The Importance of Being Wicked. Victoria AlexanderЧитать онлайн книгу.
am curious though.” He glanced at the notebook in Chapman’s hand. “Aside from when you opened your notebook, you never looked at it. Tell me.” Win flashed him his most engaging smile. “There’s nothing written in that book, is there?”
Chapman hesitated, then grinned. “No, my lord, there isn’t.”
“Then why have it?”
“My clients seem to expect that I would rely on something beyond my mind although I have no need to. The notebook seems to reassure them.”
“Very clever, Mr. Chapman.” Win chuckled.
“I know, my lord.”
A few minutes later Chapman took his leave with assurances that he would contact Win as soon as he had something to report. He had already given Win a great deal to consider.
The fact that Lady Garret was providing for the future well-being of her employees spoke well of her. No matter what secrets she might be hiding, that alone eased Win’s concerns.
In a few days construction would begin, Lady Garret would return and Win would put every effort into winning her over. He had absolutely no doubt the tide of this war had turned.
He had never met a woman yet who wasn’t extremely fond of honey.
Chapter 7
There was something to be said for being at the center of a storm.
Miranda stood on the front lawn of Fairborough Hall and braced her hands on a rough, temporary table, no more than boards positioned on sawhorses, with a copy of the working plans tacked to it. She gazed around with satisfaction, a certain amount of excitement and more than a little pride. No matter that Mr. Clarke—Edwin—was in charge of construction or that the fictional Mr. Tempest had the credit for the design, this was her venture. Certainly, it was not the first project she had designed nor was it the first time she had been on the site of the construction—she had on occasion accompanied John—but somehow this was different.
Everywhere she looked, men hurried to and fro unloading wagons of freshly cut timber, carrying buckets of tools, nails and other supplies. Edwin directed them with the skill of an accomplished orchestra conductor.
They were fortunate to have engaged the services of Edwin. His presence was a practical necessity. Even if her employees were willing to work for a woman it would be unseemly for her to manage the construction site herself. Aside from the fact that she was smart enough to know she did not have that particular skill, men who worked in the construction trades would never have taken direction from a woman, no matter how well they were paid. She and Clara had agreed with Emmett that hiring his brother to oversee construction was the best course of action. Besides, it left Emmett free to remain at the London office without having to worry about what might be happening here.
Edwin Clarke was a large man, skilled in construction and adept at handling the myriad details of a job like this. The man knew what he was doing. He was friendly and jovial as well, and even on this first day she could see he already had the loyalty and trust of the dozen or so men he had hired thus far.
“It’s a good day to begin, don’t you think?” a voice said behind her.
She straightened and turned. “Good day, Lord Stillwell.”
“Lady Garret.” He pulled a deep breath as if savoring the crisp, fresh air. “It is indeed a good day—no, a glorious day. There is nothing better than spring in England and no more appropriate time to start something new than this season of new beginnings. Don’t you agree?”
“I do.” She nodded, then paused. “Although, as I have never experienced spring anywhere else, I have nothing to compare it with.”
“What? No travels through Europe? No grand tour?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“I thought these days every well-bred young lady of good family made a grand tour. I have long suspected it was a requirement. A rite of passage, as it were.”
“Unfortunately, not for me.” She thought for a minute. “I recall there were plans, but my father died and life was unsettled for a while. I then married my husband and, well, travel somehow eluded me.”
“Would you like to travel?”
She shrugged. “Someday perhaps.”
“Where?” He studied her closely, as if he really wanted to know. “What in the vast world do you long to see, Lady Garret?”
“Oh, there really isn’t . . . Greece,” she said without thinking. “I should like to see the ruins of ancient Greece.” Her voice rang with unexpected determination. “I should like to see for myself what remains of those magnificent edifices built when the rest of the world was not yet civilized. I should like to stand in the Acropolis and gaze upon the Parthenon and imagine what it must have looked like when it was new and not ravaged by man and the ages. Oh, I have seen the marbles at the British Museum, but it’s not . . . not enough.”
“How very interesting,” he murmured.
“Utter nonsense, really.” Her face warmed and she pulled her gaze from his to study the house. She couldn’t recall ever having told anyone that before and it was a bit embarrassing that she had told him. That she had revealed something so personal, something that had only ever been a dream. But, until now, no one had ever thought to ask. Even John, who had shared her love of architecture, had never asked if she wished to see the fabled ruins in person. She had no idea why she had told this man. The words had simply come of their own accord. “Well, however appealing the thought of Greece might be, here and now, there is work to be done.” She adopted a firm tone. “The sun is shining and the skies are clear. We should make a good day of it.”
“I like your optimism, Lady Garret.” He grinned, a surprisingly infectious grin. Odd that she hadn’t noticed before.
“I see no need not to be optimistic today, my lord.” She returned his grin and a startled look crossed his face. But then he wasn’t expecting her to be anything other than guarded, polite and somewhat curt.
In the week since she’d last been here, she had done a great deal of thinking. Not merely about the deception she was perpetrating on Lord Stillwell. That was done of necessity and would ultimately serve him well as he would get exactly what he wanted. And while she did not consider herself the type of person prone to deception, it did seem, even before John’s death, that she’d been engaging in relatively innocent deceptions more and more. She had allowed John to take credit for her work and now she was allowing Mr. Tempest to do so. Certainly no one was harmed by her deceptions, but they were dishonest nonetheless.
Nor had she been especially honest with her family either. It had been remarkably easy to escape undue notice in the Hadley-Attwater household if one was the youngest, was discreet and kept one’s mouth shut. She had learned that at an early age. It was John who had allowed her to do—no, to be—exactly who she was. Not that she was especially evasive with her family. She simply kept her affairs to herself. It was time—past time, really—to tell them of her work although the courage Lady Fairborough had thought she had did seem to falter when it came to her family. Still, she was resolved to make a clean breast of it with them. Sooner rather than later. Not today and probably not tomorrow, but definitely soon.
She wondered now, if it had been so easy to be herself with John, why wasn’t it easy with others? Perhaps it came from being the only ordinary member of a family in which everyone else was far more than ordinary. Perhaps that was why the courage Lady Fairborough had spoken of was lacking. And perhaps, just possibly, it was time to turn over a new leaf. To stop being concerned as to what other people might think. To stop being afraid. Even if she was the family’s most ordinary member, Hadley-Attwaters were never afraid. Past time as well to accept that heritage.
And perhaps the place to start was with the reputedly wicked Lord Stillwell. Even if, oddly enough, he didn’t scare her at all.
“I