Beauty So Rare, A (A Belmont Mansion Novel Book #2) (44 page)

 35 

M
arcus studied Eleanor as she reviewed the financial proposal he’d stayed up most of Friday night to finish. He knew she had no idea how lovely she looked standing there in the morning light, the sun streaming in through the glass panels of the conservatory. And he had no business thinking what he was thinking, much less doing what he was about to do.

But whether inspired by her studiously pensive look as she read, or the feeling that he was finally about to build what he’d dreamed of building all these years, he did it anyway.

He leaned close, watching her mouth, her lips moving silently as she considered the numbers, but all
he
could consider were the seconds until he tasted the sweetness of her kiss again. At the touch of his hand on her cheek, she looked up, and the answer was clear in her eyes. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her full on the mouth. Her arms came around his neck and pulled him closer, closer. Then
she
deepened their kiss, urging him on in a way he’d scarcely allowed himself to dream much less imagine. He traced the curve of her back and felt the comely shape of her—

“Marcus?”

He blinked.

“So what do you think? I’m not sure about the cost comparisons in these two columns.”

Closing and opening his eyes again, Marcus looked at her standing at the table beside him, his mouth dry, his arms disappointingly empty, and his thoughts on anything but budgets.

Concern creased her brow. “If you’re too tired to do this right now, we can—”

“
Nein, ich
bin in Ordnung
—” He sighed, managing a smile. “I mean . . . I’m fine. Let’s continue. This way, you’ll have everything you need to make your decision this weekend.”

He combed a hand through his hair, weary from too little sleep, too many calculations, and uneasy over a letter he’d received from his father in response to the one he’d written nearly a month ago. His father had a way of phrasing things that always made him feel lesser somehow.

Marcus pointed to the columns in question, working to see past the images of Eleanor still so fresh and vivid in his mind. “On this page, I listed straight comparison costs for every step of both projects.”

Over the next two hours, they reviewed every item on every page, line by line, and he answered all her questions.

To construct the building he’d designed would cost more than the renovation, which hadn’t been surprising. The Bennetts—following persuasion from women in the league—had finally agreed that if the decision was made to go with the new building, the old courthouse would be razed, and they would donate the land. Marcus would’ve preferred a woodsy acreage elsewhere but the budget didn’t allow for such.

A major portion of the cost of the new construction was labor. Because in order to complete the project by the May deadline, he would have to triple his work force. And the first order of business? Demolish the old courthouse. But that’s what his cash reserves were for. And he was more than willing to fund that portion of the project.

He’d adjusted the bid accordingly, considering it a donation to the widows’ and children’s home, as well as his last chance to put brick and mortar to his dream.

Once they finished, Eleanor stood and arched her back, then rubbed her neck and shoulders. “You are a very thorough man, Marcus Geoffrey. Everything in such detail.” She moved back to the table where he’d laid the designs for the new building. “Aunt Adelicia said you shared these with her yesterday.”

Marcus joined her. “She requested that I bring them by. I think she was pleased.”

“
Pleased?
” Eleanor scoffed. “It’s all she could talk about this morning at breakfast. That, and how she wished you’d designed and built her new billiard hall. So yes, I’d say she was somewhat pleased.”

He smiled at the compliment. If Adelicia was on his side, the question of which building Eleanor would choose was all but answered.

He studied her profile as she looked at the design sketches again. If she had accepted Lawrence Hockley’s proposal, he felt certain she
would have admitted as much the other night when she’d told him about the offer of marriage. But just in case . . .

“Eleanor, I—”

“What are
these
?” She tapped the page. “On this portion of the roof right here.”

He looked to where she pointed, then smiled, having wondered when she would ask. “Those, madam . . . are roof lanterns.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Roof lanterns. They’re windows that are installed on the roof, much like a regular window with glass and panes. They serve several purposes. First, they allow more light into the space, which saves on lamp oil. Second, they allow in the sunlight’s warmth, which helps to heat the room. But, most importantly”—he glanced up at the glass panels of the conservatory above them—“the sunlight enables you to grow flowers and plants.
Indoors
.”

She looked at him. “Grow flowers and plants indoors. You mean, as in a conservatory?”

“Similar, but not exactly. We’ll have actual flower beds in the lobby entrance, and even a small tree or two. The whole thought behind this building is to bring nature inside, to incorporate the beauty of creation with the beauty and functionality of man’s design.”

Holding his gaze, she nodded slowly, then returned her focus to the designs. “I appreciate your love of flowers, Marcus. I appreciate nature too.” She looked up. “But how much would these windows cost? Not only in materials but in time to install them?”

“Not as much as you’d—”

“And what if they leak? Water will be everywhere. Or what about hail? One good storm, and glass could come raining down on the children. And wouldn’t installing those on the roof mandate cutting through other floors? Think of the living space that would be sacrificed.” She frowned. “I’ve never heard of . . .
roof lanterns
. Is it something from
Europe
?” She said it as if that might be a bad thing.

“Do you have any more questions, Eleanor? Because if you do, go ahead and ask them so I can answer them all at once.”

She winced. “I’m sorry. But I’m worried about going over budget. Aunt Adelicia has been very specific about that. And I . . .” She sighed. “I don’t want to do anything that will cause her to regret having given me this project.”

Marcus heard what she wasn’t saying. She wanted Adelicia to be proud of her. Which was something he understood. He thought of his
father’s letter again and wished he could speak to him. As it was, he pushed it from his mind for the moment.

“The roof lanterns aren’t nearly as costly as you might think, and they’re already included in the bid. I guarantee you we won’t go over budget. I give you my solemn word on that. Now . . . to answer your other questions, I’ve already considered the issues you raised. We’re installing doors, similar to shutters that will protect the windows in stormy weather.”

“And just who will go up on the roof to close those doors every time it threatens rain?”

“The windows will seal tight. Same as ordinary windows. Not a drop of rain will get through. The doors are for when it storms.”

Saying nothing, she went back to studying the designs. “Another thought to consider if we choose the old courthouse . . .”

Marcus bristled at the thought.

“With winter coming, and so many of the women and children without adequate housing, we might be able to finish a section and allow a portion of them to move in even as we’re completing the renovation project. I know it wouldn’t be ideal but—”

“That would be
far
from ideal, Eleanor. Children and construction do not mix.”

“Neither do children being on the streets, or children bedding down on a cold wooden floor with the wind coming through the walls.”

They stared at each other for a moment, and he thought of Caleb’s building. He’d sent a few of his men over to work on it weeks ago. Callahan reported that they’d repaired the holes in the floor and sealed the cracks in the walls. He’d said the women and children were grateful. Marcus hadn’t been back to see what they’d done. And right now, looking into Eleanor’s eyes, he wished he had.

“But,” she said softly, “we must also look beyond the urgent. A new building will serve the need very well, perhaps even better in some ways. If we’re to encourage members of the community to volunteer down the line, which I hope to, then a new building, one that’s attractive and that makes people ‘
stop on the street just to stare
at it
’ ”—she arched an eyebrow—“will be a wonderful way to entice them inside.”

Hearing her tout the advantages of new construction near elated him. Or would have, if hearing his own words parroted back to him hadn’t been so unpleasant. He recalled saying that phrase. But it sounded so much more . . . self-centered than he’d realized. Which didn’t sit well with him in light of the project’s goal. Which seemed to be expanding . . .

“What do you mean when you say you want to encourage members of the community to volunteer?”

Warmth deepened her brown eyes. “Last night, after dinner, one of the children brought me a book and asked me to read to them. So we had a story time. It was wonderful. And that set me to thinking. . . . What if we made a little library? And what if we provided reading classes for the children who don’t know how to read? Or for those who need to learn English so they can read the signs in stores and on the streets. Oh!” She touched his arm. “You’ve met Mrs. Claire Monroe?”

He nodded, enjoying her enthusiasm.

“I’ve spoken with her, and she’s willing to come and teach the children how to paint. Then there’s Mrs. Malloy, who has made dresses for some of the ladies. She’s agreed to teach the women how to sew. I think it’s important that we not only feed their bodies but also their . . .”

A touch of color rose in her cheeks. “I’m sorry, Marcus. I’m talking too much.”

“No,” he said quickly. “Not at all. Besides, I’d love to listen to you read.”

Her smile—something he’d seen little of that morning—was a thing of beauty.

She turned again to his sketches for the new building and ran a hand along the graduated roofline. “What you’ve designed is stunning, Marcus. Truly stunning.”

“I live to serve, madam.”

She cut her eyes at him. “Which is precisely the impression I got the first time I saw you.”

He feigned being hurt but was also curious. “What
did
you think the first time you saw me? I wager it wasn’t a favorable opinion.”

“Let’s just say . . .” She hesitated. “I was fairly convinced that you thought quite highly of yourself.”

“And me being a lowly under gardener, no less.”

She grimaced. “I still can’t believe you allowed me to think that of you for so long.”

“Would it have mattered to you if it had been true?”

“If you’d been an under gardener?”

He nodded.

“Of course not.” She met his gaze. “Would it have mattered to you if you’d known I wasn’t the
wealthy
niece of Adelicia Cheatham, but rather an all-but-destitute relative who came to live at Belmont”—her voice softened to a near whisper—”because she had nowhere else to go?”

In the fragile silence following, Marcus sensed her vulnerability, and yet her strength too. And resilience that—unlike the simpering nature of so many women he’d met in his life—made her attractive in ways more than only physical. And that was saying a great deal. Because he’d lived the majority of his adult life pursuing pleasure.

But Eleanor made him want to be a better man. No. Not just
better
. She inspired him to be the best he could be. By offering the same of herself. No matter who she was with. No matter if she was cooking in a kitchen in a rundown shack or speaking with a gathering of Nashville’s finest.

“No,” he whispered, realizing they weren’t talking only about their first meeting anymore. “It wouldn’t have mattered to me either.”

He wished he could have captured her image in a portrait in that moment. One he could carry with him in his pocket for the day he would no longer actually look into her eyes. The sunlight shining on her hair, her playful yet somewhat serious expression. He’d asked the Lord several times since that day in the warehouse to show him what he should do next. But so far, the Lord had remained silent.