“I’m sure he does. But I don’t like the risks you’re taking.” Baxter paced back and forth across the small room in Winsham’s rear wing, the one-time servants’ quarters.
“I’m not taking any risks, Baxter.” Finishing the last flaky crumb, Vanessa dabbed at her mouth with a napkin and leaned back in her chair. “I stay cooped up in Winsham all day, crammed into these tiny quarters like a damned insect. No one in England knows I’m alive, except you.”
“And that bloody merchant at the bookstore,” Baxter reminded her grimly.
“Wiltshire?” Vanessa threw back her head and laughed. “The man is old and near-sighted; that’s why I chose him. The hat I wore concealed most of my face, and my mantle was so loose-fitting, it completely concealed my body. All Wiltshire saw was what I wanted him to see: my hair, which I intentionally wore down, and my eyes, which are vivid enough to make an impression on any man.” She inclined her head. “So what are you worrying about?”
“Aren’t you forgetting one minor detail?”
“Which is?”
“Trenton Kingsley.”
Vanessa poured herself another cup of tea. “I assure you, my dear brother, Trenton Kingsley is one detail I never forget.”
“He saw you last night, at the river.”
“Correction: I displayed myself for him last night at the river. The whole scene was carefully planned and brilliantly executed, if I must say so myself. As far as Trenton is concerned, he saw a ghost.”
“How can you be so sure, Ness?” Baxter’s brow furrowed. “Kingsley is a very clever man. Don’t underestimate his cunning.”
“Don’t you underestimate mine.” Vanessa lowered her cup to its saucer. “I’m sure because I saw Trenton’s face, his eyes. He was horrified, white with shock. There’s not a doubt in the world that he believed me to be some apparition created by his slowly deteriorating mind.” A triumphant smile touched Vanessa’s lips, then froze in place, an odd, faraway light dawning in her eyes. “Time has only improved Trenton Kingsley’s incredible magnetism. Not only has he gone from marquis to duke, but from handsome to magnificent. Our sister must be receiving quite an education in her bedroom.”
“Stop it!” Baxter ordered. “It sickens me enough to think of Ariana with that bastard. I don’t need you to remind me of it—especially after what he did to you!”
Vanessa’s features hardened and she raised her chin defiantly. “Don’t worry, Baxter. Trenton will pay. I guarantee you, Trenton will pay.”
Ariana scribbled a change at the bottom of the page, then held it away to assess it critically. Her face fell. It was no use. Her sketching ability was beyond redemption.
Tearing out the offending page, she tossed it to the floor, disgusted with her pathetic attempts. Evidently, Theresa had been doing her a favor by hiding her childhood sketchpads. Her self-image would only have suffered irreparable damage had she continued her futile efforts.
Ariana rose from the chair, squinting at the bare walls and meager furnishings. Instantly, her imagination broke free of the sitting room’s barren limitations. In their stead, a vision erupted in her mind, vivid in detail, rich in dimension; a vision not of the sitting room as it was, but as it would be when she’d completed it.
When she’d made it Trenton’s.
She could envision it all, right down to the needlepoint on the wall. The problem was, she couldn’t draw worth a fig.
But she could write.
A detailed journal-keeper, Ariana had long ago learned to capture her every thought, her most minute concept, on paper. That way she could recreate in words what she was unable to do in pictures.
She opened her notebook again, ignoring her feeble struggles to capture the room visually, skipping right to the written section of notes in the back. There. With a satisfied smile, she read through her intricately outlined pages, certain that she had described the room precisely as it was meant to look.
Now all she needed was the right architect to implement her plans. And Ariana knew just the man for the job.
Tyreham was nestled in the hills of Surrey, just a few hours’ drive from Broddington and, not surprisingly, close to Epsom Downs, where Dustin could race his Thoroughbreds to his heart’s content. Ariana arrived there just after noon, having left careful instructions with Jennings that His Grace was to know only that she had gone into London to shop.
“Ariana? What a wonderful surprise!” Dustin came out to greet her himself, arms open wide. After giving her a huge hug, he stepped back to survey her carefully. “You look radiant,” he declared with smug satisfaction. “Evidently, my brother has mended his ways.”
“Somewhat,” Ariana returned impishly. “Never completely.”
He chuckled. “Touché.” Curiously, he glanced at the Kingsley carriage. “You’ve come alone?”
“Yes. Trenton has no idea that I’m here. But fear not,” she hurried on, seeing the worried scowl on Dustin’s face, “my reasons are sound, my motives are sincere. … And my husband trusts me,” she added softly, a tender glow in her eyes.
Dustin’s expression gentled. “A major accomplishment indeed.” He gestured toward the door. “Come. You’ve succeeded in arousing my curiosity. I’ll arrange for some tea and we can talk.”
“So you see,” Ariana concluded, leaning excitedly toward Dustin, “I know the room would suit Trenton perfectly; it would keep your father close in mind and heart and be the final link in Trenton’s metamorphosis. He’ll become the man he once was … the man he always has been … and Broddington will be a home.” She paused to catch her breath. “It’s just the balm Trenton needs to soothe the jagged edges of his life and …” Seeing the twinkle in Dustin’s eyes, Ariana broke off. “I’m babbling again, aren’t I? I seem to do that a great deal around you.”