Mrs. Bolton did not appear convinced. “It is not his violating that beautiful house that worries me, but what he might do toyou.”
Honestly!
It was a good thing her housekeeper had bustled away after tossing out the remark. Any other mistress might havedischarged her housekeeper for impertinence. But Mrs. Bolton had been there since before Berry was orphaned. Her position was secure. In truth, Berry dreaded losing any more people around her that she trusted and loved.
She went downstairs and walked into her garden to await Mr. Knight.
Melton soon set out the pitcher of lemonade and glasses. “Will that be all you need?”
Berry nodded. “Yes. This is perfect.”
“Then I’ll run next door and deliver the other pitchers.”
He had no sooner walked away than Mr. Knight climbed over the stone wall between their properties, easily scaling it. “Are you going to tell me how rude I am for presuming to hop over and not come to your front door?”
“No, but try not to make a habit of it,” she said with a light laugh. “My servants are already commenting about you.”
“What are they saying? Bad things, I suppose. Servants can sometimes be more scathing than their masters about who is quality and who is not. They are not wrong about me, I suppose.”
She frowned at him. “I shall tell you the same thing I just told my housekeeper. You are nottitled. But that is not the same asquality. If I were forced to choose between marrying you or Lord Hawthorne, is there any doubt which of you I would choose? The man intent on stealing my funds and gambling them away, or the one who will invest them wisely and protect me?”
He grunted. “Let’s hope you are not required to choose either of us. Your wealth would be protected, but you would lose all yourtonfriends if you were to marry me.”
“That’s what my housekeeper said.”
“Well, now you’ve heard it twice. Let that sink in.”
They sat and had their lemonade.
He was in a sweat because of the physical labor he’d just completed, but he still smelled awfully nice, that undertone of citrus and sandalwood.
The weather was also cooperating. Still warm, but not quite as hot as it had been last week. There was a gentle, cooling breeze that rustled through the trees and lightly ruffled Mr. Knight’s hair.
She itched to reach out and brush her fingers through his slightly-too-long, dark hair.
But that was a ridiculous impulse.
“Shall we talk about your house?” Berry asked, setting down her glass after taking a sip.
Mr. Knight gulped his down, for the poor man had been working very hard in the morning heat and must have been intolerably thirsty. “Yes,” he said, setting down his glass, too. “I need so much help. I have all the workers I need, since so many of my businesses require constant upkeep. Painters, for example. They are ready to go, but I don’t know what paint colors to tell them to use. Or should some rooms have wallpaper? What about the stain for the floors? Or should I rip up the wood floors and put in marble?”
She took pity on him because he appeared so genuinely confused. “Let me give you a tour of my home,” she suggested, “and then we shall walk over to yours.”
He shrugged, but then nodded and smiled at her in obvious gratitude. “All right.”
“Would you mind if I brought along my sketchbook and drew some ideas while we walked through your house?”
“I would be grateful.” He cast her another smile, this one boyishly endearing. “So, you can draw?”
“Yes, it is one of the many useless talents ladies of good breeding are encouraged to acquire. Singing and playing the pianoforte are also musts.”
“How are you at those?
She playfully winced. “Not good at all.”
Berry could not recall ever spending a more pleasant morning, she decided as she led Mr. Knight through the principal rooms of her home. On the ground floor were the formal parlor where she held her soirées, the dining room, the music room, and the kitchen areas. One flight up were her library, her study, the ladies’ salon where she held her tea society meetings, a sewing room, and two guest bedchambers. Another flight of stairs up were the family bedrooms and dressing areas. Above that were the servants’ quarters.
She only showed Mr. Knight through the first two floors of the house, since these main rooms were the only ones most visitors to his home would see. Besides, she dared not show him her own bedchamber because that was simply too intimate. “Is there anything you particularly liked? Paint color? Wood? Drapes?”
