Lord Barry's Dream House (15 page)

Chapter
Thirteen

T
he remainder of the week was bustling with activity. First came the funeral for Sir Phineas. Juliana was grateful that she was not required to attend. The men of the house, together with Lord Barry, went to the little church in the village for the service.

“I cannot believe he is actually dead,” Kitty said, curled up on her favorite window seat in the morning room.

“It does make a difference for all of us, but I suppose it affects you a great deal,” Juliana said with sympathy, wondering just how patient her little sister would be in the coming months. It was evident that she felt little inclined to mourn Sir Phineas, for all that he had made life miserable for Juliana and ultimately been responsible for the death of a carpenter.

“Indeed,” Kitty replied, a dreamy look creeping into her eyes. “Peregrine begs me to be resigned to the wait, but I can see he has no more patience than I.”

Juliana had been called away at that point and had not since found the opportunity to remind Kitty that time passes faster than one would think. Her day would come soon enough.

The second event of the week was the arrival of Aunt
Tibbles
. She was without a doubt Juliana’s favorite aunt, even if Lady Hamilton and Miss
Tibbles
heartily detested one another, in spite of the fact they were sisters. In this instance, the two would spend very little time together. It suited all involved to a tee.

The elegantly tall, thin, and most sprightly Miss Augusta
Tibbles
undoubtedly made softly round and somewhat indolent Susan, Lady Hamilton, feel frivolous, for Augusta could accomplish more in an hour than Susan could in a day.

They had never agreed on what was right for the girls. Augusta
Tibbles
insisted that regardless of her age, Juliana deserved a come-out. The subject reared its head again as soon as the two faced one another over the tea table.

“I do not understand how a sister of mine could be so remiss about her eldest daughter—one who has the intelligence of the
Tibbles
combined with the looks of the Gerards. Our mother was a famous beauty in her day,” Augusta charged with more than a little belligerence.

“Brunettes are not in fashion now; blondes are,” was Lady Hamilton’s smug reply.

“Pish tush,” Augusta said with a dismissing wave of a thin, elegant hand. “If you were half as clever as you think you are, you would have discovered a way to make Juliana all the rage.” She buried her nose in her teacup, watching over the rim as her younger, and not as bright, and certainly more self
-
centered sister coped with that home truth.

“Augusta,” Lady Hamilton at last declared, “you are a guest in my home, so I shan’t tell you how utterly odious you have become in your old age. Instead, I shall tell you that I am pleased that it is you who will be shepherding Juliana and Lord Barry around London, to warehouses and linen drapers, and heaven knows where else. Even you will be worn to flinders unless I miss my guess.”

“It sounds delightful,” Augusta retorted. “Unless I am mistaken, I’ll be treated to a view of the latest in decoration, furniture, and all matter of fascinating things. I shall enjoy seeing all that. ’Tis better than a raree show. What a pity you are such a stuffy, dreary creature, Susan. You miss so much life has to offer. I feel sure that not all countesses are as stodgy as you are.”

With that final barb planted in her sister’s hide, Augusta rose from her chair, set the delicate china teacup on the tray, and sailed from the room, her height lending a certain majesty to her exit.

“When do we leave for London?” Augusta demanded once she had found Juliana in the morning room.

Juliana looked up from a book of garden building designs and frowned. “Best seek out his lordship. He is the one planning the trip, and I imagine he will tell us when he is ready to depart.”

“You have organized a list of the manufactories, warehouses, and linen drapers you intend to visit?”

“I had forgotten how you liked to make lists,” Juliana said, smiling at her dearest aunt. “Indeed, yes, I have a list at the ready. I also have had one of the painters apply dabs of the various paints to a piece of wood, so we will have that for comparison when shopping.”

“Most intelligent of you. I trust Lord Barry is anxious to move into his new home?” Aunt
Tibbles
settled onto a chair, looking out of the window to where Kitty strolled in the garden while having an earnest chat with Sir Peregrine.

“Now that old Phineas is gone, Barry will move in there a great deal quicker,” George said, having caught the last sentence his sister had uttered while entering the room. “You are needed over at the site at once, Juliana. I ordered the gig readied for you to save time.”

He didn’t elaborate on why she was needed, but Juliana knew him too well to question his words. It must be something he wished to conceal from his sister Augusta.

“I shall go at once,” Juliana said, closing the book and taking it along with her. She would show it to his lordship. Perhaps he might be reconciled to one of these designs.

“Don’t lose a minute,” he murmured as she passed him on her way out.

“Now see here, George,” Augusta began, her voice fading as Juliana slipped along to the back door.

She thankfully escaped from the house and climbed into the waiting gig, anxious to be off. What could be so urgent that she must dash to the Barry mansion? On the way she mulled over the intriguing question from every angle, and short of some disaster that hadn’t needed Sir Phineas to set it off, she couldn’t fathom what it might be.

She handed the reins to the usual lad who cared for her carriage and horse when she was at the site, then walked to the house with a heart full of misgivings. There had not been a fire, for the house looked intact. There was no indication of an upset in the interior of the house.

Then she noticed a lovely chestnut mare off to one side, the groom in charge wearing the livery of the Marquess of Titchfield. Juliana quickened her steps.

Within the house voices could be heard, echoing through vacant rooms. The floors had been laid down and hand
-
rubbed with special oils, and now gleamed softly in the sunlight. No draperies, no furniture, no carpets were in place to soften noise. Along with the rise and fall of what was undoubtedly Lady Rosamund’s dulcet tones came Lord Barry’s deep replies, with a counterpoint of carpenters at work on one of the first-level floors.

On the first floor she found Lady Rosamund strolling along with Lord Barry on a languid tour of inspection. They had paused in the Etruscan room, where Lady Rosamund was giving vent to her feelings regarding such pagan display.

“I cannot think how any woman of sensibility will react when confronted with these paintings come morning and she enters this room,” Lady Rosamund complained.

“Good morning, Lady Rosamund, Lord Barry. Is it not a blessing that you most likely will not be faced with such a dilemma in that event?” Juliana interposed sweetly.

Her greeting earned her a narrow-eyed glare from Lady Rosamund and an amused glance from his lordship. Evidently Rosamund’s mother had decided a viscount in the hand is worth a duke and marquess in the bush.

“Did you really and truly commission this room for Lord Barry without telling him first?” Lady Rosamund inquired, her voice rising a few notes to indicate her amazement.

“Every now and again we, each of us, deserve a surprise,” Juliana responded wryly.

“Well, supposing he did not care for it?” her ladyship said, leaning a trifle on Lord Barry’s arm as she gazed coyly into his face, fluttering her lashes.

Juliana longed to give Rosamund a less than gentle pat on her posterior. “I would have crossed that bridge when I came to it,” Juliana said tartly.

“My, how daring you are—so masculine.” Lady Rosamund trilled a laugh that sounded quite as practiced as Barbara’s. Juliana wondered what it sounded like when those two rehearsed their feminine wiles in private, with their respective mothers as mentors.

“I agree that Lady Juliana is quite out of the common way, but she is to be commended on her devotion to her father’s memory and his talent,” Lord Barry inserted, quite effectively bringing Lady Rosamund to a halt in her snide remarks about Juliana. “I find a woman with an opinion rather refreshing now and again.”

Juliana clutched her book to her, then recalled why she had brought it along. She hoped to interest his lordship in a pretty little Grecian temple that would be perfect on a slight rise above and just beyond the small lake that had been created not far from the house. Once trees had been planted and shrubbery set in place, it would appear quite as ancient—and traditional—as anyone could desire.

But, the rub was, she did not want Lady Rosamund putting forth her thoughts on the subject. Juliana discovered that she did not want Rosamund inhabiting this house, nor even expressing a feeling about it.

“Aunt
Tibbles
and Uncle George send their greetings,” Juliana said to Lord Barry, sure that had they thought about it, they would have done the polite. “Had they known that you were here, alone—” Juliana glanced pointedly around—“they would have sent greetings to you as well, Lady Rosamund.”

Then Juliana wondered if Rosamund was trying to compromise his lordship. She’d put nothing past the girl, for she was quite accustomed to having her way in all things.

“La, Lady Juliana, my maid is never far from my side, I assure you.
I
am not so lost to propriety that I would ever consider walking with a gentleman without a chaperon.” The elevated nose did not prevent her from giving Juliana a look full of suspicion.

Juliana wondered if she looked guilty and decided she really had not much to feel guilty about—unless one counted several passionate kisses. And not a soul knew about those, save herself and Lord Barry. Neither would divulge that.

The sound of hammering began at a room closer, thus became louder. Another carpenter must have joined the crew.

“I believe the noise is becoming objectionable. Perhaps we might go outside in the fresh air?” Lord Barry said, leading Lady Rosamund from the room and along to the top of the stairs.

Juliana followed, feeling quite as useless as a flea. Perhaps his lordship had decided the rich and beautiful young heiress of the Purcell family would be an acceptable wife. What a pity it would be were Rosamund to turn out like her mother. A shrewd study of Rosamund’s face revealed an amazing similarity between the two, once one delved beneath the fat that covered the mother’s face.

“You wished to discuss something with me this morning, Lady Juliana?” Lord Barry said at last as the three strolled down the perfectly proportioned steps to the gravel in front of the house.

“It is not urgent,” Juliana denied. “I mainly came over,” and she thought a second before continuing, “to check on the progress of the men who work on the flooring.”

“Then check on them, by all means,” Lady Rosamund said crossly.

Feeling that his lordship would make his own choices whatever she chanced to do, Juliana nodded pleasantly and left the two standing not far from Rosamund’s pretty chestnut mare. So be it on his head if he made the wrong decision.

Once she returned to the upper floor, Juliana inspected the work being done with a careful eye to detail. This particular floor was being laid in a pretty pattern and required attention to wood grains and color to be effective. The man she had chosen from her father’s list was proving to be a genius at his work. His assistant carried in another armful of exotic woods in various lengths for his use. In another room down the hall, more oak was being laid.

“You approve?” Lord Barry said from immediately behind her. It seemed that Lady Rosamund had been sent on her way—along with her ever-present maid and the groom.

“I should hope so,” Juliana replied fervently, thus earning a smile of appreciation from the man at work. “Note how the colors of the various woods enhance the design. Once they have a coat of varnish, those colors will be even lovelier, particularly the ebony trim pieces.”

“What was it you wished to show me from that book you clutch so fiercely?” he inquired, adroitly plucking the book from her arms and opening it to the page with the marker to the little Grecian temple she admired.

“See,” she said, losing her feeling of constraint in the enthusiasm for the little temple. “Would this not be most fitting for the little knoll across the lake? Once you plant trees and shrubbery about it, you could think it had been there for ages. In the spring you could have pretty budding trees and daffodils on the bank. Come autumn you could have red oaks clustered behind to enhance the purity of the stone, with dianthus and bellflowers to bloom around the base of the building in wild profusion. It would be vastly appealing, my lord.”

“You really care how the estate will appear, don’t you?” He gazed down at her with a puzzled expression, as though trying to figure her out.

“Of course I do,” Juliana said defensively.

“Even though you might never see the place again once you are done?”

The very thought was hard to bear. Never to see this architectural gem again? She would not make a good architect, she decided in an instant, for she grew too attached to her projects. “If I must never see it again, I must face that reality.”

Edmund stared at the earnest young woman standing close to him. A shadow had crossed her face when he had posed his query. A husky quality had crept into her voice, and she had clasped her hands before her in a gesture of what seemed almost like anguish. She did not look forward to quitting his house. It pleased him, somehow.

Yet, no matter how attracted he was to her, she was not his ideal. Too aggressive, too bold and daring, she did not always observe the proprieties. He had seen no evidence of
her
maid lurking around a
corner
.

Or
...
did she consider him utterly harmless? No, he decided at once. There had been several instances when he had been unable to resist her charms. And, he thought with satisfaction, she had yielded for several long moments to the flare of passion that had ignited between them. Perhaps it was a part of her creative nature to be responsive, passionate in all she did.

He returned his gaze to the illustration in the book, then strolled to another room from which he might see better. Yes, he could envision a little Doric-columned temple nestled in a growing woods on the far side of the newly completed lake. How fortuitous that he’d been able to dam that creek without objections from those in the near countryside. Water continued to flow, and it would offer a reservoir in the event of a dry summer.