Lucas angled his head. Brilliant afternoon sunlight filtered through the ancient ash trees, which largely obscured the view of the opulent building of gray stone, but he waited patiently until they cleared the forest and the majestic structure fully appeared over the hill. Like glittering mirrors, dozens of symmetricallyaligned windows reflected the sunlight, and several chimneys jutted up from the slate roof into the clear azure sky. Most would see an impressive country home, but he saw nothing but opportunity.
When their carriage pulled to a stop on the circular drive before Cloverton’s main entrance, Wainbridge was there to meet them, along with an attractive, willowy woman and an impressive bevy of servants.
“That’s her,” whispered Tate. “MissIsabella Wainbridge. A delight, is she not?”
George Wainbridge stepped forward to greet them, hands outstretched, a broad, easy smile on his face. “You’ve made it! And in one piece, I’ll note. Avery, you must be a saint to survive being trapped with Tate in a carriage for such a duration.”
Lucas laughed and shook hands with the man. “I consider it a great test of my patience.”
Tate’s grin creased his full, round cheeks. “I’d be offended if I were not so elated to see MissWainbridge again.” He extended his hand toward her to draw her into their conversation.
A demure smile curved MissWainbridge’s bow-shaped lips. Sunlight fell on her graceful features and played on the honey-hued curls piled atop her head.
“Ah, Isabella.” Wainbridge took his sister’s arm. “You’ve not met Mr.Avery yet, have you?”
“I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.” She fixed entrancingly dark eyes on him with astounding confidence. “Welcome to Cloverton Hall, Mr.Avery.”
He bowed. “Thank you.”
“And me?” Tate blurted. “Do I not warrant a welcome?”
MissWainbridge rewarded Tate’s attempt at humor and laughed prettily, placing a dainty hand familiarly on the sleeve of his coat. “Oh, Mr.Tate. I thought that went without saying. How could you not be most welcome?”
Tate lowered his voice, as if taking both the Wainbridges into his confidence. “And Mrs.Milton? Is she here? I confess, I cannot wait to meet the woman who has caused such a commotion for the two of you.”
MissWainbridge shook her head. “She’s not yet arrived, I fear. We expected her yesterday to help greet the first of the guests, but this morning we received a missive that a broken carriage wheel caused a delay.”
Tate rubbed his hands before him. “At least we’re not the last to arrive.”
“No, no. You’ve not missed a thing,” Wainbridge assured. “But then again, we’d not even consider beginning the festivities before your arrival. As it is, the other guests have already settled in their chambers. Dinner will be served soon, and if you do not wish to eat in your traveling attire, you’d best get to your room and set about making yourself presentable. Come, I’ll take you up myself.”
After instructing a footman to assist Tate’s valet, the men stepped inside a large vestibule at the entrance. Lucas had been prepared for opulence and extravagance, but not even his imagination had done Cloverton Hall justice. Intricately carved arches rose to meet the high plaster ceiling, which boasted vibrant murals of angels and cherubs, painted meticulously in the style of the Italianmasters. The soles of his traveling boots tapped on the Purbeck marble floor, and even at this early hour, candles blazed in suspended candelabras from every corner of the hall, shedding even more light on two early-sixteenth-century oil paintings in gilded frames.
There would be time to explore later, and Lucas peeled his attention away from the artifacts. He followed their host from the foyer to a corridor leading to the main staircase. Wainbridge and Tate continued chatting, but try as he might to ignore it, all that surrounded Lucas robbed him of speech. Such extreme attention to order and detail—a colorful Turkish pile carpet hung from a golden rod, and a series of Dutch landscape paintings graced the wall of the lower part of the staircase. Two pear-shaped Japanese vases sat atop a lacquered table on the landing between two windows.
Modern tastes would dictate that this space was cluttered, but to Lucas this was the domain of a skilled collector. All talk of buying and selling would have to wait for a more appropriate time. For now his focus must be on developing a rapport with Wainbridge.
“MissHaven is here, I trust,” Tate remarked as they ascended the stairs and traversed the landing.
“She’s here, along with her determined chaperone.” Wainbridge pivoted to climb the second half of the staircase. “You may have to take your place behind the other men waiting for her attention.”
“Chaperone?” Tate grimaced. “That’s disappointing.”
“Come now, you know how these things go. All the ladies have one, I’m afraid.” Wainbridge motioned for them to continue up the stairs. “A guardian, a sister, a lady’s maid—someone along those lines to guard their virtue. But don’t despair. This house islarge but filled to the brim with guests. Speaking of that, I hope you’ll not be offended with your arrangements. Even in a house this size, space is not limitless.”
Tate’s forehead furrowed. “What does that mean?”
“You’ll see.”
They landed on the first floor, and then Wainbridge directed them up another narrower, steeper staircase to a far less opulent second floor. The noticeably lower ceilings were mere inches from the top of Lucas’s head, and the windows were smaller and set deep in the wall.
“You two will share a chamber,” Wainbridge said without looking back at them. “Here, on this floor.”
“Is this not the attic floor?” Tate sniffed.
“Don’t be foppish.” Wainbridge’s heels clicked on the polished planked floors until he stopped before a closed door. “Fielding and Whitaker are up here as well. Although they did not complain as much as you.”
Tate harrumphed.
