Prudence yanked me closer so that she was veritably leaning on me as she said earnestly, “I cannot tell you how glad I am you’re here. I almost went to London when you arrived so I could meet you live and in person…finally. But I thought that’d be too clingy.”
Before arriving at The Downs, I’d spent three days in London managing jetlag, seeing the sights and doing some preliminary research into the Talyns.
It was necessarily only three days because I had my advance, and I’d published seven books— four romances (my firsts), three historical fictions (the genre I was obsessed with at the moment)—so I was earning royalties.
That said, neither were enough to hang in an expensive London hotel for very long (and they were all expensive, if you didn’t just want a bed surrounded by an inch of floorspace—though you could get out of that bed and find yourself right in the bathroom, so they could be time savers, if you wanted to put a positive spin on it).
Sure, my sister and I had inherited a tidy sum from Mom and the sale of her house and car and stuff, but I wasn’t allowing myself to dip into my portion of that, because I was hoping to buy a house when I got home from England, and that was going to be my downpayment.
“That wouldn’t have been clingy. I would have loved it,” I told her.
Her eyes lifted to mine and they were shining with…
Dear God.
Were they tears?
“You’re so lovely,” she declared.
“As are you,” I replied quietly, taken aback by the strength of her emotion.
She beamed a smile at me and cried too loudly, “We’re here!”
And we were, after walking the length of the front of the house and a little down the north wing, where she was taking me into a room.
And…
Well…
Wow.
Candy red walls. White plasterwork. Arenberg parquet floors. A comfortable sitting area in front of a fireplace. A big bed, four-poster, curtained. Exquisite silk rugs under the bed and seating area. An escritoire against a wall. Cushioned benches strewn with toss pillows built in the three tall wide windows.
But like the entry, minimalism was the key to this room.
It wasn’t a showplace crammed full of antiques and priceless knickknacks picked up over the centuries, carelessly laid somewhere and forgotten.
The bold colors of the red juxtaposed with the white, just like the antique escritoire contrasted with the contemporary lines of the golden-yellow velvet couch in front of the fireplace, all this clashing exquisitely with petal-pink bedding heavily embroidered in magenta and gold.
But among these were a few bouquets of flowers, all much like the one in the foyer: unusually but gorgeously arranged.
And there was a portrait of a woman, surrounded by sky and clouds, wearing a straw hat brimmed with flowers and a feather (she also had very rosy cheeks) and another of a woman (again with the cheeks) wearing a blue dress festooned with flowers, dancing in a forest being watched by a man and a trio of musicians.
Other than a screened smart unit and some crystal-based laps on the nightstands, different lamps on the tables by the couch, that was it.
It was the biggest bedroom I’d ever been in.
And the prettiest by a mile.
Prudence let go of my arm only to grab my hand and pull me into an adjoining room. It was the bathroom.
Fully modern, shower big enough for two, streamlined soaking tub, double basin sink, with thick pink and rose towels and rugs a similar contrast to what was happening in the bedroom, albeit having a more forceful effect, because everything else was white.
After only what amounted to a glance, Prudence led me onward through the bathroom to a room that made me gasp out loud.
Fitted open rails, drawers, shelves, enough for the biggest clotheshorse in history to feel safe they had plenty of space for now and to expand, not to mention have all their onerous shopping efforts proudly on display.
Further to this beauty, there was a large, round tufted bench dead center upholstered in rose velvet.
