Nate cocked his head. She wasn’t wrong. Perhaps, there was more to this idea than fantasy. The thought of Edward’s reaction when he learned that Nate had turned Villa De Lacey into an inn was too thrilling to ignore. Earning his own money was something he’d never really considered outside of the gambling tables, but the idea of it filled him with pleasure. To be independent from his pompous brother—it was enticing indeed. If Edward intended to banish him from society,then he’d bring society to the Lake District. Oh, how that would irk Edward. He grinned.
“You’re smiling,” Bridget said. “I can tell you like the idea.”
“It’s growing more appealing,” Nate said.
“Oh, please say yes, Mr. Squires. I know this will work. It simply has to work.”
Bridget’s blue eyes twinkled and the enthusiasm in her voice was hard to ignore. She seemed to be an intelligent and capable young lady. With her help, he might be able to make the scheme work—at least to the point where Edward would start taking him seriously and he would have some leverage against his brother.
“All right, then. Let’s get that list of repairs drawn up and see what it will take to bring the ton to the Lake District. What do I have to lose?”
*
Bridget felt asthough she was floating on a cloud. It had worked. She’d managed to persuade Mr. Squires to let her and her aunt stay at Villa De Lacey—now all she had to do was convince Aunt Marianne that it was a good idea to turn her brother’s villa into an inn.
Bridget was quite pleased that the handsome Mr. Squires wasn’t the villain in the story of her life—as it turned out, that title belonged to his brother. Life would have been much harder had she been made to share a home with the man who’d contributed to her father’s misery and death. But Nathaniel Squires was, in fact, innocent of that crime and quite a pleasant gentleman too. He didn’t seem to care for his older brother, who had treated him badly. It hadn’t been Nate’s choice to move to Villa De Lacey. His brother had forced him to leave London, and Bridget was going to use their feud to keep herself and her aunt in their home.
She smiled to herself. It didn’t hurt that Nate was pleasing to lookat either. She liked the combination of his dark hair and midnight-blue eyes. As for his physique—well—the thought of him standing unclothed in the window set her cheeks aflame. She’d been quite mortified when he’d waved at her—ashamed that she’d been staring—but she’d been mesmerized by his muscular torso and those lower bits that had been half-obscured by the window ledge. It had been impossible to turn away.
Bridget slid onto the settee in the drawing room, where her aunt sat with her embroidery. Bijou, exhausted from his romp in the garden, jumped onto the settee and curled into a ball beside her.
“My dear,” her aunt said, looking up from her work and pushing her spectacles from the bridge of her nose close to her forehead, “who was that man I saw you conversing with in the garden? He was too finely dressed to be a servant. Are you trying to cause a scandal?”
“That’s what I’m here to talk to you about, Aunt. The gentleman you saw is Mr. Nathaniel Squires—the new owner of Villa De Lacey.”
Aunt Marianne paled. “He’s come to claim our home already.” She lowered her embroidery to her lap as if she no longer had the strength to continue with it. “Oh, my dear Bridget, what are we going to do?”
Bridget put a comforting hand on her aunt’s forearm. “You mustn’t worry yourself. Mr. Squires has no intention of forcing us out of our home. He’s letting us stay.”
“Letting us stay!” The suggestion seemed to ignite a fire within her aunt. “The cheek of it! This home was built by my father. I was born here, as was my brother, and I will die here.”
Bridget clasped her aunt’s hand. “I know how important Villa De Lacey is to you, Aunt. It’s equally as important to me. But, like it or not, the house belongs to Mr. Squires now, and the only way we can stay here is with his permission.”
Her aunt’s forehead creased into a frown, and she blinked several times. She looked defeated, and Bridget’s heart went out to her. “Why would he do that? Are we to pay rent? How much does he want?”
Bridget shifted in her seat. “Actually, I’ve made a business deal with him.”
“A business deal? Ridiculous! Young ladies don’t make business deals.”
“Well, I did. I’ve convinced him to turn Villa De Lacey into an exclusive inn for wealthy tourists.” Bridget spoke quickly and then held her breath, waiting for her aunt’s response.
Aunt Marianne turned whiter than winter frost.
“Did you hear what I said, Aunt?” Bridget prompted.
Her aunt blinked. “You want to fill our home with strangers? Have you gone mad?”
“Paying strangers, Aunt—wealthy ladies and gentlemen—who wish to come and see the magnificent Lake District Mr. Wordsworth describes in his new guidebook.” She handed the book to her aunt.
Her aunt took the book and stared at it blankly. “Bosh! Mr. Wordsworth published one of these years ago. He does it for the money, that’s all.”
“This time it’s different. This edition has attracted a lot of attention. People want to come to the Lake District, and we have the space for them.”
“This is all too much for me.” Aunt Marianne rubbed her forehead. “Strangers in our home. I can’t imagine such a thing.”
“You won’t have to do anything. Mr. Squires and I will handle all the details. He will fund the repair of our furniture and make the house as beautiful again as it once was. Think of it—our home will be filled with guests—full of life again. Think how wonderful that will be.”
Aunt Marianne narrowed her eyes at Bridget. “Your father is a mere two months in his grave. We are still in mourning.”
