From its willows that draped over the Avon to sectioned-off fields, not for the use of crops and cattle, but for gardens of every variety—formal, informal, herb, poison, even a hundred-year-old maze. Grass-green open fields stretched long, too, with carefully placed ha-has dug into the sides of hills manicured by sheep whose function was purely ornamental. In the distance stood the house itself: a whimsical, three-hundred-year-old structure with its multicolored and shaped bricks, Italianate decorative columns and shaped gables, arched doorways and windows, and plentiful chimneys, each decorated in a different brick pattern.
A horse and rider appeared over the short rise.Turner, Wimberley Hill’s estate manager. The man held a hand to his forehead before releasing it into a wave of greeting the instant he recognized Sebastian, who waved back—then waved the man on. He didn’t want to spoil this day with Delilah by having to be a duke.
She’d noted the exchange, but didn’t comment on it. Instead, she said, “This must be your favorite estate.”
“It’s certainly my mother’s. I was born here.”
“So you spent summers here,” she said.
He nodded. “Mother made sure I wasn’t treated like a duke at Wimberley Hill. In London, or at the family seat, it was impossible. People naturally defer to a duke, even when he’s three years old. But, here, she ensured I could be a child.”
Delilah cut him an insightful glance. “For all your dukely privilege, that couldn’t have been easy.”
He shrugged. “Perhaps, but easier than many upbringings.” It had to be said. His association with the arts world had brought him into contact with people who faced genuine struggle in their lives. His was nothing to it.
Delilah took his meaning. “Sometimes, I forget how lucky I am to have my family, for all their quirks.”
He led her up the short rise of a hill, and his heart kicked into a gallop. The place he wanted to show her was just on the other side.
Once they topped the rise, Delilah came to a sudden stop at the sight spread below them. “What is this?” she murmured.
“I think you of all people would know.”
Her gaze, full of awe and befuddlement, swung to meet his. “But a Roman amphitheater…” she trailed and began moving again, down the slope of the rows arranged in a semicircle of seating, toward the stage at the base. She would want to stand on that stage and test its feel and sound. She wouldn’t be able not to.
He followed, slowly, allowing her the space to explore.
She met his gaze over her shoulder. “Why would you build this?”
He shrugged. “A whim.”
She reached the stage and pushed herself up onto its stone surface. She stared down at him, making him the recipient of the entirety of her attention. “You’re not a whimsical man.”
The true reason—the one he’d kept suppressed all this time—came to him.
For you.
Two simple words he couldn’t speak.
Not yet.
As Delilah prowled the stage from one end to the other, weaving in and out of columns constructed in the Greek Doric style, Sebastian joined her. “The idea had been floating around in my mind for a while.” His mother and Turner thought he was becoming an eccentric when he’d shared the construction plans. He’d shrugged off their lifted eyebrows and done as he’d pleased, as ever exercising a duke’s imperative. “This estate doesn’t produce much by way of crops or cattle,” he explained. “It’s mostly ornamental.”
“So, you figured why not construct a Roman amphitheater?” She canted her head in curiosity. “To what end?”
Ah, she’d struck at the heart of the matter—what he hadn’t yet told anyone. “I have an idea for the amphitheater—and the entire estate, actually.”
She propped her shoulder against a column. “Which is?”
“A place for artists.”
“Pardon?”
“Where they could stay for intervals and do nothing but create.”
A beat of time passed. She was assessing him. Not his person, buthim. “I’ve never heard of such a place.” She snorted and shook her head. “So, you truly aren’t involved in arts patronage for the opera singers?” Her levity faded into utter seriousness. “But, Sebastian, you’re no dilettante. You’re the genuine thing. Your soul is in this idea.” She canted her head. “Why?”
“Early in my life—during my teen years—I saw that my social position afforded me the opportunity to support the arts. I always admired the freedom of those who could express themselves in a such a way.”
