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Authors: V. R. Christensen
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have done here. List every appointment, every detail, and present them to me. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir,” she said.
“Very good,” and he left her then, that she might begin her work immediately, and that he might think what was next to be done, what was next to be learned of this strange young woman. And how he was to go about it. His curiosity having been piqued, he would not give the matter up until he had some satisfactory answers.
For now, he would keep his eye on her, and he would keep her occupied. It was entirely possible that, in giving her the responsibility of redecorating the suite of bedrooms, he had placed too much faith in her abilities. Her rendering had shown a keen eye and a little talent. It was going a long way to assume she could manage the execution. But he had not given her carte blanche. She would make her choices, and he would approve or reject as circumstances demanded. Certainly anything she might accomplish would be better than what he could do on his own. And if her taste should run in any extraordinary direction, for good or ill, such would supply him with further evidence yet of the manner in which her tastes had been trained.
Chapter nine
November 1881
VER THE PASSING days, Gina Shaw’s work progressed rapidly, far more rapidly than Mrs. Hartup’s enduring complaints might have led Sir Edmund to suppose. The painters and paperers had been called in and had raised their scaffolding. And while they made their preparations to begin painting, Gina continued her work, where and how she could, arranging, directing, planning in a manner both organised and efficient.
If it was Sir Edmund’s intention to watch her, she did not make his work too difficult. She was out of doors this afternoon, just within view of the study, working very hard as usual and conspicuously so. At least it was difficult to ignore her. He wondered if he had not taken an unnecessary risk in hiring her, and in keeping her in spite of all.
As he considered, he continued to watch from the comfort of his library. The plumes of dust that sailed about her as she beat a decade’s worth of dirt from the rugs did little to conceal her more obvious charms. Her hair she wore down, tied behind with a ribbon. Her complexion, too fine to have seen much of the unshaded world, was flushed from exertion. Sir Edmund sat down at his desk and thought. What combination of circumstances had brought her to his door? It could not be coincidence. He did not believe in it. Nor could it be by design. But what did that leave?
Before any satisfactory solution could be reached, and as if in confirmation of the risks he’d begun to consider, Sir Edmund’s view of the girl was obscured by the silhouette of Miles Wyndham. Without knocking, his nephew entered, his fair hair gleaming in the sunlight and his attention still turned out of doors.
“I see you’ve made an addition to the staff.”
“I have,” Sir Edmund answered. “Though what business it is of yours I’d like to know.”
Wyndham closed the door, but continued to watch her. “Hmm,” he answered, as if he thought the question were one deserving of sincere contemplation.
At last Wyndham managed to tear his gaze from the view outside and sat himself down in a chair opposite Sir Edmund’s desk.
“You’ve come for…?” Sir Edmund asked of him.
Wyndham gave Sir Edmund a sideways look. He appeared pale. But then he always looked pale. “The usual thing,” he answered, stretching his long legs out before him.
“I’m sorry to disappoint you again, Miles. I’m not your personal lending agent.”
“Hamilton seems to do well enough by you.”
Wyndham received a warning look for this.
“But then he’s not crossed you, has he? Not yet, at any rate.” With a jerk of his head in the direction of the yard, Wyndham went on. “It’s good of you to provide him with some amusement. Quite benevolent of you, really. We both know how sadly
“Yes, sir,” she said.
“Very good,” and he left her then, that she might begin her work immediately, and that he might think what was next to be done, what was next to be learned of this strange young woman. And how he was to go about it. His curiosity having been piqued, he would not give the matter up until he had some satisfactory answers.
For now, he would keep his eye on her, and he would keep her occupied. It was entirely possible that, in giving her the responsibility of redecorating the suite of bedrooms, he had placed too much faith in her abilities. Her rendering had shown a keen eye and a little talent. It was going a long way to assume she could manage the execution. But he had not given her carte blanche. She would make her choices, and he would approve or reject as circumstances demanded. Certainly anything she might accomplish would be better than what he could do on his own. And if her taste should run in any extraordinary direction, for good or ill, such would supply him with further evidence yet of the manner in which her tastes had been trained.
Chapter nine
November 1881
VER THE PASSING days, Gina Shaw’s work progressed rapidly, far more rapidly than Mrs. Hartup’s enduring complaints might have led Sir Edmund to suppose. The painters and paperers had been called in and had raised their scaffolding. And while they made their preparations to begin painting, Gina continued her work, where and how she could, arranging, directing, planning in a manner both organised and efficient.
If it was Sir Edmund’s intention to watch her, she did not make his work too difficult. She was out of doors this afternoon, just within view of the study, working very hard as usual and conspicuously so. At least it was difficult to ignore her. He wondered if he had not taken an unnecessary risk in hiring her, and in keeping her in spite of all.
As he considered, he continued to watch from the comfort of his library. The plumes of dust that sailed about her as she beat a decade’s worth of dirt from the rugs did little to conceal her more obvious charms. Her hair she wore down, tied behind with a ribbon. Her complexion, too fine to have seen much of the unshaded world, was flushed from exertion. Sir Edmund sat down at his desk and thought. What combination of circumstances had brought her to his door? It could not be coincidence. He did not believe in it. Nor could it be by design. But what did that leave?
Before any satisfactory solution could be reached, and as if in confirmation of the risks he’d begun to consider, Sir Edmund’s view of the girl was obscured by the silhouette of Miles Wyndham. Without knocking, his nephew entered, his fair hair gleaming in the sunlight and his attention still turned out of doors.
“I see you’ve made an addition to the staff.”
“I have,” Sir Edmund answered. “Though what business it is of yours I’d like to know.”
Wyndham closed the door, but continued to watch her. “Hmm,” he answered, as if he thought the question were one deserving of sincere contemplation.
At last Wyndham managed to tear his gaze from the view outside and sat himself down in a chair opposite Sir Edmund’s desk.
“You’ve come for…?” Sir Edmund asked of him.
Wyndham gave Sir Edmund a sideways look. He appeared pale. But then he always looked pale. “The usual thing,” he answered, stretching his long legs out before him.
“I’m sorry to disappoint you again, Miles. I’m not your personal lending agent.”
“Hamilton seems to do well enough by you.”
Wyndham received a warning look for this.
“But then he’s not crossed you, has he? Not yet, at any rate.” With a jerk of his head in the direction of the yard, Wyndham went on. “It’s good of you to provide him with some amusement. Quite benevolent of you, really. We both know how sadly
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