“Five pounds says it’s real.”
Nick leveled his friend with a cool blue gaze. “Make it ten.”
“Ten pounds says we stay to catalogue it.”
As if on cue, the door opened, to reveal a mildly flushed Lady Isabel in a gray muslin day dress. Her hair had been returned to perfect smoothness and she was the portrait of calm and utter ladylikeness.
Nick looked up at her, instantly appreciating her long, willowy frame. She was tall and lithe and stunning.
It no longer seemed to matter that he had been sitting on these wretched steps for half the day.
He rose, Rock beside him, as she spoke. “My lords,” she said with a welcoming smile as a young footman in full livery opened the door wide. “Please forgive me for keeping you waiting.”
She was utterly poised, her tone and demeanor so even that one would never guess that they had just conducted an entire conversation with her roofbound.
She stepped aside, making room for their entrance.
Once inside, Nick registered the quietness of the house—the foyer was dimly lit, the front of the manor having been shaded from the late afternoon sun.
There was no sign of the boy who had been at the door earlier—he had been replaced, it seemed, by the woman who stood at the foot of a wide stone staircase, also dressed in mourning attire. Nick paused briefly, considering her. She was blond and willowy, with a serene smile and downcast eyes—entirely different from Lady Isabel.
Was it possible she was another Townsend sibling?
Noting Nick’s attention, Isabel stepped back and said, “Lara, may I present Lord Nicholas St. John and Mr. Durukhan? Lord Nicholas, Mr. Durukhan, my cousin, Miss Lara Caldwell.”
“Miss Caldwell.” Nick bowed low before Rock stepped forward.
Lara’s eyes went wide at the Turk’s sheer size, even as he offered her a warm smile and reached for her hand to greet her, “Miss Caldwell, it is a pleasure to meet you.” The Turk’s eyes lingered on Lara’s face as Nick turned back to Isabel.
“Where is the boy?”
“My lord?”
“The boy. Who answered my earlier knock.”
“You mean James … my brother … the earl … Lord Reddich, I suppose I should start calling him.” He watched as color flooded her cheeks. “He is … with his governess. I do apologize, again, for our somewhat … unorthodox … treatment. You see, the house was not expecting guests—we so rarely have them—and you startled James …”
Rock turned at her flustered explanation, meeting Nick’s eyes. The woman was not comfortable with them in the house, that much was clear.
“ … and several of the servants have the afternoon free,” she hurried to finish.
“While you learn the fundamentals of roof repair.”
“Precisely.” She smiled shyly, and he was struck once again by the change that came over her. She was beautiful.
When he returned her smile, hers was gone in a flash, as quickly as it had come. “Shall I show you the collection, my lord? I should hate to keep you here for too long—particularly when you must be planning to leave Yorkshire at any moment.”
Her words were a clear foray for information—one to which Nick was unwilling to respond. “Not at all. In fact, Rock was just pointing out how very engaging the area is—we may well stay awhile. So we have plenty of time this afternoon.”
“Oh,” she said, and he did not miss the disappointment in her tone.
She wanted him gone.
Why?
He was becoming intrigued.
Out of the corner of his eye, Nick noticed a nearby door slightly ajar and guarded by two liveried footmen, one tall and thin, one short and squat. He considered the sliver of space between the door and its seat, running his gaze along it. Sure enough, there, four feet from the ground, a little face peered out at him, wide-eyed. It was the boy from earlier.
He couldn’t help himself. He winked at the child and was rewarded with a gasp that sliced through the quiet, open space before he was gone, yanked from the door in a cry of young outrage.
Isabel did not flinch as the door slammed shut, instead spinning on her heel to lead them toward the stairs. “Please follow me. I am happy to show you the marbles.”
They climbed the wide stone stairs to the next floor in silence, Nick taking in the quiet dignity of the house that had not seen new decor in more than a decade. Lights were kept to a minimum, the darkened halls were bereft of servants, and all but a handful of doors were closed, indicating that the rooms behind them were rarely in use.
As she led them down a long, narrow corridor, Nick asked, “Lady Isabel, why you were repairing the roof? ”
She was ahead of him, and her head turned slightly as she registered the question. After a long pause, she said, “It leaks.”
The woman would try the patience of a saint. Truly.
He waited for her to elaborate. When she did not, he said, “I imagine that is the most likely reason for a roof to be in need of repair.”
He ignored the sound that came from Rock, a cross between laughter and strangulation.
As they reached a far corner of the house, Nick registered a familiar, not-unpleasant odor—a musty smell that he had long associated with the very best of discoveries. When she opened a door near the end of the hallway and indicated that they should enter, the wash of golden sunlight that spilled through the doorway surprised him.
Isabel stepped back, allowing him access to the large room, a perfectly symmetrical space, with tall ceilings and a wall of high windows that looked out onto the vast manor lands. The windows did nothing to hide the late afternoon sun that shone directly into the large, open space filled with dozens of statues, each a different size and shape, covered in dusty muslin sheets.