Reluctant Deception - Cambria Smyth Page 0,2

she mused, albeit a rich one, squiring Main Line dowagers to parties, horse shows, and charity dinners.

Although she'd never met Christopher Darnell, they had clashed several times in the past, always with a historic building standing squarely between their opposing points of view.

Like the Commerce Bank & Trust Building. It occupied a prime corner in downtown Philadelphia and was a well-known historic landmark. Darnell had taken an option on the five-story Beaux Arts style building several years ago with the intention of razing it to build a 20-story office tower. Hearing of his plans, Libby—an architectural historian—quickly organized a coalition of local store owners, neighborhood residents, and historical society members who stormed the planning board meeting when Darnell's demolition permit was being heard.

Loudly protesting the imminent loss of their beloved landmark, the group successfully argued to save it. Darnell, refusing to consider rehabilitation as an alternative, let his option expire. Libby then spearheaded a fundraising drive to purchase the building and restore it. Today, it was a thriving artists' cooperative with a gallery and restaurant on the first floor and much-sought-after studios on the upper floors.

Everyone was happy with the outcome. Except Christopher Darnell.

Later, Libby fought him over two other historic buildings and won, always galvanizing the community to contest Darnell's plans.

After Libby saved the third building from his clutches, Darnell announced it was the last time she would interfere with his plans and succeed. On the next occasion, he would stop at nothing to defeat her. As far as he was concerned, it was open warfare and she was the enemy.

He promised revenge.

Libby's throat constricted at the memory of his threat.

Rounding a curve, Libby came upon the red brick mansion and gazed in wonder at the fantasy Chester and Amanda Harte built so many years ago. She spent several minutes reverently admiring the arched windows, granite corner stones, paneled double doors, and airy, open porches. Ornate chimneys pierced the skyline while a magnificent five-story tower dominated the mansion’s facade. Its mansard roof was covered with patterned slate tiles and had bracketed dormers. Although suffering from years of neglect and badly needing a coat of paint, Harte's Desire was in original condition, miraculously unaltered.

And, it was all slated for demolition.

Libby grimaced as she imagined the wrecking ball laying waste to the finest example of Second Empire architecture on the New Jersey side of the Delaware River.

As she shook her head with regret, several strands of wavy blonde hair broke free from the bun she'd casually gathered on top of her head this morning. Tucking the wayward strands behind her ears, Libby hastily decided she'd better let her hair down before the meeting. She couldn't take any chances he might recognize her.

Libby would have relished opposing Christopher Darnell, the new owner of Harte's Desire, again. The challenge of saving another historic treasure from the horror wrought by his greedy schemes would have been thrilling and the victory sweet. Despite his threat to the contrary, she knew she could have bested him again.

But she was too late to save Harte's Desire.

And now that she had seen Harte's Desire in all its uninhibited glory, she realized that her meeting with Darnell later this morning signified his triumph, not hers. Refusing to yield to the intense feelings of defeat washing over her, Libby got out of the car and decided to tour the grounds before facing him.

The house had been perfectly sited on the highest part of its eighty acres. Ancient oaks, elms, and holly trees surrounded Harte's Desire with a protective awning and the mansion had a commanding view of the Delaware River flowing lazily behind it. It was a romantic setting, one of the few Libby realized, that remained undeveloped along this side of the river.

As she walked around the grounds to the rear of the house, Libby was disappointed to discover that the rose garden Grandma Reed so fondly recalled had suffered greatly over the years. Although the hybrid teas, grandifloras, and climbers were still there, they hadn't been pruned or cultivated in decades and sprawled in a natural riot across the terraced garden. Wooden trellises were decayed and broken, and a huge brick patio sprouted an indeterminate number of weeds. The ornate wrought iron gazebo, the focal point of the garden, was little more than a rusted pile of metal with an equally forsaken grouping of benches underneath. What had been a showplace in the late 1800's now lay in overgrown and abandoned ruin.

Libby wandered through the remains of the

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