It was only once he was ensconced in the maze of semi-darkened halls that he realized he could not find his way to his chambers on his own. That was how tremendous the edifice was.
Disgruntled, he sought the help of a chamber maid, who showed him to his guest chambers, which also had a name.
The Emerald Rooms.
Just like the color of her eyes.
Chapter 3
The reports from Derbyshire grow increasingly unpleasant. I fear something else shall need to be done.
~letter from the Duke of Longleigh to The Honorable Mr. George Shaw
“Ithought you might enjoy a tour of Coddington Hall,” Tilly announced at the conclusion of their breakfast the following day. “Longleigh told me you had never been a guest here, because of the rift between your father and himself. Forgive me if I am overstepping in the suggestion.”
They had both risen from their seats and stood alone, the servants having been dismissed in favor of serving themselves from a buffet laden with all manner of delicacies. Once again, so much food, more than he had ever seen in one place in his life. For all the scarcity of his youth, he had never been made to starve, but neither could he understand the excessive show of wealth on display around him.
It was everywhere, in the food, the gardens, the expanse of flowing parkland, the fountains, the lake, the massive size of the house itself, the statues and paintings and carved wood. Even without the lavishness of his surrounds to make him feel hopelessly out of place, he was already uncertain of where he stood with this woman he was meant to bed.
His reluctant friend. His would-be lover.
She was awaiting his response now, watching him with an expression he could not define. The morning sunlight caught her curls and highlighted them to burnished perfection. Her loveliness was heightened by the drapery of her gown, which showed her lush curves.
She was being kind to him. She had no notion he was deceiving her.
His first instinct was to decline her invitation. What need had he of gadding about a home which had been denied him? The less time he spent in her intoxicating presence, the better. He could fortify himself against this unwanted attraction sparking to life within.
“If you have other engagements planned for the morning, I will not be offended,” she added when he failed to respond.
No doubt, he was looking at her like the helpless oaf he was, a fish out of water. She looked so adorably uncertain of herself that he was moved to accept despite his inclination to avoid her and the tour both.
“Having gotten lost already, I can only imagine a tour would prove a boon,” he said, offering her his arm.
She came nearer, bringing with her the scent of rose and summer, of hope and opulence and fresh blooms. Her hand settled in the crook of his elbow, a dainty, delicate touch. Scarcely a touch at all, and yet he felt it in the sudden stirring of his blood. The warmth and awareness skipping through him whenever he was in her presence.
“Excellent,” she said. “I dare say Coddington Hall is too large for us to tour all in one morning. However, I shall show you the important parts. Hopefully, you’ll not be wandering about in confusion again.”
He had no doubt he would be, because that was the sheer bloody size of the place, but he held his tongue on the matter. “It is kind of you to concern yourself with my fate.”
“Selfish, too.” She slanted him a sidelong glance that did nothing to quell the fire beginning to burn at her proximity and her sweet fragrance. “I find myself curious to know more about you, and a tour seemed an excellent excuse.”
“You need no excuse to speak with me, Tilly,” he told her gently, reminding himself that they must remain familiar. “I am at your disposal during my stay here.”
The slight awkwardness of the breakfast table must be left along with their dirtied plates if this mad plan was meant to succeed. Together, they left the immense dining room with its scarlet walls bedecked by portraits of past Dukes and Duchesses of Longleigh. They made their way to the great hall, with its painted two-story ceiling and marble busts.
“This is the great hall,” she said needlessly, “which you will have already been through quite a few times now. My favorite part, however, is hidden. Did you know there is a fountain?”
He did not. Although he had heard gurgling water on the several occasions he had passed through the hall, he had not cared enough to investigate or inquire after its source.
“Does it spout pure liquid gold?” he quipped aloud before thinking better of it.
If he was to have been born and raised a gentleman from a family of such devastating wealth, he ought not to have been impressed by his surroundings.
But Tilly did not seem to find his query odd. Instead, she laughed, the sound husky and delightful. “No liquid gold, I am afraid. But the fountain is the source of our hot and cold water. Functional beauty seems a clever thing, does it not?”
Yes, it did. But he would not admire the ancestors who had built this home.
Instead, he allowed her to lead him to a nook beneath the grand staircase.
