughing, clinging to his neck as he carries me down the hallway.
“This is the wing we use, on the north side,” he says. “The south wing suffered some water damage, and nothing has been updated. It’s all dust and cobwebs. No need to venture there.” He sets me down and opens a door with a flourish. “Welcome, my lady, to our room.”
The bedroom is enormous. The western wall is a massive arched window, stretching from floor to ceiling and divided into sections by delicate, ornate ironwork. A long cushion runs along the base of the window, with a few pillows thrown onto it. A dent in one of the pillows tells me that Beresford likes to recline there.
The view from that window is a beautiful one. To the right, jutting into my line of vision, are the small towers and turrets of the north wing. The gardens and grounds spread out below, shades of green and gray interrupted by the crystalline dome of the greenhouse and the squat, broad shape of the refurbished barn. Beyond those, the forest rises in shades of olive and rust, up to a sky strewn with dusky blue clouds whose edges are tinged peach-pink by the oncoming sunset.
The bed itself is huge, big enough to accommodate three Beresfords. Its dark headboard is just as grimly, gloriouslyelaborate as the rest of the décor. Beneath the bed is a thick, square rug patterned with moths and swirling vines.
“This is so… royal.” I trace the edge of a bureau. “A little dark, but beautiful.”
“We can add some color if you want,” Beresford says. “Though I rather enjoy the atmosphere of this room. Here’s another surprise—your closet.” He flings the door wide, and I gape at the length of the space beyond. It’s like a wide hallway lined with gorgeous gowns, fitted trousers for riding and walking, coats, capes, shoes, and blouses.
“And this.” Beresford darts inside and brings out the most beautiful scarlet cloak I’ve ever seen, crafted from thick, rich wool and lined with satin. It’s in the same style as the old red cloak I’ve loved for years. It even has a hood.
“It’s lovely!” I catch the cloak in both hands, stroking the material. “This, and all the clothes—there are far more here than the ones I bought in the city.”
“I asked your mother for your measurements,” he says. “I had to buy mostly ready-made pieces in the approximate size, but you can have things tailored if they don’t fit right. There are still a few pieces on the way, custom-made for you.”
“I feel like a princess.”
“Nonsense.” He winks, laying the cloak over a chair. “You’re the queen of this particular castle.”
“I can’t believe I get to explore this whole place.”
Caution flickers in his eyes. “All except for the south wing. As I said, it’s not in good shape. Potentially unsafe. I’d prefer you don’t go there.”
Eyes narrowed, I prowl toward him and trail my fingers over his chest. “Why Mr. Beresford, do you have something hidden there?”
“I’m concerned for your safety.”
“Do you think I’m going to fall through a rotten floor?”
He takes my shoulders, a gentle grip, but firm. “Don’t question this, Sybil.”
The gravity of his tone surprises me, but I’d rather not argue with him, so I merely nod.
“My closet is there.” He points to another door. “But it’s not as interesting as yours. I’ll show you the bathroom.”
