Page 5 of A Winter’s Romance
If your target has pastimes beyond the usual manly sports and gambling, the ability to converse on these topics, even if only to a limited degree, will stand you well in maintaining his interest once you have attracted his attention.
—Advice to Young Ladies
K ate was taken aback for a moment at Mr Paynton’s invitation to stay in the library, not having expected him to deliberately further their acquaintance. “That is very generous, thank you, but it would not be polite of me to hide away in here for too long. However, unless the snow melts soon, I suspect we may be staying here rather longer than we anticipated. If that is the case, I will happily accept your offer.”
A brief frown creased his brow. “Should you dislike having to stay longer?”
“Not at all.” It was refreshing to talk to someone who had no ulterior motive. “I supposed, rather, that you would not care for a house full of… suitoresses.” She paused a moment. “Is there such a word?”
He was smiling now, with shared amusement, and it turned his face from fairly ordinary to attractive. “If there is not, there should be! But what makes you think I do not care for having you all here?”
“Your enthusiasm last night in conversing with the other young ladies Lady Paynton has invited.” The words had come out without thought; she had used sarcasm as an effective deterrent to some of her fortune-hunting suitors last year, but that had not been her intention here.
He chuckled, to her relief. “It did feel rather overwhelming for a while.”
“I don’t imagine Cecy helped by staring at her plate for most of the meal. Mama hopes she will make some friends here and overcome her shyness, to ease her way this coming season.”
“You are not very alike.” It was not quite a question, but she answered it anyway.
“We are half-sisters. Lady Ardley is my father’s second wife.”
Nodding, he turned slightly and waved a hand at the bookshelves behind them. “Do borrow anything you wish.”
There would be plenty of choice—the floor-to-ceiling bookcases were packed with leather-bound volumes. She would have no need to read the little book Madame Garnier had given her, or write her own version, to while away the time.
The bookcases were separated by panelling, which sported dozens of paintings and drawings. Kate had inspected them before settling to her own sketching; some were clearly old, the colours dimmed with time, but there were several watercolours of the house and grounds. He had mentioned having paints …
“Did you paint these?” she asked, regarding him with more interest. Watercolours were usually seen as suitable for ladies. Real artists used oils—or so everyone said.
“Yes.” He seemed a little embarrassed. “Coloured sketches, merely.”
They were more than that, although the buildings were delineated in more detail than the vegetation and skies. She leaned closer to a painting of the pavilion; it was not quite the same as the building visible beyond the window. Not badly drawn, but different in design. “Is this how you wish it could be?”
He looked really embarrassed this time. “No; this was one idea I considered when I was designing it.”
That was even more unusual. “Actually designed?” she asked. “I mean, as opposed to telling an architect the sort of thing you wanted?”
“Is that so impossible to believe?”
She hadn’t meant to put him on the defensive. “Not at all. It looks elegant, and well sited.” Some imp of mischief prompted her to continue. “However, I will reserve final judgement until the snow has melted enough for me to see it close to.” But she couldn’t imagine she would find anything to criticise.
“Are you interested in architecture, Miss Ardley?”
“Papa is, and I enjoy looking through his books of drawings and trying to work out why some combinations of shapes are more pleasing than others. I cannot claim to know a great deal about it, though.”
He waved at the bookshelves. “I have several such volumes, should you wish to peruse them while you are here.” He hesitated, then walked over to what Kate had assumed was a map chest, with a set of wide, shallow drawers. He took out several large sheets of paper and spread them out. “These are the plans for the pavilion.”
Kate examined them with interest, tracing some lines with a finger. “These are separate rooms inside, I think.”
“Yes. I intended it to be useful all year round.”
Kate listened, fascinated, as he pointed out places for serving food, the columned terrace that allowed for sitting in sun or shade, and the section enclosed by glazed doors for use in colder weather.
“There is a gravel path leading to it,” he finished, “so you may be able to inspect it before you leave.” His enthusiastic expression faded. “If that really interests you.”
Kate was surprised at the sudden change in his manner. “Why should it not?”
He ran a hand through his hair. “My family finds my enthusiasm tedious.”
“Interests differ, do they not? And I did ask you about it.” As she spoke, he put the papers back in their drawer. Kate spotted other drawings beneath, but he slid the drawer shut, so her chance to ask about them was lost. “Thank you for explaining it to me.” She glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece, surprised to see they had been talking for nearly half an hour. “I think I should leave you in peace now.”
He bowed. “It has been a pleasure, Miss Ardley.”
It had been for her, too. As she crossed the entrance hall, Jane Neston and Major Paynton emerged from the front parlour. “Kate,” Jane said, “the major has agreed to show me some of the family collections that we didn’t have time to inspect on the tour. There are all manner of things—from native beads to Greek and Roman art, and even fossils and butterflies. Would you care to join us?”
“Thank you, yes.”
Today was turning out to be far more enjoyable than she had anticipated.
When the door closed behind Miss Ardley, Ben crossed to the cabinet that held the drinks tray and poured himself a glass of brandy. He was not in the habit of drinking brandy in the afternoon, but he needed some now.
What had possessed him to prose on about his design at such length? Perhaps because Miss Ardley had appeared to be genuinely interested, without the glazed eyes that his parents didn’t even try to hide whenever he explained his interest in designing buildings.
He had other plans, many more. For alterations to this house to make it more convenient; a more practical arrangement of service rooms; lifts that would avoid maids having to carry laden trays up the narrow servants’ stairs. For a townhouse, a church, a building to house offices. If he hadn’t been the heir, might Father have allowed him to study architecture and make a profession out of it? It was not a usual occupation for younger sons, but he felt it would be as respectable as becoming an attorney or physician.
His mind turned back to Miss Ardley. He had not yet given much thought to the qualities he wished for in a wife, but he knew that intelligence and mutual interests were two of them. As he’d finished explaining his design to her, he had recalled that it was not the done thing to be alone with a young lady in a closed room, and then that he had been talking to her—or possibly at her—for some time. Without that recollection, he would have shown her some of his other ideas.
He crossed to the window, gazing up at the blue sky. When he’d walked to the stables this morning, the cold breeze had been from the north. He didn’t need Foster’s weather sense to know that it was set to be cold for several days yet, but the idea of being confined to this houseful of women for longer than planned no longer seemed as daunting as it had at breakfast.
With that thought, he set his glass on a table and went to see what Mother’s guests were doing. Getting to know Miss Ardley better might not be a bad idea, although he must not show too much partiality and raise hopes that might not be fulfilled; that meant paying attention to the other young women as well. But his resolve faltered at the open door to the front parlour as a high-pitched burst of laughter sounded.
Behind him, Foster cleared his throat. “Major Paynton has taken Miss Neston and Miss Ardley to look at the curios, sir.” He gave the slightest of smiles.
“Thank you, Foster.”
“One of the stable boys brought these for you.” Foster held out a small canvas bag. “I believe they are items Miss Ardley dropped in the snow this morning.”
“Leave them in the library, if you please.” He would give them to her later—to do so now would involve mentioning her upset in front of people she might not wish to know about it.