A Scot to the Heart (Desperately Seeking Duke #2) - Caroline Linden Page 0,45
laugh. “We were discussing that very thing, weren’t we, Captain?”
“Then come along!” Bella hurried back toward her mother, who was watching them with a curious tilt to her head.
Drew handed off his horse to the groom who’d appeared. “Were we talking about the house?”
Ilsa smiled. “Of course. One hopes the interior will also please and delight.”
“Or be a hollowed-out ruin, besieged with ghosts.” He cleared his throat, trying to shake the urge to flirt with her even more provocatively. “I’ve no doubt which one my sisters would prefer.”
She laughed with him, and they walked side by side toward the house, so close their elbows bumped. And that also felt so right Drew didn’t even want to think about it.
George Watkins came forward and introduced himself. “A great pleasure to welcome you and your guests to Stormont Palace, Captain. I’m sure you’ll find everything in order for your party.”
Drew nodded, intensely interested in seeing the house. “I’ve no doubt. Will you show us around?”
Mr. Watkins was eager to do so. He led them from room to room, bubbling over with little bits of history and lore about the house, the men who built it, the families who had lived in it, and even the furnishings and objects within it.
When Bella reached out to touch an engraved silver cup on a table in the gallery, Mr. Watkins piped up that it had been used by Their Majesties King James IV and Queen Margaret over two hundred and fifty years earlier while on a visit to the house. Bella snatched her hand away, and her mother pulled her back from the table entirely.
The furnishings in the dining room were French, elaborately carved walnut and inlaid with ebony from the time of King Louis XIV. It was rare to find examples outside of France, said Mr. Watkins proudly. Everyone studied the room in reverent silence, and Drew wondered how they would ever sit down to eat.
The large landscape over the mantel in the drawing room was revealed to be by Alexander Keirincx. “It was painted by commission of King Charles I, in honor of his first visit to Scotland,” Mr. Watkins proudly informed them. “A magnificent view of Stormont Palace.”
And left to hang unseen in this lonely house, thought Drew. He wondered if the duke even knew what treasures he owned in these far-flung, forgotten properties.
The bedrooms had been prepared, and the housekeeper, who turned out to be Mrs. Watkins, showed everyone to their quarters with friendly efficiency. Drew lingered with Mr. Watkins in the staircase hall.
“Mr. MacGill said you wish to make a thorough examination of the place,” said Watkins with a trace of anxiety. “I’ve done my best to assemble the records, which I’ve always tried to keep in good order, sir, but it was very short notice—”
“I’m sure we’ll manage.” The house appeared clean and well-kept, comfortably old-fashioned and handsomely appointed. Drew inhaled deeply. Yes, he did like this house.
It felt like home.
After a day of travel, dinner was a light repast, in the beautiful dining room with sky blue damask on the walls and a glittering gold chandelier above the long table. They retired to the drawing room, but when Mrs. St. James sat down at the harpsichord, it twanged painfully, putting a quick death to Winnie’s hope that they could dance.
Ilsa wandered over to the windows facing south, across a broad sweep of lawn. Mr. Watkins had mentioned a maze on the property, and she thought she could see a corner of it. That would please Bella.
Agnes joined her. “When Drew called it a palace, I thought it an exaggeration,” she murmured. “’Tis very grand.”
“And very beautiful.” Ilsa’s eyes roved appreciatively over the room. They hadn’t seen but half the house, and it was remarkable.
“Yes,” Agnes admitted. “It is.”
“One true benefit of your brother’s expectations?”
Agnes smiled reluctantly. “A very small one.”
“Some might think it crass to consider the creature comforts when deciding whether or not one favors something, but they most certainly affect one’s opinion,” Ilsa went on. “At times they’re the deciding factors.”
Agnes appeared put out by that. “Everything counts, I suppose. Not that this would be my house. It’ll be Drew’s.”
“But you would be welcome here,” Ilsa pointed out. “And if this is the forgotten and neglected house in Scotland, not visited in twenty years, what do you think the other, more preferred houses are like?”
Her friend gave her a perplexed look. “Those won’t be my houses, either.”
“No,” Ilsa murmured, “but think of the gentlemen you’ll meet,