We pass a wagon, and the boys in it all turn to stare at the sight of us. Living this close to Courtenay Hall, they’d see their share of well-dressed couples in expensive conveyances. Our sleigh is certainly a wondrous thing—sleek and gleaming black with a leather seat and fur-trimmed blankets. What these boys don’t usually see, I’ll bet, is a sleigh like this being driven by the owner himself. We should be comfortably ensconced on that leather seat while a driver conveys us to Courtenay Hall. Personally, I like this much better. It’s certainly a quicker ride, with William deftly steering the gelding, knowing exactly how fast the sleigh can safely and comfortably travel.
We turn onto another road, and I lean forward with a gasp.
“Pretty little thing, isn’t it?” William murmurs.
In the distance, Courtenay Hall sprawls at the foot of wooded hills. Every window is ablaze with light and a skating rink glistens in the front yard.
We continue down the lane, passing gardens put to bed for the season. I spot a maze, two small ponds, a lake to our left, a grand fountain to our right . . .
“There are follies, yes?” I whisper. “That’s what I heard, though when we visited in the modern day they were off-limits to the public.”
“There are several follies,” William says. “To your right, if you squint, you’ll see a pyramid. There’s a tower in the woods. Oh, and of course, the Grecian temple on the hill ahead.”
I make a noise suspiciously close to a squeal. William chuckles. I have a weakness for follies. Perhaps they carry less mystique to those who grew up in England. Or to those who don’t study Victorian history.
The nineteenth century saw a huge rise in tourism, at least among the upper and upper-middle class. Egypt, Greece, Italy, India . . . The English were mad for travel, and if you traveled, you wanted the world to know it. Souvenirs were a must.
Of course, many of those so-called souvenirs are what we’d now call stolen artifacts, and I suspect I’ll see a few objects d’art inside that will make me squirm with discomfort. But follies are different.
When the wealthy traveled, one thing they brought back was a blazing desire to reproduce the world in their backyard, which worked best if your backyard encompassed hundreds of acres. Victorians rebuilt architecture from places they’d seen, usually scaled down versions. And by “scaled-down” I mean a twenty-foot pyramid instead of a two-hundred foot one.
“Is the temple life-size?” I ask. “At least big enough to walk in?”
“It’s big enough to hold a garden party. That’s where August proposed to Rosalind, if I recall correctly. It was our favorite spot growing up. We’d spend hours in there, playing all sorts of boyhood games. It’s based on the Temple of Athena Nike in Athens, as perfect a scaled replica as could be managed.”
He glances over, a smile playing on his lips. “We could always skip the ball and ride straight there. Spend the evening huddled in blankets on the steps of the temple, gazing up at the stars . . .”
He catches my expression. “And that was a cruel tease. I apologize.” He kisses my nose. “We’ll return when we can enjoy it properly, preferably in spring. The earl despises the countryside, and he’s rarely here. We’ll visit when August comes to stay.”
“We’ll bring little Melvina,” I say.
He laughs. “We will certainly bring little whatever-we-name-our-daughter-that-is-not-Melvina.”
I’m about to tease him when a figure darts from a doorway. It’s a young woman in a maid’s uniform, waving madly.
William pulls the reins and the horse stops sharply. “Trying to get yourself killed, Lottie?” He calls. “I know having the master at home is never cause for joy, but surely it isn’t all that bad.”
The girl—no more than a teenager—giggles and curtseys. “Mr. August told me to watch for you. He’s getting ready, and he wanted you to come in this door, if you please, so he might bring young Edmund down for a visit.”
The maid stops at my side of the sleigh and curtseys again. “I’m Lottie, Lady Thorne. Pleased to make your acquaintance. May I help you down?”
“I’ll assist my wife,” William says. “Get yourself inside before you catch your death of a chill.”
I smile. “Please do go in. Lottie. But thank you for the offer.”
Lottie disappears into the house, and William provides the assistance needed to get off my high perch. Then he carries me straight to the steps, ignoring my laughing