Her face lit up with excitement. “Ooh, yes please! I should like that very much.”
Offering her his arm, he led her through the saloon, ignoring the speculative glances sent their way, and out into the eastern stairwell.
“Here is the first irregularity,” he said. “There are staircases on both the side wings, but this one is on the inside, overlooking the courtyard, and the western stair is on the outside, overlooking the stable yard. Come into the courtyard, for the whole building is easy to understand from there. You see those two towers, one on each corner of the southern wing? Fix those in your mind and you cannot go wrong. With the towers at your back, you are facing the Great Hall. On your right is the formal wing with the state apartments, facing the gardens, such as they are, and on your left, the family wing, facing the stables. Behind you is—”
“The columns!”
“Exactly. It is called the colonnade. Let us go in, and I can show you the chapel, which is where we hold our meetings.”
“In the chapel?” she cried, sounding shocked. “Is that not… disrespectful? To talk about the pagan Romans in a church?”
“Possibly, but when we first came here, it was the only room large enough that was still usable. Most of the state rooms had been filled with anything not wanted elsewhere — furniture, pictures, vases, boxes and boxes full of old clothes, no fewer than three rocking horses, statues, books—”
“Statues? My goodness!”
“Oh, you cannot imagine! But the chapel had remained empty. Here we are.” He threw open the door and ushered her in, watching her face as the excitement faded. “Disappointing, do you not agree?”
She nodded. “No altar, no pews, not even a single cross, and even the candles are plain.”
He watched her taking in the simple wooden lectern, the rows of seats and the worn rugs on the floor. Was she shivering? The room was never very warm, even at this time of year.
“Come and see the gallery,” he said, drawing her shawl a little higher over her shoulders.
He took her up the spiral stair inside the tower, letting her go ahead of him, so that she came out into the long gallery first. With windows on both sides, it was flooded with light, bathing the paintings, massive lacquered urns and busts of bewigged ancestors in a golden glow. Bea’s mouth made an ‘O’ of surprise.
“A long gallery! How wonderful!”
“I agree entirely. Look at this fine fellow — is that not a splendid coat he wears? All that gold braid!”
“Oh but his hat! So dreadful — did men truly wear such appalling creations? Oh, I like this one. He has such a mischievous smile.”
They walked about for a while, admiring the paintings, but then Bertram ushered her to a window seat. “While I have you alone, we should talk about strategy.”
“Strategy, Bertram?”
“For finding you a titled husband, Bea. I have made you a list… here.” He pushed a paper into her hand.
“How kind you are, Bertram,” she said, unfolding it. “Just the three… oh, the Marquess of Embleton? Tell me about him.”
“Ah, straight for the biggest prize, I see,” he said, smiling at her. “Thirty years old, heir to the Duke of Bridgeworth but he has four… or is it five… younger brothers, at least two of them married, so nobody much minds whether he marries or not. I will be honest with you, Bea, I cannot claim to know him very well. He has always been around my crowd, but he is so quiet and unassuming that one tends to forget about him. I have noidea what sort of woman would catch his eye, but no one could be displeased with you, so you may be lucky.”
“Oh! What a pretty compliment, Bertram, and entirely untrue, since you yourself are displeased with me.”
“Not in the least, I assure you. If I were looking to marry, I should be very tempted by you, but at present I prefer my books.”
“You could have booksanda wife,” she said, looking up at him in wide-eyed mock innocence. “There is no law against it, I believe.”
“Now, now, you promised I would be off the hook if I got you this invitation, so do not tease me, Bea. The second name on the list is Viscount Brockscombe, and that is a real title, not a courtesy one. He is seven and twenty, a jolly sort. He always has some jape or other under way, so your liveliness might be the very thing to catch his eye. His mother is pestering him to set up his nursery, too, so your timing is perfect.”
“What about the last one… Lord Thomas Medhurst?”
“The same age as I am, five and twenty, brother to the Duke of Wedhampton and very keen to marry, given the excessive number of deaths in the family over the last few years. He has been my very good friend since we met on our first day at Eton, and he is the best of good fellows, but I will tell you at once that he is very swayed by a woman’s face. Show him a line of potential partners at a ball and he will invariably move directly towards the most beautiful.”
“Oh.” Her face fell. “I shall stand no chance, then. I might pass for tolerable in a darkened room.”
“Nonsense!” he said briskly. “You are very well looking, and you must not let anyone tell you otherwise. It is true that you have not that perfection of feature that some women can boast, but that merely makes you more interesting. Beautiful women are the dullest creatures on earth.”
Her expression lightened, with a hint of a smile. “Are they truly dull? I had never noticed.”
