“Or snowing!”
“Yes, or snowing, it would be cosy. But there should be birds singing, and perhaps a fountain plashing gently.”
“A fountain! What an excellent idea. Yes, yes, that is just what she would like, I am sure. And canaries… a line of cages, perhaps along the back wall. Yes, I can see it now.”
“Who would like it?”
“Mrs Merrington, of course.”
“Mama? But—?”
He gave a bark of laughter. “I beg your pardon — no. Mrs Richard Merrington. The orangery at Staineybank is for her, is it not? And she wants touseit, which means she wants to sit in it, or play cards in it, like the duke, or… or…”
“Or entertain in it,” Sophia said. “I like the way this one is connected to the house, so one may walk here at any time.”
“Yes! Connected… so one might entertain in it. An additional drawing room, perhaps. A place to gather before dinner. You are a fount of good ideas, Miss Merrington.”
They walked about the room together, as he described just what features might be needed, adding more and more decoration until she was moved to remonstrate with him.
“There will be no room for the plants at this rate, Mr Payne.”
“By Jove, I believe you are right. I was a little carried away there, for a moment. Very well, no Gothick arch draped with vines, but I must have my statues of the Roman gods, and the bird cages and the fountain. Definitely a fountain.”
“And a hammock,” Sophia said, with a sigh of contentment. “There must be a hammock.”
The duke overhearing these words, they were summoned back to his side again, and Mr Payne was called upon to describe once again all the delights he envisaged for the Staineybank orangery. The duke added his own embellishments to the scheme, so that it became both a peaceful retreat from the world and yet the hub of the entire house, a room for the display of great art and yet displaying elegant simplicity, a place of solitude and contemplation, but also capable of entertaining great crowds.
Sophia shook her head at the impossibility of it all, and was rather relieved when the duke’s valet arrived to point out that his physician had ordered the duke to be in his bed an hour ago, which broke up the party instantly.
As they left the orangery, two footmen were already lurking outside to douse the candles. The duke’s party disappeared down a wide corridor, leaving Sophia and her mama to follow Mr Payne back to the main part of the house. Much of the house was already darkened ready for the occupants to retire, just an occasional beam of light spilling from an open door, with voicesand laughter emanating that suggested that not everyone was ready for bed.
Mama was not minded for a late night, however.
“You must get as much rest as you can tonight, Sophia, to recruit your strength for tomorrow’s ball,” she said firmly, leading Sophia past the interesting open doors.
Reluctantly, Sophia went to her room, although the prospect of the ball compensated to some degree for missing the excitements of the present evening. A ball! Dancing! Oh, the delight of it, and the anticipation was almost as good as the event itself.
Her two noble friends were already abed and fast asleep, so she undressed and climbed into bed as carefully as she could. Then she curled up and closed her eyes, ready for dreams to overtake her. But curiously, her last waking thoughts were not of cotillions or energetic country dances. Instead, she imagined herself lazing in a hammock reading the fashion journals to the delicate sound of canaries warbling and a fountain playing.
7: A Grand Ball
Simon could not sleep, his head filled with designs for the orangery, his mind sketching away even as he lay in the darkness. When he eventually dropped off, he slept badly, waking again and again with the urge to begin drawing. As soon as the girl came in to light the fire, he was up, his pencil in his hand. He worked at it all morning, absentmindedly almost forgetting breakfast until Juliet came to fetch him, covering page after page with his ideas.
And yet, nothing satisfied him. Somehow, his designs were not right, but he could not quite put his finger on what was wrong with them.
In the middle of the afternoon, he tossed aside his sketch book and stood gazing disgruntledly at the snow-covered grounds outside. The skies were already darkening in preparation for nightfall, as a few stray flakes still fell. Occasionally a miniature avalanche was dislodged from a tree, falling with a soft whump.
He sighed. Perhaps if he found a quiet spot somewhere about the house he could sit and think, and clear his head. Then perhaps he would understand what his designs needed.
It was a futile endeavour. The house was vast, but unused rooms were in darkness, and those with enough light for sketching were filled with noisy groups of people, chattering excitedly, playing the pianoforte and even dancing. There was no possibility of finding the quietude he needed. He moved on from room to room, and then up the grand staircase, running his hands appreciatively over the polished mahogany handrail. Again he was out of luck, until he turned a corner and found himself in the Great Gallery.
When he had seen it before on his tour of the house, it had been a dreary place, panelled in dark oak, badly lit, with no objects of artistic merit, only a few badly-executed portraits of Bucknell ancestors in a variety of improbable costumes. Now, however, lamps illuminated the full length and innumerable girandoles stood ready to be lit. At the far end, several footmen had lowered a chandelier to fill the candle holders. Nearer to hand, two men on hands and knees were steadily creating a chalk pattern of vines and ducal coronets and lions rampant on the wooden floor. Along both walls, a selection of chairs and sofas had been arranged, and on one sofa, swinging her feet joyously, sat Miss Sophia Merrington.
Congenial company — perhaps that was what he needed?
Sitting down beside her, he said, “Preparation for the ball?”
“Yes! Is it not exciting? They are putting in the candles, and they areeight hourones! Is it not wonderful? Eight whole hours of dancing!”
