Echoes in the Mist (Kingsleys in Love 1)

“As I told you, my father was a genius.” He straightened, purposefully tugging each of his coat sleeves to the wrist. “As for your observations of Broddington’s assets … they will have to wait.” Clearing his throat roughly, Trenton headed for the dining room, putting an end to any discussion of Richard Kingsley. “I have a great deal to accomplish today. I believe we came downstairs to eat?”

Ariana followed slowly. “Yes, we did.”

“Then suppose we do that. You can entertain me with tales of your excursion through the manor later today.”

“But you won’t be here later today.” Ariana was stunned by her own boldness.

Trenton stopped in his tracks. “Meaning?”

“Meaning that I expect you’ll be off to Spraystone immediately after our meal.”

Silence.

Nervously fingering the folds of her gown, Ariana walked around in front of her husband, facing him squarely even as she prayed she was not overstepping her bounds. “Unless, of course, you’d planned to remain at Broddington today. Had you?”

Trenton stared down at her for a timeless time, his eyes hooded. Ariana’s heart slammed in her chest as she awaited his reply, fervently wishing she could read his thoughts. What she wouldn’t give for an iota of Theresa’s foresight right now!

“I would enjoy seeing the rest of the manor,” she went on, lightly touching Trenton’s sleeve. “And I would rather you showed it to me. That is”—she swallowed, carefully treading on unsure ground—“if you wouldn’t mind.”

Trenton glanced at the small hand on his arm. “I could remain at Broddington today,” he conceded at last. “If you’d prefer it.”

Ariana’s whole face lit up. “Oh, yes, I’d prefer it!”

“Fine.” He resumed walking. “I’ll take you through whatever rooms you have yet to see.” Pausing in the doorway of the dining room, he turned to add, “After we eat.”

Ariana wanted to jump up and sing with triumph. With the greatest of efforts she controlled herself. “That would be wonderful,” she replied instead, smiling beatifically.

She was instantly and unexpectedly ravenous.

“Who studied in this lovely schoolroom?” Ariana asked, drinking in the open feeling of the high ceilings and wall-to-wall windows.

“Both Dustin and I took our lessons here.” Trenton stood rigidly, arms folded across his chest, in the doorway. During the past hour he’d taken Ariana through Broddington’s library, kitchen, and guest wing, describing each section of the manor with the brilliant detail of an architect and the removed indifference of a cynic. Despite the insight provided by the former, the latter spoke volumes more.

“I don’t understand,” Ariana said in a puzzled tone. “How could you have studied here if Broddington was not yet built?”

“The original manor was standing long before I was born. Dustin and I helped my father redesign the entire estate when we were in our teens. The schoolroom, however, is mostly unchanged. The double doors are of a thicker construction, and a washroom was added just on the other side of that wall.” He pointed.

“What a miraculous haven for learning!” Recalling her own dismal hours in the dreary Winsham schoolroom, Ariana was entranced. She ran her hand over one of the two low wooden stools, trying to picture a dark-haired little boy laboring over his lessons. “You must have been an exemplary student.”

“I don’t remember much of my early schooling.”

Wincing at the brusqueness of his tone, Ariana pushed on, determined to reach inside the stony man standing before her and extract the sensitivity she glimpsed only in their bed. “You must have had favorite subjects,” she prodded.

He shrugged. “I suppose. I’ve always had an aptitude for business, a flair for detailed types of sketching, and a fascination with the way buildings are designed.”

“Is sketching a building that much different from sketching any other subject?”

“Identical in some ways, worlds apart in others.”

“How so?”

Trenton rubbed his palms together thoughtfully. “Obviously, all drawings re

quire discipline and imagination,” he explained. “But planning a building is not merely an aesthetic process. It’s a pragmatic one.” His brow furrowed in concentration. “In designing a home the architect must combine the owner’s personal tastes with his lifestyle.” Warming to his subject, he crossed the room to stand beside Ariana, displaying the room with a wide sweep of his hand. “For example, Broddington’s schoolroom adjoins the governess’s quarters, yet is far removed from the living quarters … and the distractions they pose.” He indicated the long line of windows on the far wall. “However, the room is also well lit and directly over the gardens, hopefully making it more conducive to learning.” Pride shone in his eyes as he surveyed the entirety of his family’s creation. “Each room is strategically placed and carefully constructed … a thriving entity unto itself and a harmonious segment of the whole.”

“I’m terribly impressed,” Ariana admitted. “I had no idea so much was involved in being an architect. In fact”—she looked sheepish—“my own sketches are so atrocious that Theresa hid my sketchpad in the hopes that I would abandon painting.”

Trenton’s lips twitched. “And did you?”